Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dawn cracks across the heavens with gashes of gold and crimson.
Undulating clouds of steel and vermillion stretch gauzy and exhausted from east to west as the carriage rattles over the busy cobbled streets.
Brisk morning air seeps through the carriage windows and plants cold kisses against my bare cheeks.
Blood pools to the surface and tussles with my curling breath as it escapes my lips.
My fingers are wrapped around a big traveller’s mug of coffee, and I’m chugging like my life depends on it.
When I get to the square in front of the High Chamber, I’m going to need all the strength this coffee can give me. Idris is definitely about to argue with me, because he doesn’t want me at the battle with the troops. But I will not back down.
I’m not an idiot. I know I have no training with a blade.
On the battlefield itself I’d be a complete liability.
I have absolutely no plan to enter the fray.
But as the Maestrus I am asking people to fight and die, and the least I can do is be amongst the supply lines and strategy tables to show confidence.
Even if it’s simply washing dishes or fetching bandages for the healers or holding the hands of the injured – I can be of some use.
Nouis’s diplomats left Halice immediately, saying nothing at all as the guard handed over the meagre essentials it would take to get back to Nouis and report our answer.
Legally, we are bound to provide those resources for their return journey as part of their diplomatic mission; not doing so would’ve been an exceptionally poor show on the international stage.
Exactly when we need our reputation the most.
The diplomat had many hours’ head start, and I’m sure the progress of the army on foot will be slower than they can ride. They certainly seemed eager to leave the city behind.
May they never return.
The carriage rattles to a stop. The chill spits and hisses under my palms. My teeth grind as sandpaper lines my throat and starts to grate.
Idris is already here. Excellent.
I blow out a sharp breath as I steady my mind and chug the last of my coffee.
I set it on the seat behind me and push open the door, then walking down into the bustling square.
Horses are everywhere, held by their grooms. Soldiers proudly wear the Halician colours and armour glint with the amber light of dawn.
I spy Savino barking orders to a group of soldiers by his side, showing movements on a map.
He’s kitted out in loose chainmail with leather gloves, a sword at his side, and his helmet visor pulled away from his face.
I look down at my own attire. Fate’s Fury, I hope it’ll do.
I went for durable black boots that lace up to the knee, paired with dark trousers designed for serious hiking and travelling.
Over a simple, light cream shirt I wear a travelling jacket, the forest-green colour clashing with the skies this morning, the tails falling just over my rear.
I clear my throat and look around for the source of the sparks fizzing in my fingertips and setting my teeth on edge.
My eyes dart around the busy group as some start to mount their steeds and walk away.
Tahira is surrounded by her advisors as she briefs them on the imminent departure.
She spots me, nodding my way in recognition but not pausing in her conversation or work. Not that I blame her.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My nails turn to molten steel. My throat turns raw and aching, my eyes itching. A gaze with the full power of the sun burns into the side of my face, and on instinct I snap around to the powerful sensation.
Idris is wearing his travelling gear. A rich blue jacket made of thick, durable fabric with brown leather pads along his outer arms for better protection.
A knife is strapped to each cuff over his forearms, a dagger on one hip and his sword on the other.
Fate have mercy, I’d forgotten how … daring it makes him look.
The adventurer, the traveller … the man he was before our clash on the Grand Temple steps altered my life forever.
Idris weaves his way towards me. He’s entirely unamused but there’s not a hint of surprise in his face. He must’ve known I’d be here.
“Before you start”—I hold up a finger and jab it at him—“I can’t ask these men to risk their lives then cower behind the walls of the city.
I’m not suggesting I go into battle, or anything so ridiculous, but I will be there for the morale of the troops, for the strategy sessions, and to help where I can. ”
Idris grinds his teeth, looking like he wants nothing more than to throw me over his shoulder, lock me in his house and never let me leave.
He lets out a sharp, unhappy breath but takes the wrist connected to the finger currently pointed aggressively at him.
He turns and starts walking, pulling me with him through the crowd.
His hand crackles and sears against my wrist, tendrils of fire crawling up my arm.
“Hey, hey!” I argue as he pulls me through the teaming crowd towards a familiar group of faces.
