Chapter 73
“Thank you all for meeting with me on such short notice.” Andrian’s voice echoed off the temple chamber’s stone walls.
The four council members, seated around the table, gave him polite smiles and nods.
Andrian wasn’t particularly concerned with the council, though. They were here as a formality, really. His attention focused instead on the four battle-hardened warriors, faces weathered and worn with scars—both externally and the kind that couldn’t be seen.
The Vigamor. Leuxrith had no army, only warriors. The Vigamor were chosen every ten years as the four best amongst their people, responsible for keeping Leuxrith safe from all enemies who may lurk across the borders.
And even sometimes those within them.
The oldest of the Vigamor—a gruff, gray-haired man with a brutal scar bisecting his face—crossed his arms. “What does your queen want from us, boy?”
A muscle feathered in Andrian’s jaw. He’d felt Mariah’s urgent, resolved energy the moment she’d opened the letter from Ciana. He couldn’t blame her; he wanted to move on Kol just as badly as she did. It was long past due for the dark god to meet his end.
But Andrian had seen the army Kol had amassed from the Royal’s forces.
He imagined it had only grown since he’d left Khento.
While he and Mariah had two gods on their side—three, if they counted Mariah herself—they had no army.
As much as it pained him, this wasn’t something they could do alone. They needed help, allies.
Hence, this meeting.
“I’m sure you are all aware of the threat to the south.”
“If you speak of the dark god, then yes. We are more than aware of him and the threat he poses to our people,” another Vigamor said, a fierce woman who wore her hair in a thick braid, the handle of an ax peeking above her shoulder.
“We also know that rushing to meet him with rashness is not in our best interests.”
“I don’t come to you in rashness,” Andrian said, holding his tone steady. “The queen has discovered something that can change the tide. She has a way to stop Kol—for good, this time. If we don’t move quickly, before he reaches Verith and fortifies his hold on Onita, then it may be too late.”
The Vigamor shifted in their seats. “And where is your queen? Why has she sent you instead of asking this herself?”
Frustration bubbled in Andrian’s chest. He fought to keep it quelled, to keep his shadows tucked beneath his skin. “The queen is occupied, but I speak for her in this.”
“The boy is not just an Armature,” said Merete. The council woman sat at the head of the table, a careful mask on her face. “He is the queen’s Consort, if I’m not mistaken. I trust his ability to speak for the queen.”
Andrian fought the urge to swallow. He remembered the conversation he and Mariah had shared the night before. The proclamation she’d made.
No. He had to focus on this room of warriors. Mariah had asked him to handle this while she reached out to the rest of her Armature. She would need them all, and if there was a chance any of them could recruit help before they came, then she had to ask.
When she’d asked for some privacy that morning to do so, he’d given it to her willingly.
“You are all great warriors,” Andrian said. “I know how long Leuxrith has fought against Kol’s darkness. But we finally have a chance to defeat him. It would honor us if Leuxrithian warriors would be by our side when we do.”
The Vigamor were quiet, their hard stares assessing. Andrian fought the urge to shift under their gazes.
“When do you wish to move?” The third Vigamor, a soft-spoken man in his middle years, scratched idly at his chin.
“As soon as possible. In the next few days, if we can.”
Silence answered him, before the scarred Vigamor burst out in a booming laugh. The others joined him, some shaking their heads as they muttered softly beneath their breath.
“You are ambitious, boy,” the first Vigamor said.
“I can admire that. But you are aware that Leuxrith has no standing force. There are no soldiers in barracks waiting to be deployed, no units of cavalry running daily drills. Our fighters are birthed from the mountains when they are needed. And when they are not, they settle back into their lives.”
Andrian ground his teeth. “Then how long will it take to muster the full Leuxrithian host?”
The Vigamor shared a glance. “Two months, at least,” the first said, wood groaning as he leaned back in his chair.
“Two months?” Andrian couldn’t hold the bite back from his words. He drew in a deep breath, fighting for control. “We don’t have two months. Kol could reach Verith any day now.”
“We are warriors,” the Vigamor woman said. “We are realists. We are not miracle workers. And what you ask is impossible.”
Andrian rested his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, leaning heavily on the wood. “Fine,” he said. “Two months to raise the full force. But what can be done in, say, a week? Are there any fighters who can be ready sooner?”
That piqued the Vigamor’s interest. Their gazes bounced between each other, speaking in a language honed by years on a battlefield.
