Chapter 9
NINE
CAIRN
Alleria shifts against me, her hand coming to rest on my forearm where it lies against her stomach.
She’s been quiet since we left the camp, but I’ve caught her fingers rising to touch her ears more than once, tracing the new shape of them.
Each time, her shoulders pull a little tighter before she lets the hand drop.
She’s going to break. She’s been through too much and had no time to adjust. I can see the signs. The only thing I can’t tell is when it will happen.
I slide my thumb along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse quickens under my touch, and she leans back against me before straightening again.
The road bends around the shoulder of a low hill, and the countryside opens up below.
Fields roll down to a shallow valley, with a stream cutting a line through the grass.
Movement on the far bank catches my eye, and I turn my head.
A column of horsemen is riding in loose formation, dressed in the king’s green.
I pull Selveryn up.
Therin moves up to my right without a word. Vel takes my left. The rest of the guard fan out behind us.
Twelve riders. An officer at the head, and half a horse-length behind him, a man in plain gray robes with his hood down.
Mage.
Hatred heats my blood, and a blade half-forms before I can stop it. Alleria stiffens in my arms. Her fingers clench around my forearm, and I force the blade out of existence.
“Easy,” I murmur.
“They’re right there!” She keeps her voice low, as though they’re going to hear her across this distance. “Cairn, they’re right there! All they have to do is look up!”
“They won’t see us. We’re glamoured. Focus on me.”
She doesn’t, of course. Her body is vibrating with tension, her nails biting into the skin of my wrist. I block out the faint sting, and hold the glamour steady.
It takes nothing to keep it in place, but it needs to move with us. The slightest distraction could weaken the weave and cause a shimmer. And that’s what a trained mage would see before anything else.
I track the man in the robes. His shoulders are relaxed, head tilted slightly downward, focused on nothing more than following the officer in front of him.
Good. If he’s not paying attention, then he’ll be easier to kill.
“Hold still.” I don’t look away from the column. “Just breathe.”
Her fingers tighten on my arm, and she does the complete opposite of what I said, holding her breath, her eyes glued to the soldiers moving along the edge of the stream.
“Let’s go.” I issue the order quietly.
We ride along the ridge at a slow walk, keeping pace with the patrol. My arm stays locked around Alleria’s waist.
The officer lifts a hand, bringing the column to a halt. The soldiers turn their horses toward the stream, and the animals lower their heads to drink. His head travels over the slope.
I’m not concerned. Human eyes will see what I tell them to see, and nothing more. For half a breath his gaze is on us, on the nothing the glamour is feeding into his mind. All he sees is an empty ridge.
Then the mage behind him lifts his head.
Alleria turns to stone.
“Easy,” I murmur.
Her nails break through the skin on my wrist.
Below us, the mage’s hand lifts. Red light spills from between his fingers, and his eyes lock on us. He isn’t just looking—he’s testing the air, searching for the scent of magic on the wind.
I loosen my grip on Alleria, preparing to drop the illusion, while my mind runs through what I will do.
The mage will die first, before he can summon his magic. Officer second. The rest of the Guard can take out the soldiers.
It will be over in six seconds. Maybe seven.
The fingers of my left hand curl, the hilt of my blade already forming.
The mage squints, his head tilting slightly.
I measure the distance between my saddle and his throat.
Then one of the horses behind the mage spooks, sidestepping into the stream. The officer wheels around, snapping an order at the rider, and the mage’s attention breaks.
I don’t take my eyes off the gray robes until the column disappears from view.
“You can breathe now.”
She gives a strangled gasp and sags back against me.
I touch my heel to Selveryn’s flank, and he lengthens his stride, carrying us off the ridge and down into the cover of the trees on the far side.
The road dips, then rises, climbing out of the valley, and I press Selveryn into a faster pace. The four threads tying me to my last missing Guard get tighter with every stride, a steady pull beneath my ribs. Close enough now that I can name each one.
Iorel. Maerwyn. Riahn. Brael.
Another mile west, and I find what I’m after—a copse of old oaks and ash trees, growing close enough together that there is very little space between the trunks.
I stop just outside, and dismount, reaching up for Alleria.
She wobbles when her feet hit the ground, and I keep one arm around her waist until she steadies.
