Finally, they reached the outskirts of town and the outer city stables. Much to Swinton’s despair, Xander had been placed under a heavy guard. King Arden knew him well, it seemed, knew he couldn’t leave behind the one reminder of Eliza he had left.
But the guards who had been assigned to the station weren’t happy about it. Being put on horse-watch was an insult to a trained warrior. They were drunk, and with a few precise blows, Swinton and Fi had them sprawling across the hay.
The stablehand on duty took one look at Fi and gave him a two-fingered salute, disappearing into the tack room.
‘One day, Fi,’ Swinton said, ‘you’re going to have to tell me your secrets, too.’
Fi laughed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. ‘One day, old friend.’
Relief swelled in Swinton’s chest at the sight of Xander, who nickered softly as he approached. ‘It’s good to see you, too, comrade.’
They waited. An hour passed. Then two. In the dark hours of the early morning, the moon markets finally closed, and Belbarrow slowly drifted towards sleep.
Swinton’s heart sank. They’d put their trust in the wrong person. The princess had been wrong about Prince Nazuri.
The worry on Fi’s face told him he’d reached the same conclusion.
‘We have to leave,’ Swinton said, leading Xander from his stall at last.
‘I know.’
Swinton ran a hand over his shaved head. ‘We hide, until we can find another opportunity to talk with the princess. We can’t give up. Can we stay with Ethelda?’
Fi shook his head. ‘I won’t ask that of her,’ he said. ‘But there are plenty of places, if one knows where to —’
‘There’s nothing more romantic than an early-morning ride,’ said a smooth voice from the entrance to the stables. ‘The princess and I wish to ride out to watch the sunrise together. Get out. All of you.’
Swinton and Fi peered through the cracks of their hiding spot to see Prince Nazuri and Princess Olena stride in dressed in formal riding attire.
‘Your Highness, your father —’
‘It was my father’s idea.’ The prince’s tone was as sharp as any blade. ‘Or shall I tell him of how you ruined the princess’ day, after all she’s been through?’
‘No, no, Your Highness. Of course.’ The poor stableboy couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
All was quiet.
‘Are they here?’ the princess said softly. ‘We’re so late, they may have left.’
Swinton emerged from the shadows, Fi close behind him. ‘We’re here, Your Highness. Do you ride?’
She turned in his direction. ‘Likely better than you, Commander,’ she replied.
The sky bled shades of flame as Swinton, Fiore, Princess Olena and Prince Nazuri rode out of the royal Belbarrow stables. They cantered along the outskirts of the city, avoiding the night watch and guard patrols, following the coastline well out of the capital.
Swinton watched the princess carefully, but she didn’t falter. True to her word, she rode well – better than well. She moved seamlessly with her horse, having mastered the delicate balance between control and give. Nazuri stayed close by her, his face lined with worry. Swinton wanted to reassure him but didn’t have the words. There would be no reassurance, no safety from here on.
They rode hard, only stopping for water on two brief occasions. It was dusk when they reached the Janhallow cliffs and the narrow, rocky path down. Swinton hesitated on the threshold, his hand instinctively reaching up to toy with the coin of Yacinda.
Fi nudged his horse up alongside Xander. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you let it go, old friend?’
Swinton glanced down at the worn coin between his fingers.
‘Thought we had said goodbye to your secrets?’ the Battalonian said.
They had.
Swinton tugged the chain, feeling the clasp give out at the back of his neck. As they began their descent down the precarious trail, Swinton let the coin fall from his outstretched palm. It hit the dirt with a soft thud. His magic surged, knocking him in the chest with full force, more powerful than it had ever been. He gripped Xander’s reins tightly and welcomed that power with his entire being. For the faint thread that had once connected his life to his son’s … Suddenly, it grew taut and strong.
When they reached the bottom of the path, what lay before them took Swinton’s breath away. The Janhallow Desert, red and barren, stretched out as far as the eye could see.
