30. Greer
Greer
Sunrise in Solace never fails to amaze me. Growing up beneath the rolling lightning storms in Echme, I’m used to the gray clouds. The static in the air. The hum of magic pulsing with each strike.
As Atlas and I reach the peak of a sandy hill and sunrise bathes the sky in orange and pink, I can hardly breathe. It’s godslike. Quiet. There’s a stillness here that even the heat doesn’t ruin. A new day breaks in the distance.
I close my eyes and focus on the wind tickling my skin. The warmth of morning cresting the horizon. My braids are unbound, so my dark curls tickle the sides of my face as a rogue strand tosses in the breeze.
Peace.
This might be the last taste of it with the battle we’re sure to face, so I breathe it in a moment longer.
When I open my eyes, I find Atlas quietly staring out at the territory.
He said nothing about me stopping. He simply paused at my side and took it in.
Knowing he’s a warrior himself, I wonder if it’s something he picked up on the front lines as I did.
When blood and death stain every sunset, there’s appreciation to be found in the breaking of a new day. In surviving the last one.
His purple gaze meets mine, and I look away. I shouldn’t be wondering what Atlas has done or what he believes. He’s a warrior who fought without mercy, spilling blood in my realm. He’s not my ally, even if I’m forced to rely on him for this particular mission.
When this is done, we’ll still be enemies.
The horseback ride into Solace is long and quiet. I refuse to keep up conversation, no matter how many times Atlas tries. He’s not nearly as guarded as I’d expect from someone I’m sure is an instrument in battle.
I’d know.
In my heart, I’m the same.
My mother might have wanted me to be like my aunt, safe in the temples, focusing my magic on messages from the fates. But the blood of my father always coursed stronger through my veins.
I’m a fighter.
So when they were murdered, that’s what I became. The blade on which others bleed.
My eyes cut to Atlas, who is more often than not watching me. Assessing me. Reading me.
Thankfully, he at least keeps his magic to himself. Not a lick of flame heats the edge of my thoughts.
I tug at my leathers, which grow sticky and hot the farther we travel through the Solace desert, relieved when we finally cross the barrier that prevents us from opening a Gate into the city.
Atlas climbs off his horse first, and I refuse his help in getting off mine.
He holds up his palm to form a Gate for us to skip the rest of the terrain and step directly into Lochlan’s manor.
A spark of flame swirls, tearing the air open to create a doorway.
It’s convenient that his magic allows him to do as much, even if it means I’m stuck at Atlas’s side for this mission.
“After you.” He steps back, grinning so wide his violet eyes sparkle.
It’s distracting, and it makes me hate him even more. His smile draws out the strong lines of his jaw, especially with his dark-red hair pulled off his face.
I’m annoyed he’s so much taller than me. Broader. His thick arms are on display in his sleeveless battle gear, and it’s nothing but distracting because it won’t protect him in a fight. Even so, I find myself staring for just a beat as warmth climbs my cheeks.
It’s been too long since I bedded someone—since the last time I was here, and I let the haelmarrow and a gorgeous willing male take my worries away for the night. That’s the only explanation for why I can’t stop staring at Atlas and his aggravating smile.
Maybe tonight I’ll drag someone to my bed and let them work out this tension before I do something I’ll regret.
Without saying a word to Atlas, I step past him and through the Gate.
For a moment, I’m in between the hot, flat desert and the breeze of the balcony. A dance of flame hugs my senses, searing my tongue and warming me through to the bone. The space feels like Atlas, so I take my second step quickly, trying to shake it.
“I see the king is already too busy to come see me himself.” Lochlan lifts off the pillar and walks toward us once we’re through the Gate.
His perfectly sculpted pale skin is on display with his flowing pants hanging low at his hips.
A separate sheet of sheer fabric is strewn over one shoulder.
Lochlan grins, but it’s made more menacing by the dark fangs that cut down his face.
Two long runes run from his hairline, through his eyebrows, over his lids, and to his cheek.
His long white hair is half tied back, casual as always.
Lochlan is secretive. Cunning. Deadly. Even when I was part of Malachi’s Guard, I wasn’t sure what to make of him.
“Wilder sent only the best in his place.” Atlas smiles.
Lochlan’s eyes move to me. “That he did.”
We shake hands in greeting, but Atlas pulls him in for a hug.
They’re clearly closer than I am to Lochlan.
In truth, I hardly know him. As the longest-standing lord in Lyrichia, he’s always carefully toed the line between realms. Only recently did he swear his faith to Malachi, and that was under threat of execution.
Our welcome is proof he continues to secretly play both sides.
Lochlan is a lot like Elorie, wishing for peace between our realms. Believing it’s possible.
I respect it, but I don’t see it happening.
At least for now, his indifference gives Atlas and me a place to stay for the night. Lochlan might be brutal in battle, but in his home, he’s welcoming. Even after his wife and children were murdered and his territory turned into the brutal desert, some part of his heart remained as warm as ever.
