Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ALENA
The rain had softened to a drizzle, droplets slipping from the tangled branches above and pattering gently against the soaked earth.
The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves.
Ahead, the village was little more than a blur of firelight and thin trails of smoke smeared against the grey mist creeping down from the hills.
“It’s a trap,” Theo announced, turning his hooded face towards them, his horse tossing its head against the rain. “Definitely a trap.”
Leukos’ shoulders stiffened beneath his thick cloak, rain dripping from its edges. “It makes no sense. We’re allies.”
Danaos, sitting tall on his mount, didn’t look convinced. “And yet Volcos asked us to meet in this gloomy shithole and not at the Falcons’ hillfort.”
He had a point. The twins had used their Gift to transport them from the rebel camp straight to a hillfort near the Rodanos River—in the Falcons Tribe’s territory—where Volcos and his army had supposedly gathered.
But instead of a warm welcome, they’d been met with suspicion and orders from Volcos to ride west, to a desolate village far from prying eyes.
Without any explanation.
Begrudgingly, they’d ridden all morning through relentless rain to reach the village.
A flimsy palisade encircled the cluster of huts, its sharpened stakes in dire need of replacement.
But faint torchlight flickered at the guarded gate, the first hint of warmth they’d seen all day.
The place looked miserable, soaked and half-forgotten, but even this uninviting shelter was better than lingering in the chilly rain.
“Maybe Volcos is afraid of spies lurking at the hillfort,” Despoina offered, though her hand stayed near the hilt of her sword. Her blonde hair, drenched from the steady downpour, clung to her forehead and cheeks, but she didn’t bother pulling her hood up.
Theo’s frown deepened. “Or maybe we’ve done something to upset him.”
Alena drew her cloak tighter around herself and urged her horse forward with a soft squeeze until she drew alongside Leukos. He turned at her approach, and beneath his hood, his gaze met hers, the hard lines of his face softening.
They had agreed to keep their bond secret until after they reached the Western Lands, uncertain how Volcos would greet them months after the Green Mountains’ hillfort battle and not wanting to distract the others in the meantime.
But Alena hadn’t anticipated the hollowness it would leave.
Ever since the waterfall, Leukos’ presence clung to her like a shadow.
Even when he was out of sight, she sensed him—a steady, reassuring thrum of energy threaded through her veins.
It was maddening. Their conversations had become clipped and hurried, stolen moments between war councils or while passing one another in the crowded camp.
The only true peace came during their rare, shared meals with Kaixo and Nik.
But even then, the unspoken yearning between them was impossible to ignore.
She missed the quiet strength of his body against hers, the warmth of his touch.
Every time she caught sight of him labouring with Pelagios and Nik—muscles straining beneath a simple tunic, sweat glinting on his skin as he raised timber and hoisted supplies—her chest tightened with longing.
It was a constant ache, the need to reach out and bridge the distance between them.
But war allowed no time for tenderness, and every day without him by her side felt like a slow, twisting knife.
When her thoughts weren’t tangled with Leukos, they circled back to Katell. There had been no word of her or Dalmatius, and the unanswered questions filled her with mounting dread.
Why would Dalmatius take her to Kisra? To meet the Emperor? Was she still their ally—or a prisoner?
They believed her to be Laran’s Chosen, so surely they wouldn’t harm her. But when it came to the Emperor, Alena wasn’t sure of anything. If Katell posed even the slightest threat to his plans, he wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of her—just as he had with her parents.
After days of waiting, they had finally received a summons from Volcos, but nothing was going as expected.
At least Kaixo was safe at the rebel camp with Nik and Elishat, far removed from the mess they were about to walk into. Alena had refused to leave him behind alone, and Nik had promised to stay with the boy, joining them only when it was safe.
She snapped out of her thoughts and leaned closer to Leukos. “If Alcaros is there, he’ll help us.”
Leukos lowered his hood, letting his frown speak for him. “I don’t like him.”
Alena fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You don’t like him because he’s untrustworthy… or because you were jealous?”
His silence was all the answer she needed, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Thought so.”
She urged her horse forward, her wolves slinking ahead. Apollo sniffed at the muddy path leading into the village, ears twitching as he caught the scent of something unfamiliar. Otxoa padded beside him, her keen gaze sweeping their surroundings.