“A battalion can be ready in two weeks. That would be five hundred men, mostly local to Eyarfell. Many would be unseasoned, but they would be skilled. The people of this city have come to know your queen. They know Callamus stands with you. They will step up if they are asked.”
Andrian exhaled heavily. “Two weeks,” he repeated, holding the scarred Vigamor’s stare.
“Two weeks. If your queen wants Leuxrith’s aid before the end of the summer, then that is how long she will have to wait.”
Andrian opened the door to their rooms, expecting to find Mariah curled on the soft couch.
His brow instead furrowed at the empty room. He peeked into the bedroom and bathing chamber, also finding those empty.
It wasn’t until he noticed the cracked window leading to the ledge-like balcony that he realized where she was.
He slid the window open, stepping into the comfortable afternoon air. Mariah was tucked against the wall, legs curled in front of her, chin propped on her knees. Andrian wordlessly slid down beside her, brushing her shoulder with his.
She said nothing in greeting, but leaned into him, and it was all the acknowledgement he needed.
Something like conflict spilled across their bond. Conflict and confusion and frustration. A dangerous, swirling mix.
He didn’t ask her about it, though. He knew she’d tell him when she was ready. Given what she’d spent the day doing, he figured it had something to do with the rest of her Armature.
He hoped they were all okay. They were his brothers, too. Mariah had seen them more recently than he had, and gods, did they even know he’d escaped Khento? Or did they all think he was still trapped there in that corrupt castle with sins that bled from the very walls?
Mariah drew in a deep breath. Her eyes were tired, a heaviness lingering in her expression, even though the edges of her mouth tipped into a soft smile.
“How did the meeting go?” Her quiet question was so hopeful. A muscle ticked in his jaw and he turned away, fingers curling into a loose fist.
“That bad?”
Andrian glanced back at her. “Not bad,” he answered aloud. “But not exactly good, either.”
Mariah’s expression remained neutral, brow lifting expectantly. Andrian fidgeted, picking at a non-existent speck of dust on his pants.
“The Vigamor will help us,” he said.
“But?”
“But it will take months for them to raise their full force. They can try to muster a local battalion from those here in Eyarfell, but they need two weeks and it would consist mostly of green volunteers. Most of the seasoned fighters live outside the city, wanting their little slice of peace.”
Mariah faced the cliffside view, head leaning back on the stone wall.
Fuck, he hated this. She’d asked him to do this for her, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed.
He’d promised her an army and was instead giving her nothing more than a few half-hearted prayers. Against the might Kol was raising in the south, it was meaningless.
Shadows writhed in his chest, clawing up his throat, self-loathing rearing its head—
“Stop that,” she said quietly, gently. Her head tipped toward him, green eyes taking on a familiar hardness.
“You did all you could. The news from the Vigamor is not your fault—nor is it something I blame them for. I’m disappointed, but it's with myself for waiting so long. Not with you or anyone else.”
“You being in my head is exhausting.”
“Good, because you are exhausting.” The corners of Mariah’s mouth curled into a real smile, one that he still could never believe was meant for him.
Andrian draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her in closer to his body. She curled around him, nestling into his chest, and the weight below his heart lightened just a touch.
They still had no plan, no decision, but at least they had this. And for now, until the world decided to swoop in and destroy their delicate peace, it would have to be enough.
Which, it turned out, was right now.
The wall at their backs shuddered as the door to their apartments slammed open. Mariah jumped to her feet, Andrian right behind her, facing the open window to the room.
Andrian relaxed a fraction when he saw Matheo’s mussed brown hair, but the tension didn’t leave. Especially not as he took in the nervous line of the younger warrior’s body, the frantic gleam in his eyes, and the weather-worn scroll clutched in his hand.
“Matheo?” Mariah pushed through the window back into the apartment. “What’s wrong?”
Matheo swallowed, chest heaving, as if he’d sprinted all the way up the mountain. He handed the rolled scroll to Mariah, bouncing from foot to foot.
Mariah scanned the words, spine straightening. From the bond came fear, panic, anger.
The anger was the strongest.
“What is it, nio?”
She lifted her gaze first to Matheo, then slowly turned to Andrian.
Her expression was enough to tell him that their time had run out.
“It’s from the Leuxrithian spies in Onita. Kol made his first move. Andburgh has been burned to the ground, and Verith is next.”