CHAPTER 41
TRAITORS IN THEIR MIDST
Menslach Bay stretches eight miles along Vallenna’s western shore. Full coastal defence requires a minimum of forty warships.
– Strategic Assessment, Admiral Dray of the Seventh Sail, Navyrian fleet
The two days vanished before Kara could draw breath.
One moment she was sparring with Sebastian, safe under Fatàn’s shield; the next, she was saddling up her valmare for the first time in nearly a month.
With one difference – she now had a blade strapped to her hip.
Dread sat heavy in her, unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
Not just that they were riding to face Draknor – though that alone was terrifying enough – but that they were about to stand before those who had, only weeks ago, voted for her death.
Who would be waiting for them on the field? Allies... or enemies?
The others bustled around her, Fatàn banners of amethyst and silver flying above them in the early morning wind.
Veyra had summoned all her villages and towns to her, and they’d answered.
Her people formed ranks behind them, clad in riding leathers, ruby shield magic glimmering over their palms. The whole realm was stirring – everyone readying themselves, knowing that many wouldn’t return home.
Kara found herself staring at Sebastian more often than not.
Watching the confident way he moved, the cadence of his voice, his too-long dark hair, his blue eyes that softened just for her. Trying to memorise every part of him.
Just in case.
She watched as he tightened the straps of his own valmare’s saddle, a thread of crimson sparking across his hands.
The satchel holding the Arcanth was slung across his body, but he’d added a shield of his own around it, glimmering ruby and gold.
She suddenly had the urge to take his hand, to run and never look back.
The Southern Isles. Further even. She wouldn’t do it, but she wanted to. Gods, she did.
I won’t lose him.
Her mind, her heart, her very soul ached with the singular thought. Her hand went briefly to her chest, to the golden bond that lived constantly between them. It answered, steady and strong, Sebastian’s reassurance pulsing back inside her without him needing to speak.
“You ready?” he asked quietly, appearing at her side as though she had pulled him there.
No. I will never be ready for this.
But she nodded anyway.
“I’ll be right beside you,” he promised, helping her adjust the strap of her bridle. His hand lingered on hers before he stepped back. “Always.”
She reached up on her toes and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you.”
He stroked her cheek once. “I love you too.”
That was it. He helped her into the saddle before mounting his own valmare.
Veyra gave the signal, and they set off at a trot.
The column of riders behind them began to move.
Volcanic dust kicked up underneath the hooves of hundreds of valmares as Fatàn’s shieldweavers fell into formation.
A ruby arc shimmered overhead, surrounding them.
Veyra had ordered that they would take no risks – they would travel under a shield.
They had the Arcanth, after all, and there were those in Vallenna that would still happily see both her and Sebastian dead.
Kara forced herself to breathe. She straightened in the saddle, gaze forward.
Each hoof beat brought them closer to the battlefield.
Closer to Draknor.
Closer to those who had wanted to see her burn. Some who still might.
They were careful to keep to the east of the Hale border as they travelled south towards the battlefield.
Kara didn’t want to incur her father’s wrath, or worse, risk him pulling the support of healers at the last moment.
The thought haunted her with every mile.
To be so close to her home, the fields of her childhood only a few hours’ ride away, and yet know that she was no longer welcome there, was hard to swallow. Home was not hers anymore.
It was slower progress to ride with a battalion of valmares than it was just her and Sebastian.
He’d accounted for this of course, and they made their approach in the late afternoon of the third day.
To their left, the Caldris mountains loomed – sheer, jagged peaks dusted in snow, cold wind sweeping down – their heights covering the ground below in shadows.
To their right stretched the vast Hale forests, green and endless.
And before them, stretching down to the Valdrak sea to the west, lay the field where the battle would be fought.
It was vast. A large plain of wind-brushed grass which sloped down towards a sand beach on the shore where waves thundered angrily, endlessly.
Menslach Bay.
Kara had come here as a child with her mother in the summer months.
It had been beautiful. Peaceful. Kara barely recognised it now.
Banners of Vallenna’s Houses already marked the ground in defiance: Thorne crimson, Sorrel yellow, Durent amber, Lyran purple, Caldris white and Hale emerald.
