Chapter 33
The clearest sign that the anax’s sanity had returned was how efficiently he quelled hostilities and resolved the matters at hand. Attalus wanted to sink his fangs around Araxos’s throat every time he looked upon his brother, but even he had to concede that the anax proved expedient at least.
Attalus stood with Leita, arm firmly around her waist lest she get more ideas, watching Araxos make quick work of Erastus’s mess.
If Erastus hadn’t already been pinioned on his belly, he would’ve sunk there after the dressing down Araxos delivered. He suffered in humiliated silence, the anax not bothering to have him freed, choosing to leave him chained as the situation was dealt with.
Tychon and Chrysanthe too got earfuls, accused of insolent insubordination and stupidity of the highest order.
Honestly, for just going through a battle and having mercury literally pulled out of him with magic, Attalus thought Araxos in fine form.
Usually staid and stern, seeing Araxos really worked into a thick lather had a viciously cathartic feel to it; seeing his half-siblings scolded by the king was even better than doing it himself.
If Araxos hadn’t started the day attacking Leita, Attalus might’ve admired him for it.
As it was, he couldn’t quite manage to let go of his glare as the blackened meadow was slowly set to rights.
Assurances were made on both sides, granting parley as they collected their dead and wounded. Roots receded back into the earth, allowing dragons to stand and shake off the otherworldly experience. Chrysanthe led a force back across the strait to regroup and patch up the wounded.
Leita gathered her own wounded fae, using her magic and showing the warriors how to use what she’d given them to help speed their healing. Blistering burns faded away and deep slashes closed up before their eyes.
Marcades and the others marveled, many wondering if it was right to share in the Queen’s power.
“You stood with me in my first great test,” Leita assured them. “What more reason could I need?”
With the wounded seen to and most of the dragons lifting off from the meadow, Leita returned to Attalus’s side.
“You’re not hurt anywhere?” she asked at the same moment he said, “You can disperse your magic?”
“You first,” she said with a shy grin.
Tucking her into his side again, Attalus assured her he was fine. “Dragons heal quickly, and he only gave me a few scrapes.”
Hearing him—mostly because Attalus said it loudly—Araxos scowled over his shoulder, lip curled in disgust. “Don’t let your head grow so big you can’t fly. I wasn’t in my right mind.”
Attalus had plenty to say about that, but first he wanted to hear Leita’s answer.
With a nudge, she admitted softly, “I think so. It was in the moment and I just thought…a little to help them. I don’t see a reason to take it back. And…” She laid her hand over her chest, not rubbing, but gently pressing. “The pressure isn’t so bad.”
He was heartened to hear it. Perhaps a solution, simpler than they imagined, had been before them all along.
“Perhaps royal fae in the past were strong enough to shoulder a larger burden for the Queen, but other fae might bear some weight, too.” Maybe not as much, but some.
And there were far more ordinary fae, some even with royal blood in their lines.
Leita’s hopeful look was tentative. “I hope so.”
Attalus pulled her in tight to kiss her temple. “We’ll make it so,” he promised.
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her expression growing somber. “There’s much to say, but know…I’m sorry.” She didn’t have to specify or explain.
He laid his cheek atop her head, rubbing her silky if smoky hair. “You broke my hearts, doe. Both of them.”
Her wince was gratifying, but Attalus found he didn’t really want her shame or regret. He just…wanted her and her trust.
“I can’t lose you, azore,” she told him just loud enough so that only he could hear. “But I let the fear of that rule me, and it wasn’t fair to you.”
Hearing her say it loosened the worst knots of his own anger and fear. Leita was who she was after centuries of survival—that couldn’t be overcome in a few months. “I hope today proves that I can stand beside you.”
“It’s proven many things,” she agreed. “You were so heroic, swooping down like that and fighting off your brother.”
His hearts swelled with pride, plastering over the cracks. He puffed out his chest as his hand slid down Leita’s back to cup her hip in a possessive hold.
“Indeed, I was. If it wasn’t for your mercy, I might’ve slain the anax. By the old laws, that’d make me king.” Leita’s eyes widened, but Attalus grinned cockily, feeling Araxos’s livid gaze fix on him. “What do you say, agae? Should you like to be a queen twice over?”
“Don’t be a shit,” Araxos grumbled.
“I wouldn’t be so liberal with the insults if I were you, sevastos ader.”
“I think ruling two lands would be a headache,” Leita said.
Araxos snorted, and, after dismissing a finally upright and utterly humbled Erastus, he sauntered over to meet Leita and Attalus.
