Chapter 32
Theo
Mortimer lumbered past me, his face sullen as his men trailed after him. He didn’t notice me, and I called out to him.
It had been raining these past few days, a torrential downpour that hadn’t let up until only last night. It was drizzling now, and the humid air created a dense fog that surrounded the camp.
The tiny droplets hit Mortimer’s face as he turned and looked down at me.
His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, made my chest tighten.
Ogres felt so much, so much more than we did.
We didn’t deserve them. They were pure, kind-hearted, insecure beyond reason, but too good for this world.
I could tell he needed to be with his clan, to prepare for the battle tomorrow, so I merely nodded, raising the cup I held up to him.
Mortimer didn’t say anything, the moss covering his body a bright crisp green. The deerskin skirt he wore, damp and tattered as it hung low on his waist. I thought he was about to turn away when a screeching sob left his lips, and his head fell into his large, callused hands.
I ran forward, patting his mossy calf, trying to comfort him, but my words were swallowed by his wails, and the others that had been following him started doing the same, if not louder.
Shit.
“Mortimer, please. Let’s get you some ale, it will help,” I shouted, and by some miracle he heard me.
Mortimer peeked his large eye out from his massive fingers, his booming wails cutting off as he sniffled, wiping away his tears.
The others, however, had less control and continued to sob loudly as I led them to the outskirts of the camp where I had large tankards filled for them.
I planned to sit with him for a while, but he only thanked me and led the group with him toward the forest. They had their own camp, and it was the ogres' tradition to grieve the night before any battle, to have one last memory together as a whole, in preparation for the deaths that would follow the next day.
I watched as they entered the forest, the dense foliage swallowing them as they disappeared from view.
My gaze shot skyward as a massive black cloud on the horizon caught my eye.
It was moving right for us, and I squinted, my stomach churning, my hand going to my waist, when my vision focused and I relaxed.
A large group of pixies were coming from the south, their small iridescent wings glittering in the waning light as they drew closer. Small daggers were strapped to their sides. Their silken black leathers shimmered against their blue skin. Determined, fierce expressions painted on their faces.
The treeline shook as hundreds of tiny heads popped up in the surrounding trees, having heard their approach.
Some took flight to greet their approaching friends, while others ducked back into the trees.
I smiled faintly at them. They would cause more chaos than anyone tomorrow.
They might be tiny, but they were fierce, and they always had a good trick up their sleeve.
Making my way back through the camp, I watched the men and women around me as they huddled together around fires. There was no laughter, only haunting murmurs, like prayers on the wind. An occasional chuckle here or there, but it was mostly solemn.
Like the ogres, they too would spend one last night with their families, their friends, and at dawn try not to greet death too soon. I only prayed they would have another night with those they loved.
“Theo.”
My body stiffened as Dedra’s voice came from a tent to my right.
I slowly turned to meet her, my gaze locking on her large almond eyes, the ones that matched my own.
She was scared, I could sense it, feel it through whatever familial bond ran between us.
We had always been able to do that. Know what the other was truly feeling. Like a second sense.
“What’s wrong?”
“I—” she said, pausing, her hands wringing in front of her. She was wearing a blue tunic, her hair undone and falling over her shoulders. Her thick boots sank in the mud at her feet. “Can we talk?”
I turned fully to face her, my arms folded over my chest, a deep sigh leaving my lips. “You can always talk to me, Dedra.”
She looked down at her feet and nodded slowly. I closed the distance between us, my hands grabbing onto her shoulders as she sucked in a shaky breath, forcing her gaze back to mine.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, and without hesitation, I pulled her into a hug.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dedra. It was Flynn. I understand. And I am so sorry for the way you found out. If I could have been there, you know I would have. I was too far away. And I had orders and—”
Dedra cut me off. “I know… I mean I know that now. And I know I overreacted.” She pushed out of my arms, wiping her face with the back of her hands. “I just couldn’t control it. I felt so alone, still feel so alone,” she admitted, and I tilted my head at her.
“You are never alone, Dedra. I will always be here, always. Same with the others.”
She nodded and tried to smile at me.
