Chapter 37
—Kienna—
Kienna stood on the slanted rooftop of their apartment with her boots braced against the creaking beams. The cold wind bit her cheeks.
She stared at the Lysiria, hoping that maybe they’d done enough to prepare.
It had been two weeks since she made the mistake of calling River Storm, but she could feel the hints of iron suits nearing in.
Connak reported to Petyr often to help identify timelines for the battle.
They started moving people to the barracks shortly after Kienna’s speech to the soldiers, closing off wards of the city to lay traps throughout, starting with the bridge.
She tried to convince them to avoid the workshop, but it fell into the section of traps on the outskirts of the city.
Kienna could only pray that the fighting didn’t reach that far.
She turned toward Dove Port. The city was elegantly lit as the sun hit the fine, white marble. The town was eerily quiet since most of the outer sections were placed in the barracks. Clouds swarmed the sky in deep, heavy hues of gray. It was as if the heavens knew the fate of the town that day.
Are you coming down? Ruva whimpered from below. The Elvish are stirring and preparing down here.
Kienna kept her eyes locked on the other side of the city, watching the bridge for any hint of River Storm. The Goldmere shimmered like a blade, cutting through the land far into the hazy distance. It split the world as it always had, desert from forest. Mountain from plain. Past from future.
Don’t worry, Kienna assured her fierce friend. I only need a few more moments.
Standing above the trembling world, the weight of the bridge pressed into Kienna’s bones. A bridge once built for unity with a river that still divided, and the daughter of its builders waited for war to cross it.
Hey, Connak’s voice rang in her head. Alverton’s swarmed with the demon army.
And the Malintale?
Soldiers are clearing the hills. We have two hours.
Kienna started to jump from the roof when she caught a figure moving along the Silver Span, like a ghost amongst the shadows.
She walked well ahead of the army, her silver armor catching the light in flickers of lightning in fog.
Baila’s steps were slow and deliberate. Her long braid trailed behind her, and her presence sang of war. A dirge carried on the wind.
“Shit.” Kienna rolled her eyes at the mere thought of Baila leading an army of dead soldiers, putting a personal vendetta in her heart.
She’d be the one to greet her at the bridge.
She knew that much. She had two hours to make sure the rest of the city had been moved.
When she crawled from the roof, she landed on the terrace with a thud, pulling Moira from her trance of the book she had been reading for weeks—Mothering.
Moira looked up slowly, her hand resting protectively on her belly, eyes already brimming with questions.
“Time to go,” Kienna said.
—Tristian—
Kienna greeted the Trinity army near the Great Hall, taking stride with Tristian as soon as she saw him. He peered at her from the side of his eyes but kept moving. “Where do you need me?” she asked.
Tristian stopped and turned to her, half expecting her to take formation as he expected his other soldiers to do.
Kienna wasn’t his soldier, though. He had to remind himself of that.
She was Petyr’s. He’d have to get Petyr to give the command to stand down.
Tristian could give it, and she’d disregard it immediately.
He appreciated the sentiment despite it all.
Kienna wanted to fight. The flame in her heart was igniting for something other than herself.
He hated having to be the one to put it out.
“There are people who haven’t left their homes. We need to get them to the barracks,” Tristian explained.
Kienna bit her lip. “Commander?”
His stomach turned. She was going to ask for something he wasn’t going to like.
“Baila’s on the bridge.”
There it was. “Leave it be, Kienna. We have the bridge set up with traps.”
Her body tensed. “Yeah, but she’s smart. She’ll—”
“It would appear the woodcarver hasn’t left his home yet,” Tristian interrupted. He intended to send another soldier to escort the old man somewhere safe, but now that Baila was closing in, Tristian didn’t have time.
Kienna paused. Her eyes jerked around, studying the cobblestone until her body loosened its tension. “Send Danek to the bridge. Baila liked him. It’ll buy us some time.”
She turned from Tristian, and guilt clutched his chest. He twitched his neck and shoulders to try to shake it, but it swirled around him.
Damn Connak for roping him into this. Damn his parents for stealing his freedom for this.
He didn’t dare curse the Eternal Mother, though the temptation remained.
The goddess gave him his own set of curses that he hid from the world to keep it safe from the power-hungry king.
