Chapter Sixty Thyra #2
He pulls away from me, striding to the door, opening it just as Juniper appears on the other side of it.
“Lord!” she exclaims.
“What’s wrong?” His voice remains low and quiet, not a hint of melody or alarm in it that might cause her to feel more fear than she clearly already does.
Her cheeks are pale and the tray of food she’s carrying clatters in her trembling hands. “Soldiers—”
“I hear them, Juniper. Give me the tray. Continue your duties. You have nothing to fear.”
I’m already at her side, reaching for the tray. Stellen made it clear to me that Lilis is the only soldier allowed past the palace gate, so that could explain why Juniper’s so rattled.
Her worried eyes flash across me before she hurries away.
Stellen’s voice remains low. “Thyra, we may need to leave quickly. Bring both satchels, as we don’t know what we’ll encounter.
Use the cloth napkins on the table to pack some bread.
You’ll find empty waterskins in the bottom of the satchel we brought from the temple. Fill the waterskins and be ready.”
I don’t question him. I’m conscious of the way he’s tilting his head, clearly hearing things that are informing his instructions.
As I hurry to wrap the bread and return the scrolls to the second satchel, I can’t help my feeling of regret. I didn’t study the maps yet. I thought I’d have more time. I promise myself, no matter what’s about to occur, I’ll look over them soon.
Seconds later, two soldiers appear in the hallway. They are the two with whom Lilis most closely associates.
The air around Stellen turns instantly icy and his countenance becomes stern.
Both men give deep bows. Despite their rushed approach, neither seems willing to explain themselves.
“Speak.” Stellen’s command comes at a whisper but snaps through the air like a whip.
Both men flinch.
“Lord,” one of them says, “the Iron Fae are mobilizing at the border. It appears they’re preparing to attack.”
“Where’s Lilis?” Stellen asks.
“Still in the north.”
I listen carefully, trying to hear as much as I can as I head to the bathing room to fill the waterskins.
“How many towers are threatened so far?” Stellen asks.
“Three,” one of the men replies. “All directly south of the city.”
The other man adds, “If the Iron Fae break through, they could surge north before snowstorms hit tonight.”
Stellen doesn’t miss a beat, addressing one man and then the other. “You, take two legions south to reinforce the towers. You, position three legions outside the city’s southern wall. I’ll ride to the towers immediately.”
“Yes, Lord.” With deep bows, the men hurry away.
Slipping on my boots, I return to Stellen’s side, both satchels in hand, only to find him paused again, head tilted.
I strain to hear what he’s listening to. The two soldiers aren’t talking among themselves, their quick footfalls rapidly fading into a heavy silence, so whatever Stellen’s picking up, it must be very far away.
When he turns to me, his lips are set in a stern line. “Hadrian is making moves, but his spies are confused.”
My eyes widen. “You can hear them?”
“They’re close to the inner wall.”
“But the second circle is for your soldiers—Oh. He has spies in your army?”
Stellen gives me a wry smile. “They’re Frost Fae, not Iron Fae. I pay my soldiers well, but Hadrian managed to turn some of my people by paying them more. I could have had them killed before now, but their whispers are useful to me. Right now, they don’t seem to know what’s going on.”
A furrow forms in my brow. “Hadrian has only been king for a week. How did he turn anyone so quickly?”
“He didn’t. Not quickly. He’s been putting pieces into place for years. I thought he was doing it at Antony’s behest, but clearly not.”
Years. Just as Hadrian knew years ago who and where I was.
“Thyra? What is it?” Stellen’s question breaks through my thoughts.
My hand has risen to my right rib, where Hadrian cut me, and it’s clear Stellen hasn’t missed my reflexive move.
He’s seen both of my scars multiple times: the burn across my right shoulder and the one across my right rib. He hasn’t commented on either, which hasn’t really surprised me.
He treats trauma with care.
Still, I whisper, “You haven’t asked.”
“Will I want to kill someone?”
I search his eyes, knowing the answer more clearly today than I would have yesterday. “Yes.”
His lips rise in a chilling smile. “Then tell me.”
“Hadrian.”
It’s clear he wasn’t expecting this. “When?”
“Five years ago.”
In the interaction I had with Hadrian within the Vividari temple, he never told me how he knew who I was. While the three kings had been searching for me, Hadrian somehow discovered my location and never said a word to Antony.
My explanation to Stellen comes in short bursts.
“I didn’t know who he was at the time. Somehow, he found me.
He cut me with a blade dipped in iron dust. He didn’t tell Antony.
I only met Hadrian on my final night in the Iron Kingdom; he stayed out of my way until then, so I didn’t identify him earlier. ”
It’s a disjointed account, but Stellen appears to follow with precision.
“Stanimir,” he says, his voice icy cold. “It has to have been Stanimir.”
“Who?” And why does that name sound familiar?
Stellen speaks more carefully now, his fingertips brushing my neck in soothing strokes. “Stanimir was the assassin who killed your father. If Stanimir knew your father was an Oracle, and Hadrian also knew, then it’s likely Hadrian and Stanimir crossed paths with each other at some point.”
“I remember Stanimir now,” I whisper. “He was a newcomer to the coastal village. He had a mark on the left side of his face and an accent I’d never heard before.”
“That’s him.”
“He also had a wife and daughter… He needed a job. He asked my father if he could work at the carpentry.”
“His wife died on the day I came for you. I returned his daughter to him and let him go before I realized he was involved in your father’s death.”
I close my eyes. I need more time to process this, to fit these new pieces into the larger puzzle around me, but time is not a luxury I have.
“My father didn’t foresee his death,” I say. “He also didn’t foresee this.” I jab at my rib. “Whatever Hadrian’s plans are, we have to be careful.”
Stellen pulls me close. “I promise you, Thyra, if I meet Hadrian, I will make him suffer.”
The ferocity in Stellen’s voice sends a shiver to my toes. His words carry a hum that reminds me, fleetingly, of the moment when he’d pinned my escaping soul to my broken body, forcing me to live long enough that he could get me to the Alak-Teah.
The corners of his mouth turn sharply down as he continues, “Hadrian will experience more pain than he could ever imagine.”
The ice in Stellen’s pale eyes and the chill in his voice tell me he isn’t posturing. His promise doesn’t come from grandiose bravado.
If he has the chance, he will deliver unspeakable pain. Without hesitation.
It should make me feel safe.
But somehow, tendrils of apprehension curl in my stomach, compounded by apprehension about the battle we’re about to ride into.