They didn’t stop. The company of four rode towards the horizon at full pelt.
Chapter 40
Bleak followed Henri through the cold corridors of the third Wildenhaven tower, half jogging to keep up with the Valian. They were due to set out for battle in a matter of hours, and everyone was on high alert. But Bleak had two stops to make first.
At last, they reached the makeshift medical wing Eydis had set up for the Ashai folk from Moredon Tower. Henri pushed open the door for her, and she stepped inside. Cots lined the floor in rows, and a fire blazed on either end of what was ordinarily a dining hall.
‘How many?’ Bleak asked Henri under her breath.
‘Fifty-one now,’ Henri replied. ‘Four didn’t make it through the journey.’
Bleak’s heart sank. They’d been too late. ‘How are the survivors?’
‘Varying states.’
She was right. There were people of different ages in different states of health and care. Bleak scanned the hall, taking in the faces, the injuries, the moans of pain coming from numerous cots. What she was about to ask of them … She didn’t know if she could. She wished Rion was there, but Henri rightly had pointed out that bringing a teerah panther to a request like this might be seen as a threat.
Henri elbowed her. ‘These are your people,’ she said. ‘And we need all the magic we can get. If we don’t stop Ines, how many more will suffer their fate?’
Bleak’s instincts were telling her to back away into the shadows, that she couldn’t handle the onslaught of thoughts humming around her and the agony that these people had endured. But she had no choice.
Straightening herself, she made for the platform at the end of the room. She could do this. She had to do this.
Alarise. Alarise. Alarise. Her name was a whisper on strangers’ lips and in their minds. A chant, a question, a prayer. With each step, with each repetition of who she was, she found her voice.
‘My name is Alarise Thornton.’ Her voice projected to the far corners of the hall. ‘I have something to ask of you today … And given everything, I hate to be the one to ask it, but I must. I know many of you are injured and weak, I know I can only imagine what you’ve been through ... But Prince Casimir and I need your help. We need every ounce of magic we can muster in the upcoming fight. You are our best hope. We seek any able Ashai folk who are willing to help us.’
The room fell silent, and Bleak looked out onto the crowd, whose faces bore the fear she felt.
She forced the names from her tongue. ‘Ines and Arden’s forces have breached the shores. They march for Wildenhaven. Half a dozen villages lie between us and them, so we must meet them on the frozen moorlands of Port Avesta. We need your magic. Who will stand with us?’
Bleak had to keep her voice from trembling. She could taste the desperation lacing her words. It was a fool’s hope. Ines had more men, more weaponry and the mist. She had weaponised it, Casimir had said. It would bring nothing but horror, Bleak knew. And yet she asked – she asked her people for help. People who had already suffered and lost so much. She stood atop the platform, heart in her throat, heat flushing her face. Bleak saw Henri’s crestfallen expression. She made for the steps and froze.
A single hand rose from the crowd. And another. And another.
Alarise. Alarise. Alarise.
More hands were raised. Until she was staring at the majority.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, exhaling a shaky breath. ‘Thank you.’
Henri pulled her through the throng of pe
ople towards the door when another chant stopped Bleak in her tracks.
One … two … three … four … one … two … three … four … five …
‘What’s that?’ Bleak asked, tugging Henri back.
‘What’s what?’
‘That counting?’
Henri paused, straining to hear.
One … two … three … four …
Bleak looked around wildly, trying to find the source. ‘I can —’
‘Bleak, Henri,’ Sahara’s voice called sharply. ‘We’re leaving. Bring whoever you can to the armoury. We ride out within the hour.’
Bleak’s attention was dragged back to the tasks at hand. She still had one more stop to make. She left Henri and Sahara, promising to meet them in the courtyard.
Bren was sleeping when she entered his chambers. She knelt by his cot, careful not to disturb him. He looked peaceful. Colour had returned to his face, and someone had washed the dirt and blood from his skin. While he was still thin, he looked more like the Bren she had always known.