“Just maybe don’t try to fry our friends next time? Hmm?” I said, smirking, giving her a playful wink. Dedra choked on a small laugh. “Made for a good show though, if your plan was to distract everyone from all the death with more death, then—ow!” I chuckled as she punched me hard in the arm.
“Asshole.”
I feigned being hurt, and that seemed to make her smile grow further. I threw my arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let's go find the rest of our friends. You can feel sorry for yourself later.”
We found everyone, well, almost everyone, already in Xavier’s tent.
Jaxon still hadn’t arrived, and I could tell Xavier was getting worried.
We were all seated in chairs that we had dragged in from wherever we could find. Randy and Julian sat near the fire at the center, and I smirked at Randy’s hand on the back of Julian’s chair. He really was so protective of him, and it made my chest hurt.
Aria was near the tent's entrance, picking at her nails while Dedra hugged her legs to her chest next to her, staring at the fire.
“Soren had given him private instructions, remember? He said we couldn’t know or it would ruin… something or another,” Julian said, waving his non-injured hand in the air. “Jaxon will be fine. He always is.”
Xavier only grunted where he lay on his cot at the far corner of the tent.
“Can we truly trust Soren?” Gunnar asked, who was, of course, reading through a book at the desk. His eyes cut to Xavier, however, with the question, and Xavier grumbled.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Gunnar seemed to chew on his next words, but must have thought them unnecessary as he went back to his reading.
“A twist in fate indeed,” Julian drawled, and Randy snickered next to him. Xavier sighed heavily before sitting up and running his hand through his hair.
I stood, and everyone’s heads turned in my direction. Julian frowned at me, but I grinned, holding up a finger as I ducked out of the tent. Where was it? Ah, there it is.
I bent down and picked up the case of booze I had instructed a soldier to drop off earlier and carried it into the tent. Everyone watched as I placed it down onto the desk in front of Gunnar and pried open the top.
Gunnar's lips spread into a wide grin as he slammed the book he had been reading shut. I picked up a bottle of pulp wine from the container and turned to the others.
“I think we should drink.”
*
Stumbling out of Xavier’s tent hours later, I squinted through the camp, trying to remember which way my tent was. Thick fog still lingered, and there was only the light of the dwindling fires lighting my way.
Blinking, I decided to go right. That seemed like the right decision.
Stumbling again, I made it down a row of tents and turned, I think.
Wait, where was I going again? I snorted, spinning as I tried to focus my vision.
I knew this camp backwards and upwards, I just had to figure out where I was… ah, right, this way.
My foot snagged on a tent stake, sending me tumbling face-first into the mud.
Ow. Fucking fates—who put that there?
I groaned, rolling onto my back, seeing nothing but imaginary stars as my darkened vision blurred further. My nose throbbed, and something wet coated my face.
I reached up, gently placing a finger on the bridge of my nose and—fuck that hurt.
Yep, definitely broken. Breathing out sharply a few times, I grasped it—crack—setting it before it healed crooked.
Chuckling, I rolled onto my elbows and got to my feet, glaring at the tent stake and backing up a few steps before turning and—Wait. What was I doing?
A garbling noise sounded from my stomach and an image formed in my head. Thinly sliced bread, smoked meat, melted cheese. My mouth watered and my stomach growled again as I tried to make out where I was and the best route back to my tent. Back to the sandwiches I had hidden under my cot.
Ah—yes this way. I turned back around and I was falling again.
Who keeps putting these stakes here?!
This time I managed to catch myself before I broke my nose a second time and an angry voice sounded from within. I muffled a laugh, the tent flap ripping open as I got on all fours.
“What is going on out here?! I'm trying—” The voice cut off, and I laughed further as Cynthia’s wild red hair came into focus. “Theo?”
“Theondrus, remember,” I said, smirking, pushing up so that I was now kneeling before her in the mud, the cold wet of it making me shiver.
“Are you drunk?”
I squinted up at the beautiful creature now towering above me.
Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, her breasts pushing against a tight white tunic that fell to just above her knee.
My back straightened, and my gaze snagged on the smooth, pale skin of her legs.
She was wearing nothing but that tunic. Only unlaced boots on her feet.