“Come.” Lochlan waves his arm, leading us inside. “I imagine you’re tired from the trip and would like to get some rest.”
“We won’t be here long,” I say, noting the guards passing by as if they don’t see us. Atlas must already be using his magic to erase our presence. “A night or two. I assume you have a lead for us.”
Lochlan nods, guiding us into a large room with a table at the center. The moment we step inside, he casts a shell of magic so no one can hear our conversation.
“You’re here to find Malachi,” Lochlan guesses.
“Wilder didn’t tell you before our arrival?”
He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous to keep open communication. I wasn’t even sure who would be coming. But I feel I must warn you: Malachi is stronger now than ever, wherever he is.”
“You don’t know?”
“The Ley Court has been abandoned. Something stirs in Rohldova, but there’s no word that he’s there. Alasdair is preparing the armies for battle nonetheless.”
“How is the Well?”
Lochlan brushes his hair back. “That battle rages on; the creatures climbing out of the veins are worse by the day. It’s still mostly contained, but there aren’t enough bodies to push it back anymore. Armies from all territories are being summoned.”
“Including Solace?” Atlas asks, resting his fists on the table as he glances down at the battle map.
“I’m delaying as long as I can, but at some point, it will be necessary to protect the realm.” Lochlan glances at me. “Darkness has reached the Gate that leads to Tempest.”
My heart races, but I manage to keep my emotions from my face. “And Ruse Village?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Armies are still using it as a breaking point between battles, but the Well has nearly reached Mal Remere, so I don’t know how much longer it will hold.”
I tighten my fingers into fists at my sides, not missing that Atlas’s gaze drops to my hands. Not caring about the surge of emotion swelling.
“I’ve heard nothing of your family,” Lochlan says, reading my energy as well. “Lady Reah hasn’t heard from Millicent about her or Lune, but she’s safe. Malachi needs her guidance, so she believes she’ll be fine until this is resolved.”
At least that much is a comfort. One of my aunts is alive and well. But I’m so far from the other. I steady my breath, maintaining my composure.
Lochlan crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m assuming Wilder has a plan if he was brazen enough to send you into enemy territory.”
“I’m not the enemy,” I remind Lochlan. “This is my realm. My home. I’m fighting for my people.”
His chin dips, and his smile falls. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I stop him, knowing it’s not Lochlan’s fault.
Especially when he’s right. Malachi has a bounty on my head. This might be the realm I’m fighting to save, but I’m doing it at the side of my enemy.
I glance up at Atlas, whose gaze moves from me to the battle map.
“We believe we found a solution for the orb,” Atlas says, shifting the conversation, and I’m thankful. “We’re working on obtaining it, but in the meantime, we need to find Malachi, so we’ll be ready once we’ve procured the item. What are these points?”
Atlas draws a line between two marked locations on the map.
“Collection sites.” Lochlan’s teeth clench. “At Malachi’s direction, Alasdair set up one in Rohldova, while Syrus set up one in Echme.”
“Collection sites for what?” My eyebrows pinch.
“Magic.”
I swallow hard. “Magic can’t be taken.”
“He’s convinced his people to give it willingly.” The edge in Lochlan’s tone is palpable. “They believe that by sacrificing some of their magic, they’ll help Malachi and his armies fight off the Well, although I’ve been unable to confirm if that’s how he’s using it.”
“How can they believe him after everything he said—everything he plans? Why would they help him?”
“Only a select few know the truth of what happened in the Ley Court—what he said. Rumors spread, but Alasdair has been quick to squash them. Those who are left are on Malachi’s side, or they’re in hiding. Most of Lyrichia believes their king is fighting for them.”
“Of course they do.” This time, it’s Atlas’s voice that catches me off guard.
Anger that’s so unlike him when he’s generally carefree. But it’s not just his tone; it’s the heat radiating off him. A searing warmth that licks my skin. So hot, yet it somehow sends a shiver up my spine.
For the first time, I get a hint of his warrior side. One I don’t doubt is ruthless with a sword in his hand. But what surprises me most is that Atlas is angry for my people, not at them. He’s upset by what Malachi has done.
“So you’re here to find Malachi,” Lochlan says, taking a step back. “I have to warn you; his army will kill you on sight and bring him your head to earn his favor. Whether they agree with him or not, they know better than to go against him right now.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Atlas stands taller.
Lochlan nods, looking between us. “Then I’ll check with my scouts when they return in the morning. I believe he’s moved west, but I won’t know until then. Stay, relax, sleep. You’re going to need it.”
The door cracks, and a Fae with long white hair steps through. Her skin is nearly as pale as the strands, but her eyes are bright blue.
“Galla will show you to your rooms. Although I’m sure you could find your way.”
At that, Lochlan leads us out, Atlas keeping me ahead of him down the hallway. My chin stays high as we are led through the manor. I don’t blink, and I don’t look back.
Enemy territory.
Is that what this is now? What it will always be?
I fight for my people, my friends. But under which crown?