‘I promise I’ll come back for you,’ Bleak whispered, holding her head in her hands.
There was a rasp for breath, and her head snapped up.
‘Bren?’
‘Don’t.’
That single word was a knife to her heart.
‘Bren …’
His eyes opened. The blue irises that had always held so much light were now stormy and cold. ‘Get out.’
‘I just —’
‘I said, get out.’
Bleak took a deep breath and stood. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to beg forgiveness for. But for once, it wasn’t about what she wanted. And so, as she left the room, and passed Tilly in the hallway, she made the vow to herself. Bren had fought for her for the past ten years. Now, it was her turn to fight for him.
Surrounded by Valian kindred and Ashai folk, Bleak sat atop Rion’s back and rode out into the hinterlands of Havennesse. Henri and Casimir flanked her, both leaders looking equally grim, their horses whinnying nervously as they cantered alongside the great teerah panther.
Bleak couldn’t help but look back at their forces. Even with the Valians, the rebels and the Ashai, they were outnumbered. Outnumbered and lacking in experience as a unit. She didn’t need to be an army general to know that the odds weren’t good. And there was the mist …
She turned to Casimir. ‘Do we even stand a chance?’ she yelled over the thunder of hooves.
He pulled a thick scarf away from his mouth. ‘Only one way to find out.’
Chapter 41
Dash’s magic rushed through his veins as they rode through the wintry wild. It was as though the untamed snowlands of Havennesse had awoken something lying dormant within him. Now, as he cantered alongside the Wildenhaven soldiers through the blistering cold, he was different, he was himself. The wilderness seemed to have the same effect on Queen Eydis. She glanced back at him from atop her Kildaholm thoroughbred in the front line. Yes, he would hazard a guess that Her Majesty’s magic felt the call of the hinterland as much as his.
He was an extension of his horse; a lifetime of being a stableboy had finally paid off. He rode better than most of the soldiers around him, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Beneath the furs, his borrowed armour was heavy. Luka had helped strap him into it, and he prayed that it wouldn’t make him too much slower when the time came to fight.
He’d dreamed of this moment for as long as he could remember. Of the day he’d march into battle, sword in hand, no fear, only courage in his heart. It didn’t feel like how he’d imagined. There was no sense of glory. Only the monotony of the onward push through the freezing lands, the sting of the cold, and the terror. The terror was a separate beast that stalked through the lines of soldiers, its essence contagious, latching its talons deep into anyone who acknowledged it. Dash gripped the hilt of his sword to steady himself. He wouldn’t acknowledge the terror. Not yet.
‘You won’t be in the front lines, little brother,’ Tailor said from his left. The man was hunched over in his saddle, as though he was bored.
‘I could be,’ Dash argued.
Tailor shook his head. ‘Eydis wouldn’t allow it. You’re too valuable to risk. Besides, I didn’t drag you halfway across the realm only to have you die.’
‘I can fight.’
‘Didn’t say you couldn’t. Doesn’t mean you should. You hear?’
Dash frowned. He didn’t know why Tailor was suddenly his keeper. He hardly knew the man. No one did. He seemed to flit between the groups, forever the outsider.
‘How do you know my parents?’ Dash asked, guiding his horse closer to Tailor’s.
‘I don’t,’ Tailor replied. ‘I know the captain, and he’s friends with your father.’
‘They’re not friends. Captain Murphadias just boards his horse at our stables.’
‘Know everything, do you? Brother, I say this with kindness … Might be time to start asking questions.’
‘I always ask questions. Mama and Pa hate it.’
‘Then it might be time to start asking the right ones.’ Tailor clicked his tongue and pushed his horse forward, catching up to Casimir. Prince Casimir, the Ashai folk had been whispering. The legend himself. The more Dash had overheard over the last few days, the more he realised that the stories in Olena’s letters hadn’t been stories at all. She’d been sending him the truth in the only way she knew how. She’d taken a great risk in doing so, all for him. Her history books had been right, and Olena had known from the beginning, had tried to warn him. It made Dash miss her all the more.
