Chapter 24 #2
A chill coursed through me. I thought I saw Renn shiver, but perhaps that was my own trembling. Soft but firm, Renn said, “I thought he was across the strait.”
The spy shook her head. “The increase in soldiers, the regular watches, the food being brought in . . . I think he’s in Rove. He’s not stupid enough to parade through the streets. He isn’t accepted by the people, not yet.”
“Not ever,” I muttered, and General Cuplend harrumphed his approval.
Commander Stonelay turned to Renn. “Derren?”
Folding his arms, Renn answered, “I never saw him. I looked, but I never saw him.”
“We didn’t, either,” Commander Hawksend added.
“It changes nothing.” Commander Stonelay planted his hands on the map and leaned into the barrel.
“It changes everything,” General Cuplend retorted, moving away from the tent’s entrance. “Rove Castle is heavily fortified. He may be waiting for us.”
“Or he intends to move on with his plans regardless of who tries to prevent them,” I inserted softly, wringing my hands. “Adoel Nicosia is a prideful man. Powerful, but prideful. He believes this is his divine right. He believes himself the son of Zia.”
The spy snorted. “That cur’s mother was a whore in Rodsfell, from what we’ve found. He’d be nowhere if his uncle hadn’t died on the throne. Poisoned. Terribly curious, isn’t it?”
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath.
“Regardless, we’re to be his worshippers.
Perhaps he believes he’ll transcend with enough collective faith.
I don’t know. But . . .” I looked at Renn and tried to dampen the fear taking root behind my navel.
“Renn is the greatest threat to that legacy. And Nicosia is the greatest threat to Renn.”
We all considered this. The tent grew quiet enough for us to hear the sounds of the wood around us and of the resting soldiers nearby.
“I agree with both of you.” Renn gestured to Commander Stonelay and General Cuplend in turn. “It changes nothing, and everything. It doesn’t change our plans to infiltrate. It does change the course of this war. If Nicosia falls, so will the rest of them.”
“So might you,” General Cuplend protested.
“I don’t intend to.” Renn lifted his eyes to me at the statement, as though to reassure me.
The plan was straightforward and would need to be enacted as soon as we received word from the other companies.
The element of surprise was to be guaranteed at all costs.
Companies two, three, and six would attack the wall two hours before dawn to use the darkness and take advantage of the oncoming light.
They’d then make a western assault on the castle, with the other companies following suit to refresh the troops.
Meanwhile, a platoon led by Renn would use the distraction to get into the castle via the very tunnel we’d used to escape it.
While yes, Renn could easily just fly over the wall, the sooner we got men inside the keep, the sooner it would fall.
And if King Nicosia was inside the keep, we’d take every possible advantage against him.
Renn turned from the group and coughed, the effort strangled as he tried to hide it from the others. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, but if any blood passed his lips, I did not see it; he disposed of the cloth as easily as a magician.
The moment he turned back, General Cuplend said, “The queen will go with you.”
I nearly retorted, The queen is dead, before I realized he referred to me.
My heart skipped a beat.
“Absolutely not.” Renn’s expression remained collected, but fire blazed between us.
In a softer tone, Commander Stonelay added, “Your Majesty, you are necessary for Cansere to survive. You must take a healer with you. She understands your lumis. She is the obvious choice.”
“I don’t have time to train someone else,” I offered, my nerves dancing like bees in a brood box.
There was so much to take in—Rove, Nicosia, battles, war.
And yet the need to protect Renn surpassed all the rest. However new this was to me, however dangerous, if I had the opportunity to keep Renn’s heart beating, I would take it.
Renn rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I remember what happened the last time I left you behind.” Lowering his hand, his deep-sky eyes met mine. His fear braided through our bond. “I won’t do that again.”
Heat bloomed behind my eyes.
“However”—hardness leaked through his mask—“she will be armed and armored, and remain in the rear.”
Commander Hawksend rolled his eyes. “She can’t carry plate nor a sword—”
But General Cuplend retorted, “We’ll find something to suit her.”
I swallowed. Tried to keep my own mask in place. Tried to be strong for the others. “Whatever it takes. I’ll do it.”
For all the sorrow flowing from Renn through our connected hearts, he did a remarkable job of keeping it from his face.
Commander Hawksend looked ready to say something, but the sound of heavy boots running toward the tent caught his attention, mine, and the rest of the group’s. General Cuplend bent his knees and put his hand on his sword; the spy pulled a dagger from her belt.
The flap to the tent whipped open, a boy in military uniform spilling inside, red-faced and sweating. A messenger. I feared the worst; apprehension from Renn flooded the link, and his skin started to glow.
“Your Majesty!” he announced. “Riders coming from the north!”
My gut sank.
But then the messenger smiled. “It’s Potsburn and Liftwell, Sire!”
Before I could place the names, Renn’s hope burned through me. “How far out?”
“You’ll see them if you come. Come! I mean, if it suits you, Your Majesty.”
Renn practically dove over the barrel to follow the messenger. It was then that I connected the names.
A dimly lit storage room. Whitestone crumpled before us.
I’d drawn an unfinished cursive Z in the muck on the wall, two dots on either side of its tail.