Her forehead drops to rest against my shoulder.
My hand slides up her back, and I bend my head to brush my lips over her hair.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m fine.”
It’s a clear lie, but I don’t push her on it. She steps back, one hand finding the trunk of the nearest oak for balance. Selveryn dissolves into mist behind me, and the other steeds follow. I keep my eyes on her as she walks into the circle of trees and sinks down against one of the trunks.
Before I can say anything, Vessara is moving toward her, waterskin in one hand, travel bread wrapped in cloth in the other. She sits beside Alleria and hands her the skin, then looks up at me. I nod, and she smiles.
The message is clear. Alleria is one of ours now.
I wait until Alleria lifts the waterskin to her lips, then cross to where Therin is standing at the edge of the treeline. He doesn’t turn when I reach him.
“They’re almost here.” Therin murmurs.
The four threads are pulling hard enough now that the rest of the Guard can feel them coming.
They know we’re close and are pushing themselves beyond their limits.
The bond gives me their exhaustion. It gives me their desperation.
What it withholds is what centuries in iron has left of them.
Dread settles in my gut. I know they survived.
But I don’t know what is about to ride out of the trees.
Therin’s hand flexes at his side. Vel joins us without a word, her shoulder brushing mine as she stops beside me.
The three of us stand there, staring through the trees.
Waiting.
And then we see them.
Four steeds come toward us at a pace no mortal horse could match. Weathered bronze. Moss-dark with a dappled flank. Iron-gray. And the last, pale, almost white in the afternoon light. I know them before I know their riders.
Falimier. Cheran. Caithmar. Trasviel.
Iorel is on Falimier. Tall as ever. For one breath, that’s all I allow myself to see.
Then the rest comes into focus. The rough-cut human leathers hanging off a frame that’s lost half its weight. The missing left ear. A pale ring circles his throat where the iron sat.
His eyes are the same though. Brilliant green, and fixed on me.
Maerwyn is on his left, riding Cheran. Her pale hair is long and matted, and her wrists are wrapped in strips of dirty linen. Like Iorel, her throat bears the same pale ring.
Riahn on Caithmar. Straight-backed, head held high, as though the long long scar splitting her cheek from jaw to temple means nothing. Then she sees us and her lips tremble. She stops it immediately, compressing them into a thin line.
And behind them all comes Brael on Trasviel. Biggest of them all, even thinned down, his shoulders are still broad. His gaze finds mine, and the corners of his mouth move ever so slightly.
They come to a stop before us. No one moves.
Then Iorel half-slides, half falls off Falimier, and closes the distance between us at a run. As soon as he reaches me, his arms wrap around me, and he buries his face against my shoulder.
“Eldráfn.” The word comes out broken. “Eldráfn. Eldráfn. Eldráfn—”
“I’m here.” My voice is no more steady than his. “I’m here, Iorel. I’ve got you.”
He makes a broken sound, and I tighten my grip. His entire body is shaking. My hand finds the back of his head, and I hold him there, swallowing my fury at what my Guard has been reduced to, while his tears soak through my shirt.
Behind him, Maerwyn breathes Therin’s name.
Her voice is reed-thin and she sways where she stands.
Therin catches her before she falls, and hauls her against him, whispering her name.
She’s sobbing into his chest before he finishes speaking, and he sinks to his knees with her, arms locked around her back, rocking her back and forth.
Riahn dismounts, and waves a hand, dismissing Caithmar. She walks toward us at a slower pace, her gaze moving over the three of us. When Iorel steps back from me, she takes his place.
“Eldráfn.” Her voice is stilted, as though she’s forgotten how to speak. “It’s truly you. When the collar broke, and we felt you … I thought I was losing my mind.”
“You weren’t. I’m here. We all are.”
She holds herself stiff, refusing to let herself break the way the others have. This close, I can see how thin she is.
I want blood. I want vengeance for what has been done to her. To all of them. But now is not the time.
Vel steps into view, and rests her palm against Riahn’s back, drawing her away from me and into her arms. Her other hand finds Therin’s shoulder where he’s still on his knees with Maerwyn.