Golden power shimmered beneath the surface of his skin.
Tristian tucked it away as he always did.
He shrugged his shoulders once more to ease and release the tension.
He had to get his soldiers moving. Talon from the Shardborn, Thalira with the Verdent, and Niramelle from the Duskveil held their soldiers in the tree line, along with the Moonshard.
The battle would leak well into the night.
The Moonshard would show themselves then, the invisible killers of the stars.
Tislin should have had the Moonshard. Tristian had to shake the thought away.
These were the types of thoughts that kept his brother so distanced.
The Verdent would remain unseen until the healers were needed.
Soldiers were instructed to pull the injured away as quickly as possible so the Verdent could work in peace.
Tristian would put the Ironbinders in the front to form the barrier.
Commander Shira could handle the chaos well enough when the creatures hit, but Tristian wasn’t sure how the shadow blade would affect the magic.
Moira only saw one shadow blade in her vision.
In Baila’s hand. He wanted to believe that would be enough.
His gut told him they’d be in for a hell of a ride.
“Jayel’ric.” Tristian pulled the tall, lean Skybinders Commander walking by him. His long, blond hair was braided down both sides of his head. His golden eyes scowled, but softened when he met Tristian’s attention, and he fell into formation, hands behind his back.
“High Commander?” he asked, voice quiet as snowfall. Above them, his hawk screeched and swooped, landing on his shoulder.
Tristian acknowledged Jayel’ric’s guide. “At ease. Take the Skybinders to the tops of the buildings. I’ll need your archers ready to strike as soon as their soldiers hit the traps near the bridge.”
Jayel’ric nodded and sent his hawk into the sky.
Across from them, Raelan of the Galeweavers clasped her blades behind her back and smirked.
She had wind-braided cords around her wrists to fling her up into the air whenever needed.
She’d have her army already taken care of, following the Ironbinders.
Once Vaerin’s army broke through the barrier, Raelan’s battalion would use the wind to blow them backward with as much force as they could.
That only left Kaelorna and the Sunforged, Serenya and the Crystal Chorus, Brennic and the Thornclad, and Ryven with the Emberreign.
He’d place the Sunforged third. They’d be lethal as long as the sun was out.
Serenya would place her crystal army around the city, broken apart to amplify sound and distract the soldiers into different directions.
Tristian would ride with Brennic. He, too, specialized in Thornclad combat as close-quartered fighters.
It was the best army he could fight with that hid his powers behind strength and speed.
He needed that—to remain hidden. The king had inklings about him as a child, but Tristian didn’t dare show what strength he had left.
Not after his mother died. And certainly not after Vargbrandr. Eventually, the inkling died out, but Tristian learned his lesson early.
He had a scar cutting through his collarbone as a reminder.
So, he’d ride with the Thornclad and remain as ordinary as possible.
He’d want Ryven at the back. She’d hate it, of course.
She was ready to charge headfirst into battle.
She reminded Tristian of Broan in that manner.
Tristian could have used Broan here, the best Thornclad soldier he’d ever seen, bending the earth to his will.
Granted, Broan preferred to bend the earth and not focus on his hand-to-hand combat.
“High Commander,” Serenya’s voice echoed through a jagged, floating crystal glowing with hues of green, purple, and blue. “Captain Tislin is asking for an audience. Near the market square.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Tristian confirmed. “Rally up the others and have them meet at the Great Hall in one hour. If you could, also gather the Dove Port leaders. We will want to ensure we are together.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Serenya sang through the crystal, and then she shut down the magic.
Tristian took in a deep breath. His choices for commanders in his army were interesting. He found them all to be highly useful in the alliances he tried to form outside of Trinity, though. Soon, he hoped to initiate Petyr into his army as well—once he cleared Elira’s disdain for it, of course.
He nodded toward Raelan, then walked away to find Tislin.
Before he did, he caught Danek sprinting through the streets.
Tristian yanked his arm. “It would appear your friend is on the bridge,” he said.
“Kienna said you would be useful there. I must caution you. We have traps. One wrong step, and it could take you out. It’s up to you if you’d like to handle it or not. ”
“I’ve got it, High Commander,” Danek said, falling into formation.
“She also has a blade made of—”