Potsburn and Liftwell were the spies sent to Sesta to track down Winvrin’s sisterhood, the Unfallen of Zia.
If they had returned, then they’d either hit a dead end or uncovered something useful. I prayed for the latter.
I chased after Renn and the messenger, but Renn was so fast, he was already out of sight.
Didn’t fly; he wouldn’t risk drawing attention that way.
But by the exuberance that overwhelmed our connection not half an hour later, I knew the spies had been successful.
Renn had promised Antsan the Sestan throne and foodstuff from Cansere; now, should we win, he could secure both.
Sure enough, the men brought proof that Renn was the rightful heir to the Sestan throne.
All that was left was the perilous task of claiming it.
The other companies moved into place with little trouble.
Not wanting to lose our advantage, we marched toward Rove, as close as we dared without being seen.
Renn’s platoon—roughly twenty-five soldiers—split off early on, and as the companies moved forward to launch their attack, I found myself in a cold camp nestled in a dark glade of trees, Renn lacing up hard leather armor over my shift.
It didn’t fit perfectly; there was no time to cut and shape armor to fit a woman, let alone fit to my measurements.
The brigandine laced up in the back and crushed my breasts, not quite to the point of pain.
It had a flat metal plate over my heart and two overlapping metal strips across my gut.
Beneath my shift we’d already strapped matching greaves to my shins and mismatching cuisses to my thighs.
Renn’s concern simmered in our bond. He sought distraction in detailing everything ahead of us, what we might and might not face, sometimes more than once. I distracted myself by holding on to his every syllable.
“Do not let the soldiers out of your sight. You need to have one within line of sight at all times. Hug the inside wall when we turn in corridors. Keep your chin close; your neck is more delicate than your skull. There may be times of waiting—long times. Try to utilize your knees when you crouch so the blood doesn’t pool in your legs.
If we need to move quickly, you’ll get dizzy when you stand. ”
He stepped away and coughed into the darkness, muffling it with his elbow. I saw the scars in his lumis behind my eyelids. However much they were a part of him, however much he accepted them, I couldn’t help but feel their marks were a failing of my own.
Without Ursa, I’d never mend them, if such a thing were even possible.
He returned to me, tugging the strings of the brigandine like it were a corset before tying them over my tailbone. “You might want to put the basalt wall up again.”
I shook my head. “There’s no point to it. If we’re infiltrating together, marching together, fighting together, wouldn’t it be better to know what you’re feeling, what you’re doing?”
He picked up my dress, grimacing, and helped me get it over my head. “Not when you’re distracted by my . . . feelings.”
I shoved my arms through my sleeves before grabbing his forearms. “I already know you hate it. I hate it, too.”
Fear flicked within him. Sorrow. His movements remained entirely stoic. “Put up the wall, Nym.”
“That mask won’t work with me, Renn.”
His brow twitched. He sighed. “This is foolish. If we both die, who will lead Cansere? You shouldn’t come.”
“Foolish!” I exclaimed, but kept my voice low. “What does it matter, Renn? I feel everything you feel. You suffer what I suffer. We both die if only one of us dies. Better we do it together than apart.”
Guilt dug in its thorns between us. I held on to frustration like it was a life raft.
“None of that.” I shoved my finger into his breastplate. “We have all made sacrifices in this war. Accept mine.”
“I do.”
“Then. Stop. It.” I poked his breastplate with each word.
My irritation reflected in him. “I can’t just turn it off.”
“Try.” My eyes watered suddenly, and I blinked rapidly to dry them. Touched the straps of his breastplate as though they needed adjusting, which they didn’t.
“Nym.” My name sounded like a plea.
“If the gods want you to be victorious, you’ll be victorious. Isn’t that how it works?” I sniffed, cleared my throat, and squared my shoulders. Unless Nicosia has been right all along and they’re on his side, but I stuffed the worry away.
I met his eyes, challenging him for . . . I wasn’t even sure. Challenging myself, perhaps. A desperate grasp for proof that I was strong enough to do this. That on top of a sister, mother, healer, and wife, I could be a soldier, too. That I could succeed and not be a regret for him.
He stared at me, eyes midnight blue in the dark, reading me like a book. Touched his gloved hand to the side of my face.
Hands against his breastplate, I stood on my toes to reach him.
To press my mouth to his, to absorb the lightning and embers of his touch.
I learned him like this was our first time, carefully measuring his lips, tracing their seam, tasting his heat.
He pulled me as close as our combating armor would allow, kissing me like it would be our last. As though we might both die in the upcoming hours, because we could.
I dowsed as he tilted his mouth over mine, devouring me.
Peered through the beauty of his lumis, the colorful globes in a dozen sizes strung together like some fairy chandelier, searching for breaks, cracks, and scratches, soothing even the smallest of them.
I ran my hands over the scars of the largest bauble, willing magic into them, begging them to smooth, but they resisted my administrations.
We are healed, it seemed to say. Your efforts are futile.
If Renn detected my clandestine craftlock, he said nothing of it when we finally parted.
Two hours before dawn, the army attacked Rove’s wall, battering down its gates.
We lay in wait until they broke through, and snuck through the city to the castle’s tunnel.