Michelle is holding the reins of a beautiful grey mare. Emilia sits next to Alfieri near a small group of horses. Serra kneels in the unusually dirty square, checking through her bag of equipment.
“Morning!” calls Emilia brightly, giving a wave.
“You’re coming?” I sputter.
“We’re more useful than you,” answers a groggy Serra as she shoves her spare shirt into her bag. “I can fix the wagons and tents that fall apart.”
I turn to Emilia, about to argue, but she gets there first.
“I can assess structural challenges we might come across, like bridges, and there’s also the abandoned town of Semita to consider,” Emilia says warmly as a clearly anxious Alfieri takes her hand and shuffles an inch closer. Blinking, I turn expectantly to Michelle.
“War artist,” she answers. “Someone has to go, so I volunteered.”
“Giulia?” I ask, horrified, realising my sister has spent the night at the artist’s place.
“Right here,” comes my sister’s voice brightly as she sweeps past. She hands Michelle a freshly filled flagon of water, the stopper in the other hand.
My sister looks, as per usual, perfect. A long blonde braid trails over the shoulder of her brown leather travelling jacket which she wears on top of a cream shirt and navy trousers.
She turns back to face me with a bright smile.
“You all planned this and didn’t tell me?” I scowl.
“Irritating, isn’t it?” Idris snipes at me. I glare at him.
“You can’t argue. You didn’t tell anyone you were coming either,” points out Giulia.
“Luckily we’re not stupid,” says Michelle.
“None of you are going near the battlefield,” I say immediately, which earns a round of almost offended agreement as though what I said was some kind of terrible accusation.
Idris’s expression dares me to argue, practically begging me to start this hypocritical confrontation. I can’t give him that satisfaction. Instead I force a smile to my lips and respond brightly.
“Great! Then we’re stronger for it. So which horse is mine?”
Idris rolls his eyes and gestures towards a speckled grey stallion.
“So you were expecting me,” I tease him under my breath. Idris scoffs and throws me a sideways look, his scalding fingers never leaving my wrist as we reach the horse.
“I know you,” Idris answers simply. “There’s no way you’d let this one go.”
“Honestly, I expected you to argue with me,” I answer.
“You’re the Maestrus,” Idris grinds out like the words hurt more than pulling teeth. “You’re my commander.”
I can’t wait to get rid of the pressure of being Maestrus. I dream of restoring the High Chamber to its true glory. But this one time, I’m loving the authority of being able to make this decision unilaterally without argument.
“If only you’d told me earlier,” I whisper teasingly, stepping closer a touch playfully.
I snap the thin thread of his control. Idris’s arm whips around my waist and hauls me against his muscled chest. He grabs my chin and tilts it up, forcing me to meet those scorching hazel eyes. Their intensity chars my bones and sets my blood on fire but they shine with sincerity.
“You don’t leave my side for a second,” he growls. “Understood?”
“I—”
“Not a single second,” he cuts me off, fire in his demand.
I swallow, the entirety of my body thrumming and shaking with the visceral, dark power of our Fated tether.
I manage the barest of nods. To be by his side means I know what’s happening to him.
I’ll know if he’s okay, I’ll know if he’s not.
We’ll meet this Fate together, to whatever end, side by side.
Both Idris’s hands come to the back of my head, tilting my face to meet the unrelenting, devouring passion of his lips.
I give him this desperate, furious victory, knowing he needs it.
Maybe I need it too. Fate’s Mercy, he sets me entirely alight.
Every nerve and sinew is smothered in grinding, searing fire as his tongue and lips conquer their way over mine.
A sharp whistle cracks across the air. I flinch and gasp against his burning lips, but Idris doesn’t seem bothered. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine, like dropping the fury of the sun against my brow.
“That’s the signal to leave,” he murmurs, leather-gloved fingers tangling a touch deeper in my low ponytail. I let my hands drift to where his jaw meets his neck.
“We’ll come back here. Together,” I promise him.
“Together,” he whispers, before prying his head back from mine and breaking our moment.
Around us people are mounting their horses and the clatter of a thousand hooves swallows the early morning.
Idris helps me onto my steed, his scalding hands lingering a moment on my thigh before he steps back.
I wait for him to mount his own horse, a glossy white stallion.
Then we march to war.
* * *