Chapter 1 #2
The drunkard opens his mouth, face belligerently red, but Tyreek effectively shuts him up with a hand on his shoulder. “I am not questioning your leadership, Ace,” he says, using the nickname my comrades gave me. “I’m only asking for a few bodies to even the playing field. Zion is down there.”
His son. A brother to myself and Hallis. One of the five who shares the same scar.
Like half the men in this room, Tyreek was unprepared to replace the previous lord.
Unlike them, he didn’t want this position, but I knew his military knowledge and genuineness would be valuable to the council.
It took a lot of convincing and many trips to his region to finally sway him.
The very last thing I want is for him to feel as if I’m abandoning the promises I made to him and his family.
I swore to Tyreek that I would provide for his family as well as his entire region if he agreed to take on the title of lord.
Made up of mostly farmers, his community already felt disregarded by my father after a bout of harsh winters, and leaving Zion’s battalion defenseless will only look as though I’m doing exactly that.
“Tell Zion to disperse his men to higher ground,” I say, running my fingers along the hillside. “The passage won’t allow more than a few hundred men to funnel through at a time. They should be able to pick them off from above. We will divert the next batch of troops as soon as they’re ready.”
Tyreek accepts the plan of action with a tilt of his chin.
We continue to collect numbers by region. In total, we’re down ten thousand men, four hundred horses, and in desperate need of healers. Our crops and resources are dwindling.
It took two years for the war to commence after Jovie’s betrayal. Just as she had insisted it would happen, the Alaha joined Roison’s forces in the east. And because of her warning, we were able to muster our own army at the border in enough time to defend our land from their invasion.
It took another year before we were forced to concede ground to Roison.
People are becoming less and less tolerant.
There’s not a family who hasn’t sent at least one of their men off to fight.
Many of those men haven’t been home in years.
Many won’t return at all. But for all the tales of Wren’s armies, I’ve yet to see anything unprecedented in their advance. Nothing extraordinary or commendable.
But in the last year we have become increasingly outnumbered, and we’re in desperate need for more men after two years of constant battle.
My eyes flick to the miniature wooden ships on the map’s surface, over the expanse of water separating Strou’s land—our only ally—from us.
The land bends into the shape of a crescent moon, with Maile’s territory acting as an impenetrable barrier between Strou and Kenta.
Evelyn’s navy has intercepted any help the Strou has tried to send our way.
While the queen of Maile has remained impartial to our plight against Roison, the reports of the battles over the northern sea between her navy and Strou have been abysmal and not in our favor.
“Bru,” I say, glancing at the singular Strou warrior in attendance. He’s fucking atrocious to look at and nearly twice the size of Hallis at his side. Why Irina’s father, the king of Strou, would send him as regent is beyond my comprehension. “Any word of progress from the gulf?”
The mammoth warrior looks at the markers, then gives a single shake of his head. “One ship arrived at port about a week ago. It was the only one out of the last seven sent in the last few weeks.”
I release a breath from my nose, making eye contact with Hallis.
We’ve had endless discussions about what an ambush on Maile’s northernmost border could mean for the war, but with supplies and troops dwindling, the reward of such drastic action is beginning to outweigh the risk.
His expression holds, an unspoken question lingering between us. Are you sure?
And I nod.
He points to the hillside where the Strou and Maile borders meet in the north. “Let’s divide their attention,” he begins, and the very next breath in my chest feels tighter.
I swear to protect her with my dying breath.
The blood oath I made to protect Jovie consistently reminds me to stay within the parameters of my promise and I take the warning for what it is.
While not directly against my Match or at my command, the order is a little too close to being so for my magic’s liking. I signal to Hallis that I’m leaving.
In a foul mood, I return to my bedchamber to find it empty, much to my relief.
A platter of half-eaten fruit and bread sits on the table beside the bed, two half-finished glasses of red wine accompanying it.
Helping myself, I pour the leftover wine into one glass and carry it to my workstation.
Books are splayed open across the surface, overflowing onto the floor where stacks of texts clutter half the room.
Taking a swallow of wine, I skim a few of the spines in hopes that one catches my eye.
I’ve gone through bouts of obsessive searching for a way to break the oath, spending weeks, sometimes months, scouring pages of old texts in a bid to discover a remedy.
Whenever I think I’ve stumbled across something even remotely promising, I’ve sent sentries to retrieve it.
Herbs in the deepest of Roison’s forests, rare stones found in the western springs, and leeches from the southern marshes.
I’ve tried it all and all I’ve gotten in return is a weird rash and a stomachache.
Philosophers and scientists differ on their theories on blood oaths, but the one commonality they share is the belief that the same key that made the oath has to be what breaks it—blood. But aside from draining myself dry, there doesn’t seem to be a viable option.
It’s a worthless endeavor anyway.
I’ll never be able overcome the blood oath unless I figure out how to eradicate the love I still have for Jovie. It’s a strange conundrum, loving her while also wanting to hurt her the same way she did me. Sometimes I make myself sick, hating her as much as I miss the feel of her skin against mine.
Blood oath or not, Jovie will always be my greatest weakness.