Chapter 12
JO
I swing my sword over my head before bringing it down onto the neck of the warrior in front of me.
As he crumbles, I’m already moving on to my next target.
The sword in my hand is dim, the light of my magic fading.
I’m burnt out, too, as I flip it into my opposite hand, raising it with just enough time to block the curved blade of a saber coming at me.
My arm nearly buckles from the effort it takes stop the warrior from bringing the weapon down on my head.
A feral sound escapes my clenched teeth as I spin out from under the pressure, calling my black dagger into my free hand and jabbing it into the warrior’s side, through the space of his ribs and into his heart.
Someone jerks me from behind by my leathers and I flip my sword to stab blindly behind me.
But when I’m spun around by the assailant, I discover it’s not an enemy warrior.
Fredrich. We became separated during our flight from the cave system.
It was strictly dumb luck we escaped, that the plan didn’t completely unravel.
I’m just noticing the fight has begun to wane.
There’re few Strou left, most of their men we let retreat once we knew we had the winning hand in the fight.
But there’s still a great deal of our men lying amongst the fallen.
The valley has turned into a mud pit, the ground soft and slick with blood.
In the distance, the sky is beginning to fade to gray, morning just beyond the horizon.
I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank.
I can’t formulate a single word, let alone string multiple together.
Judging by Fredrich’s appearance, he’s nearly as worn out as I am.
It actually makes me feel a little better as I struggle to make my feet lift from the ground with each step.
“That’s enough,” he states.
Looking down, I realize he has a tight fist in the material of my sleeve.
I can’t find the energy to try and remove it.
Instead, I let him drag me toward the battalion’s temporary camp on the other side of the valley.
My feet are as unhurried as the other soldiers who are headed in the same direction, at complete odds with the soldiers who are better rested returning to the dwindling fight.
They pat us on the backs, issuing words of encouragement on our return.
General Samasu appears in our path just as we reach the outskirts of the gathered tents. “Jovinnia,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulders, eyes wide as he inspects me.
The fear in his eyes works to knock me out of my stupor. “I’m fine,” I say, voice hoarse.
He doesn’t believe me, patting my shoulders and down my arms until he reaches my hands, where I still have my weapons locked tight in my grip. He takes them gently from me one at a time and hands them off to Fredrich.
“What happened?” he asks, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes as his gaze swings to Fredrich.
Fredrich’s eyes dip, and I’m surprised by the contrition clouding his features. “It’s my fault. I should have been more tactful in my effort to down the men guarding the cave.”
“That’s not fair,” I say in his defense. “We were spotted before we could cover the fires. After that, there wasn’t a chance of getting out unnoticed.”
For every one warrior we downed, there were ten more to take his place.
We were able to break free of the horde by dashing into one of the winding tunnels of the cave system.
Then it became a torture chamber of sorts.
Running from the warriors chasing us as their footsteps and shouts echoed off the walls in seemingly every direction, only to think we were in the clear before coming upon the next cavern when even more warriors waited.
It took hours to finally find an opening where the hillside beyond gave way to a sloping terrain safe enough to navigate in the dark.
The warriors kept funneling from the caves like ants.
But once we were in the valley, our battalion folded in on them from all sides, preventing them from retreating back into the security of their cavernous hideout.
It’s obvious Sam isn’t finished voicing his anger at how things went, but he must see the fraying thread we’re only just hanging by, because his mouth thins as he bites back his frustration.
“Come on,” he says, tone softening as he places a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
My eyes meet Fredrich’s and I hope he sees my silent apology as we depart.
He stayed by my side for as long as he could until the weight of men pulled us in opposite directions in the valley.
His muffled yells for me were desperate.
And in the moment, they were the only thing I focused on as I fought.
Sam leads me inside a tent where two women are waiting for me, both healers, that he tasks with helping clean me up.
“No,” I protest, holding up a hand to halt the women as they come toward me. “There are many others who are more urgently in need of care. Tend to the wounded. I can clean myself.”
“Jo, you, too, have injuries—”
“I said no.” It takes nearly all of my remaining energy to spit the words out, but my tone leaves no room for argument. “My wounds are artificial and will heal on their own. There’s plenty of those without gifts who need help more than I do.”
And, once again he’s forced to swallow his tongue. “Fine,” he says, dismissing the women with a wave. “But the two soldiers outside stay. I won’t hear anything about it.”
He takes my lack of response as a concession, then he pointedly looks away from me before turning away and leaving.
This tent is meant to be a temporary shelter, so it’s missing a lot of the amenities I have at the main camp.
There’s a cot positioned to the right, a stool with a bowl of clean water perched on top, and a lamp hanging from the apex of the covering overhead.
The sounds of soldiers clearing the battlefield in the distance filters through the flimsy material.
I look down at my soiled clothes. Blood and mud and sweat have the material sticking to my clammy skin.
Untying my leathers from each side of my abdomen, I peel my top over my head and realize I’m shivering, just beginning to register how much the cold has sapped my energy.
But the rest of my gear needs to come off, so I remove my boots and pants, dropping everything in a pile by the entrance.
Aside from my undergarments, my skin is exposed to the frigid air, and my muscles spasm erratically as I remove the rag from the lip of the wash bowl and dip it in the water.