The anax’s throat worked, as though what he had to say stuck there and needed dislodging. “You have my apologies, Queen Leita. I never intended for it to come to this.”
“What were your intentions, then?”
“In truth, I…” Araxos rubbed at his head. “Now that the mercury no longer clouds my mind, I can’t say I remember.” He frowned at them without truly looking at them. “But it seems there is a traitor in my court, perhaps a wider plot.”
“Such plots are insidious and painful to root out,” Leita sympathized.
“Indeed.” Looking Leita up and down, Araxos seemed to come to a decision. “I hope, with time, Highhome and Fallorian may put this behind us. I will send proper tithes for the dead.”
“And what about Attalus?”
Araxos sighed, squinting at him. Attalus sneered back.
“The poison you pulled from me clearly isn’t wolfsbane, and so there’s no real evidence against him.”
“It also sounds like you agree you owe me your life, anax.”
Araxos huffed hot air. “It would take more than that to kill a Savrakae.”
Which begged the question whether killing him at all was the true intent of the mercury poisoning.
“Still, if you wish to make amends, let’s do this properly. There’s no reason my mating Attalus can’t be treated as a royal alliance.”
Araxos regarded Leita shrewdly. “What are you aiming for, Fae Queen?”
Attalus would dearly like to know, too.
“Humans have a custom, a dowry, given with a bride or groom sent to another’s home to live. Give Attalus and a dowry to me in the name of friendship and alliance, and we’ll consider the matter settled.”
Attalus’s grin grew wide. Oh, his clever little doe.
“They also practice a bride price, where the family of the bride or groom is paid,” Araxos argued.
“Consider it recompense for damages done to me and the faelands,” said Attalus. “I should think three-hundred ingots would suffice.”
Leita wrapped her arms around his waist. “Don’t cheapen yourself, my love. You’re worth at least four-hundred ingots to me.”
Chuckling, Attalus dipped to nuzzle her, his hearts lighter. He was still sore about being left behind, but they could move past that. There was nothing he and Leita couldn’t face, together.
Araxos looked between the two of them, clearly incredulous. “You truly don’t find him insufferable?”
“Of course I do.” Leita laid her cheek on Attalus’s chest, grinning. “It’s what I love about him.”
“Then I’d give him to you for free.”
“No, five-hundred ingots will do.”
If Attalus didn’t know better, he might’ve thought Araxos’s lips twitched with amusement. “Very well. But in that case, I will require assurances that he will be safe and cared for. And stay out of mischief—at least within my islands.”
“Mischief…” Attalus mouthed.
“I’ll personally guarantee it,” Leita agreed.
“Very well. Then,” Araxos reached to pull the horn caps from the outer set upon Attalus’s head, “I allow you to renounce your ties and loyalty to me and our clan and recognize you as a subject of the faelands.”
Attalus tried not to roll his eyes at his brother’s self-importance. “Much obliged, sevastos ader.”
“May your union shine brightly upon the faelands and Droplets. I will have your gold sent within the fortnight.”
“I will need safe passage,” Attalus added, making Araxos’s eye twitch, “to collect my mother’s hoard.” There was no way he was revealing its location and trusting anyone else to clear it.
Araxos sighed again, the picture of a harried monarch. “As you will. Send word ahead and passage will be granted.”
“Thank you.”
The anax nodded to Attalus and Leita. “Safe journey,” he said before turning on his heel and marching toward the cliff. With him, the remaining dragons leapt from the headlands, catching an updraft across the strait.
“He didn’t actually apologize, did he?” Leita realized.
“Of course not. An anax never does.”
Watching the retreating flight of the dragon army, Leita remarked, “I almost pity him. To be betrayed like that…”
“You have a soft heart, agae. Don’t waste it on Araxos.”
Grinning up at him, she asked, “Who should I waste it on, then?”
“Oh, I think that’s fairly obvious.”
With the afternoon lengthening, it was decided to make camp inside the border for the night before moving the recovering warriors. But rather than climb through the hole in the wall, Leita chose to bring it down herself.
Attalus watched with Marcades and the other fae as Leita’s hands wove silent commands through the air.
The wall groaned tiredly, and rather than fall or break apart like Attalus expected, it began to melt.
Like ice on a hot day, the wall dripped as liquid onto the ground, seeping into the earth.
The grassy meadow and cypress grove sucked up the magic and strength, the roots claiming their boon.
“Is the entire border wall gone?” asked Marcades.