“Brother.” Brael’s voice comes from my left and I turn. His gaze moves over me, and then one side of his mouth tips up. “You look surprisingly healthy for someone who’s supposed to be dead.”
“It seems we’re both harder to kill than they thought.” I keep my tone light, hiding my relief at seeing him whole. Thin, but whole.
“So I see.” His smile holds for another breath, then fades. “Praesha didn’t make it.”
I already knew.
The night the collars broke, the magic reached for every thread that was mine, and one of them didn’t answer. Alleria is now where Praesha would have been within the Nightwild magic. I’ve understood what that meant the entire time.
Hearing Brael say it is something else.
She was the youngest of my Guard. Bright-eyed, quick-tongued, first to want to prove herself. The morning we rode for the Vale she’d laughed at something Therin said, and the rest of us laughed with her.
I can’t remember what it was. And now we’ll never get to hear her laugh again.
“When?”
“Not long after we were captured.” Brael’s voice doesn’t change register, but his gaze drops.
”Once the collar went on, she turned feral.
She killed six humans who were stupid enough to get within her reach when her hands weren’t chained.
” His eyes close. “I was close enough to hear her screaming while the mage tortured her. The silence when she finally broke …” He breathes in through his nose, then looks at me.
“There were times when I wondered if she had the better fate.”
My jaw locks, the muscle ticking in a beat that matches my heart. My fingers curl into a fist at my side. I fight against it, forcing the anger down until the grinding in my teeth stops.
“She will be remembered.” I take in a steadying breath. “Come. We have food and water. The others are waiting.”
His eyes widen. “Everyone?”
“Everyone, Brael.”
He sucks in a deep breath, and for a moment, I think he’s going to lose the composure he’s holding onto. Then he masters it, and nods.
I turn and lead them into the copse.
Caelum is on his feet the second he sees Maerwyn in Therin’s arms. He crosses the ground in three strides with her name on his lips. Her head lifts at the sound. Therin passes her into Caelum’s arms without a word, and steps back, wiping his face with the heel of his hand.
Kaelith reaches Iorel, gripping his forearm, and pulling him into a rough embrace that Iorel returns just as hard.
Serath is a step behind, cupping his face between her hands, and she presses her forehead to his.
His eyes close, and he leans into her touch.
She says something too low to catch, but whatever it is, a breath shudders out of him, and he nods.
Vessara joins Vel, taking Riahn’s hand in one of hers, and reaching for Vel’s with the other. The three of them stand together silently. My heart tightens at a sight I never thought I’d see again.
Sorel moves to Brael, and catches his arm when he sways, turning him toward the base of the nearest ash tree.
“Sit, before you fall.”
Brael snorts, but he doesn’t argue, and lets Sorel press a waterskin into his hands.
Iorel sinks down on his left, Serath and Kaelith on either side of him.
Caelum lowers himself to the ground with Maerwyn gathered into his lap.
She curls into him without opening her eyes.
Riahn allows Vel and Vessara to guide her onto a patch of moss near to where Alleria is watching with wide eyes.
Therin looks around the clearing, meets my eyes, then walks to the edge of the trees, where he stops with his back to us. I watch him go, but don’t stop him. I’ve seen that set of his shoulders before. He needs a few minutes of space and silence.
I stand in the middle of the clearing, and let myself look at them all.
My Guard. Together again. Under the same sky, and breathing the same air.
Free.
I lower the barrier that keeps me separate from them all, and the Nightwild magic rises, the threads lighting up one after the other.
Therin. Vel. Serath. Iorel. Caelum. Kaelith. Vessara. Sorel. Maerwyn. Riahn. Brael.
Eleven.
My head turns slightly to where Alleria sits.
Twelve.
It’s been three hundred years since the Nightwild Guard has stood together like this. The last time was at Therison Vale, the day everything ended. And now they’re here. Battered, and scarred, but here.
For a moment, the relief and rage consuming me is so strong, I can’t move. I can’t do anything but let it fill me.
Across the clearing, Brael lifts his head.
His eyes find mine over the rim of the waterskin. He inclines his head, then tips the skin in a warrior’s salute before he drinks. I nod in response. The tightness in my throat eases, allowing me to take my first clean breath since Brael spoke Praesha’s name.
We will rest for an hour, and then we’ll ride.