It’s colder than the night air, making my body quake in rebellion at the mere thought of pressing the damp cloth to my body, and I have to sit on the edge of the cot to stop myself from keeling over.
I urge my hands to cooperate as I start at my feet and slowly work my way up.
By the time I make it past both knees, the water is a murky brown, but I continue until I’ve scrubbed every inch of my body as thoroughly as I can.
A wave of exhaustion makes the world tilt suddenly and I realize after a long blink that it’s because I toppled over sideways on the bed.
I don’t have the energy to even to pull the blanket over myself despite still shivering, instead just letting the abyss of sleep pull me under.
It’s my favorite kind of sleep, where I don’t dream and my mind can’t turn my best memories into my worst nightmares.
The kind of sleep that feels like bliss.
It doesn’t last as long as I’d like, a dream tugging me into a series of memories.
It’s the kind where I know I’m dreaming of a time I try not to think about.
Like the time Acker gave me saigon root to help me through the awakening.
When the grass and trees seemed so vivid upon my arrival to land.
Then to him sitting in the chair beside my bed in Fia’s cottage.
When he looked at me with such tenderness that it hurts to witness in hindsight.
That is … until something wakes me.
My eyes peel open, not to the murky light of morning like I was expecting, but to the dead of night.
It’s dark, the flickering of light from the oil lamp having burned out, but there’s just a sliver of moonlight filtering through the gap in the tent entrance.
Nocturnal insects chirp in unison, creating a hum of noise. There’s an eeriness in the quiet.
My eyes scan the shadows for movement.
Then I see it: a shift in the darkness mere feet away. The form of a Strou warrior as he steps forward.
Huh.
Not exactly a coherent thought, that. A niggling voice inside my mind tells me I should recall my blade as he comes closer, but all my sleep-addled brain seems to ponder is how he got into camp, let alone past the soldiers outside my tent.
He takes another step and I’m able to see the unmasked rage splashed across his face, the subtle glint of the long knife in his hand.
It’s only then that I find it in me to summon my dagger.
A moment too late, as the warrior is already lifting the hand holding the weapon above his head.
But just before he’s able to bring the blade down, someone’s hand reaches out and grabs the warrior by the wrist, stopping him.
It’s a hand I’d recognize anywhere, and I internally sag with relief.
It’s just another dream.
A new, terrifying one, but I find some semblance of comfort that it’s simply my mind playing tricks on me. It makes sense, given I felt Acker’s presence at least once when Fredrich and I were inside the caves. For a moment I thought he had come to save me.
My eyes track up the attached arm, to where Acker’s face is partially masked in shadow.
He kicks the warrior’s legs out from under him, sending the man to his knees.
Twisting the weapon from the warrior’s hand, Acker spins it in his palm before he shoves it right through the warrior’s ear and into his brain, killing him instantly.
It doesn’t matter how much I try to convince myself that my love for him has dimmed, I know it is the furthest thing from the truth. My mind knows it, too, hence why it concocted this stupid nightmare so I can never forget what I actually long for—him.
Acker’s eyes flick up to meet mine as the warrior slowly falls forward onto the ground. “Were you just going to let it happen?” he asks, incensed.
I’m not sure.
Maybe.
What happens when you die within a dream? I bet it’s peaceful.
Taking a measured step over the felled warrior, he bends down, crouching down to my eye level. He reaches a hand toward me, brushing the stray hairs that have slipped from my braid away from my face, the back of his knuckles dragging over my cheek.
His brows come down in a slant over his eyes as he touches my neck, then my shoulder. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” he says.
Actually … now that he mentions it, I am really cold.
He reaches for the blanket at the foot of the cot and covers me with it. It does little to warm me up.
When he pulls away, I reach out a hand to stop him. “Stay,” I beg him, desperate to ease the ache in my heart. “Please.”
He looks at the grip I have on his fingers, as weak as it is, before looking up at me through his lashes. There’s a hint of hostility in his expression that would scare me if this was real, but this is nothing but my exhausted mind playing tricks on me.
And because it’s one of the rare occasions my mind takes pity on me, Acker’s face softens.
He doesn’t speak as he stands from his bent position before climbing onto the cot next to me.
Heat radiates from his body and I savor it as he wraps an arm around me, pulling me in close as he weaves his legs through mine.
He slides his forearm under my head as a pillow before slowly reaching for my hand with the other, threading his fingers through mine and tucking me into his body.
I can feel his heart beating against my back, the expansion of his chest as air fills his lungs, and the caress of his exhale against my neck.
My dreams have always been particularly detailed, but out of all of them, this one is the most surreal.
I suppose if I’m forced to endure my truest desire then I might as well enjoy it.
I sink into his embrace and a sound rumbles from deep in his chest, something so similar to the way he would hum when he’d finally convince me to nap with him in the boat, the vibration palpable against my back.
A burning sensation creeps up the back of my throat, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s the urge to cry.
Such an odd thing to do in a dream, but there’s no stopping a single tear from escaping, the trail of wet heat hot across my nose before dripping onto his forearm.
His arms tighten around me as he says, “Sleep, Jovie.”
Then my dream transports me to our boat, where there’s no war or death or cold. Just the stars in the sky and the gentle lap of the ocean.