He wriggled his toes in his boots, wary of the cold latching onto his extremities. With the rhythm of the march, he found himself thinking back on the letter he’d sent a few days ago. He knew it off by heart, after deciphering it from written word to quaveer.
Dearest Olena,
I’m afraid I am much changed since my last letter. I don’t even sound like me as I write this, I know. I cannot explain it here and now, but hopefully one day soon.
I’m writing to warn you. Everything you have written to me about has been discovered. War is brewing. It may already be here.
I will come to you as soon as I can. My place will always be by your side.
Forever in friendship,
Dash
He’d wanted to explain it all, wished so badly to close the seas between them, and be with her as he’d always been. But his letter had said all he could say. He’d spent hours perforating the parchment, creating the dots that Olena, and hopefully only Olena, would be able to read.
The towers of Wildenhaven had long since disappeared. Now, they were surrounded by snow-covered trees and looming mountains, each one more perilous than the last. The craggy peaks vanished into the clouds, and the sheer cliff drops made Dash’s stomach squirm. They cantered alongside a frozen river, its sleek, hard surface like a looking glass.
Dash had heard enough of the planning that he knew roughly where they were: north of the Kildaholm Alps. They had taken the longer route, with Eydis and her general hoping to catch Arden’s forces by surprise from the south-east. But Dash was no fool. He felt the doubt seeping through the soldiers. He looked back to the polished sheen of the ice river, and suddenly, his head was spinning …
The ground was trembling. Shaking so hard, his knees knocked together and the vibration reverberated through his whole body, making his teeth ache. It was dark, so much inky black that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not. And the cold … The cold was as though he himself was frozen inside a giant brick of ice, trapped beneath the glassy sheets of the river itself. The ground continued to shake, rattling Dash’s entire being until …
Everything was white.
‘Brother.’ Someone was in his ear. ‘Little brother, come back to us. Can’t have you falling off your horse.’
Dash opened his eyes. Tailor was wrenching him upright from where he’d been slumped against his horse’s neck.
‘
You alright?’ Tailor asked, peering into his face with concern.
Dash nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Vision?’
Dash nodded again, gripping the saddle horn, still feeling shaky.
‘What was it this time?’
‘I need to speak with the queen.’
They came to an abrupt halt. Ahead, Nicolai had signalled, and Dash lurched forward in the saddle as his horse pulled up short. Blood roaring in his ears, he craned his neck to see what lay ahead.
Teerah panthers. Three more of them, prowling towards the horses. Their silvery-black coats glimmered over muscular torsos, and their huge paws sank deep into the snow.
‘What are you doing here?’ said a woman’s voice. Bleak, Dash realised.
She came up from the tail end of their legion, on the back of a panther larger than the rest. The entire army waited as she jumped down and greeted each of the beasts, reaching up and scratching behind their ears. The beasts leaned down in turn and nuzzled her neck.
Dash still couldn’t quite believe they existed. After years of Mama’s bedtime stories about them, here they were, as real as the horse he now sat upon.
‘Take ten minutes to stretch your legs,’ General Nicolai called out.
There was a murmur of relief from the soldiers around Dash. He swung his leg up over his saddle and dismounted, plunging into knee-deep snow. He needed to speak with Queen Eydis. He pushed his way through Eydis’ forces, men and women alike rubbing their gloved hands together, tending to their mounts and standing in small huddles. Spotting a flash of red hair, Dash made a beeline for Luka. She was with her mother, Athene; they’d help him get to Eydis. But as he approached, he caught their hushed, angry words.
‘She knows, Luka. We need to act!’
‘There is no “we”, Ma. I never wanted —’
‘You’re seventeen. What do you know about wanting?’
‘Enough to know what I don’t want! Enough to know that this is wrong.’
Reign of Mist Page 36