“Alena,” Leukos growled from behind, his horse’s hooves splashing through the mud while the others followed her lead.
The rain pounded, soaking through their cloaks. The horses slogged forward towards the distant torchlights, the wooden palisade looming through the mist.
Danaos and Despoina had already ferried Pelagios and half the army to the Falcons’ hillfort, where the Western forces readied themselves for the inevitable Rasennan attack.
Still, the twins had insisted on joining the meeting with Volcos—and if Theo was right, the danger waiting for them might be greater than they realised.
No one came to meet them at the flimsy gates, manned by only two guards.
Theo sighed and swung down from his horse, boots squelching through the mud. He strode over to one of the men, exchanged a few words, and returned, his expression tight. “We’re to wait here.”
“They’re not inviting us inside?” Danaos sputtered. “I am the King of Tiryns, Leukos is a prince, and Alena is the Rebel Queen’s daughter—not to mention the Omega. And they’re keeping us out here like sheep? Volcos is disregarding the rules of hospitality—”
“Our titles mean nothing to the Westerners,” Leukos cut in from beneath his hood. “And the legend of the Omega even less. Let’s keep it that way.”
It was the first time Alena had heard Danaos speak of her with genuine respect. She shot him a grateful look, and he returned it with a firm nod.
The gates groaned open, and from the mist, a dozen white horses surged forward, hooves churning the mud. They fanned out in a perfect semicircle, corralling the Achaean group.
At the centre of the formation, astride a towering white stallion, was a giant of a man. His stern eyes swept over them, assessing, weighing.
Volcos.
His face was rugged, weathered by the elements, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw set like stone. Damp blond hair clung to his shoulders, and a long beard framed his chin.
Beside him rode Alcaros. Relief flared in Alena’s chest—then vanished at the sight of his expression.
His face was pale, muscles taut with tension, and he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere, refusing to meet hers.
In his grip, a rope stretched behind him, dragging two figures through the sludge.
The rain and darkness made them little more than blurred shapes—a man and a woman, hunched and shivering.
The way they stumbled, feet slipping in the mud, spoke of exhaustion and defeat.
Prisoners? Spies? Or something worse?
“Which one of you is Leukos, Prince of Megara?” Volcos’ voice rumbled through the air, deep and authoritative as rolling thunder.
Leukos swung down from his horse, and though his boots sank into the mud, his movements were smooth, betraying none of the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior.
He pulled back his hood. “That would be me.”
Volcos dismounted next. The man looked as though he’d been carved from stone, his deep green tunic and chain mail vest soaked but unyielding.
A thick woollen cloak hung from his shoulders, fastened by a bronze clasp shaped like a snarling boar.
Around his waist, a belt supported a gleaming sword with an intricately decorated hilt and a blade honed to a razor’s edge.
Strapped to his back rested a large, round shield.
The circle of riders tightened, their eyes watchful, the air heavy with suspicion.
Leukos broke the silence first. “This is a strange greeting between allies.”
“Allies?” Volcos scoffed, his thick brows drawing together. “You promised me an army, and you came with barely five hundred men.”
Leukos held his ground, radiating calm control.
“Achaea is a long way from the Western Lands. We have five thousand more ready to fight, but we need time. Time the Rasennans stole from us when they gathered at your border.” He gestured behind him.
“We may not have brought our full force, but we come with Gifted warriors—worth a hundred times more than any soldier.”
Volcos’ gaze shifted to Alena. “And the Rebel Queen’s daughter,” he said. “My druids whisper she could be dangerous. A demon, they said.”
“She’s been Gifted by our gods,” Leukos replied. “If you’re looking for a demon, look to her sister.”
Volcos didn’t look convinced. His cold eyes swept over Alena. “The Rasennans hunt threats. They also recruit them. How do I know she is not one of their weapons, sent to worm her way into our ranks?”
Leukos’ shoulders squared, a clear sign his patience with the chief commander was thinning. “The Rasennans want her dead. That should tell you whose side she’s on.”
Volcos’ gaze hardened, then nodded towards Alcaros. “We caught two Rasennan spies crossing the Rodanos River, searching for her. That doesn’t sound like someone the enemy wants dead.”