Beyond the shore, the water was littered with the hulls of Navyrian ships, its deep blue banners with their bronze compasses visible even from this distance.
Encampments sprawled like small cities, soldiers training in clusters, Sorrel bowmen taking aim at targets.
Hale healers were setting up supply tents, Durent builders were erecting barricades and Caldris and Lyran magic wielders practised together whilst Thorne blacksmiths hammered steel into readiness.
Here, between mountain and forest, was where the realm would stand. The line they would hold – or fall upon – when Draknor came.
Kara’s heart did an unpleasant leap. This was no Council chamber, no Arcalon trial, no sparring circle beneath Fatàn’s shield.
This was war.
As they began their descent, a single rider broke from the encampment below, his crimson cloak snapping in the sea-wind.
Tobias Thorne rode towards them, face set, shoulders sure.
When he reached them, he reined in hard, looking first at Sebastian, then at Kara.
“A messenger told me they’d seen you on the ridge,” he called over to them. “Ride into camp with me.”
He leaned across from the saddle, the shield flickering to admit him, and caught his son’s forearm in a soldier’s grip, firm and unyielding. His eyes held acknowledgment, pride and worry all at once.
“It’s good to see you, my boy,” he said gruffly.
Kara felt Sebastian’s rush of gratitude, though he said nothing, just nodded stoically. Kara spoke first, voicing the concern that had been weighing upon her the whole ride.
“Are we welcome here, my lord? Is it safe?”
Tobias’s expression was the careful mask she’d seen Sebastian wear, but his voice carried the weight of command as he rode beside them.
“The message went out the moment the scout’s thoughts were pried from him,” he said.
“To every banner, every citizen of Vallenna. The Arcanth has chosen you – both of you – to stand against Draknor. The Council declared it. You are no traitors now.”
Declared. Just like that?
Tobias’s mouth tightened. “Some have accepted it. Others... have not. You’ll hear whispers. Feel the stares. This camp will not be easy ground to tread.” His steel gaze moved to Sebastian. “But stand firm. Do what you came here to do. That will speak louder than any decree.”
As they rode further into the camp, the High Council tent loomed at the centre, larger than the others, draped in the banners of the eight Houses.
The heart of Vallenna, and the heart of its judgement.
Kara’s pulse raced at the sight, her breath coming hard and fast. The whispers surrounded them within seconds.
“The traitors–”
“No, the Arcanth called to them–”
“Thank the Four, they came–”
“–going to save us all–”
“They walk free–”
“–killed our people–”
Everywhere she looked, drills slowed and voices hushed.
Some spat at the dirt as they passed or turned their backs; others lowered their eyes, a few even dropping to their knees, muttering prayers.
Some stared, wide-eyed, like they were either witnessing prophecy or heresy and couldn’t decide which.
Heat crept up her neck. Sebastian only stared steadfastly ahead, focused on the Council tent, hands gripping so tightly to the reins that his knuckles had turned white.
Kara was sure that only the presence of the Fatàn riders behind them had kept the whispers from boiling into shouts.
It was worse still when they passed a group of healers gathering supplies.
One by one they’d all turned their backs to her.
“Murderer.” A single male voice came from the cluster of green cloaks.
Sebastian’s hand went to his sword. Kara leant across and caught his wrist. “Don’t,” she warned, her voice shaking. “He’s not wrong.”
Tobias’s voice was low. “This is what I meant. Keep moving.”
When they reached the tent they both swung down from their valmares.
Kaelen and Serena Fatàn dismounted with them, stepping forward in silent unison, hands moving through the air.
The dark ruby dome that had covered their ranks the whole journey now snapped towards them, enclosing around her and Sebastian. A personal shield.
They feared what one arrow could do.
So did she.
Nausea rolled through her as she followed Tobias on foot, Kaelen and Serena close behind. Her body went cold. Numb. She grabbed Sebastian’s hand desperately.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the fire.
But it was all she could think of. Her head was beginning to spin. She reached out to Sebastian through the bond, her panic bleeding out.
“I’m here,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “No one will touch you.”
“Come,” Tobias said. “We were discussing strategy when you arrived. We need you.”