by Mary Weber
The mist stirs and moves, like the wraiths it’s guarding.
Litches. My skin crawls and it’s as if I can physically hear Draewulf muttering his enchantments.
“Tell the soldiers to halt here and have the people set up camp,” says Sedric in a voice as dazed as the look on his young, weary face. “At least we’ll have the high ground.”
I hardly hear the orders given for the troops to spread out and make camp. Nor the collective gasps of horror as more and more people crest the hill and see what awaits them.
What awaits us.
It’s as if you can hear what we’re all thinking. We’re going to be annihilated.
“I see that explains why we haven’t heard back from two of our soldier units sent out.” Rolf points to the base of the valley below us where the road continues through to the coast.
It’s a matter of strength that I tear my gaze away from the crawling mass of hissing undead to squint toward whatever it is he’s looking at. Once I do, I’m suddenly grateful I was too nervous to eat this morning.
Ten stakes are on each side of the road at the base of the hill, like a hand-fashioned entrance gate to their encampment. Except rather than flags flying the colors of their land, the stakes have men impaled on them. Dead soldiers, to be exact, wearing Faelen colors. All except for one, who’s dressed as a Cashlin.
Mia and Mel utter a cry at the same time as they see it too.
I force my gaze away—beyond the horror—and focus on those who committed it.
I swear I’ll make as many of them pay as I can before I join them in their graves.
“Let me take some of them out now,” I say through clenched teeth to Sedric.
“As much as I’d like to, I can’t allow that. Yet,” he adds in a tone that promises he’s infuriated too. “You’d start the bleeding war too soon, before all of our people have assembled and prepared.”
I scowl. “Then what about them?” I point to two warboats surging across the darkened waterway to join the five others moored to the Faelen shoreline. Above the boats float ten airships peeking out from the black fog—more than I thought he’d have after the destruction that happened in Tulla.
Sedric and Rolf both shake their heads. “Again, you’d start it before we’re prepared to finish it,” Sedric says.
Fine.
A sprinkle of rain begins to fall. Not on us, but on the massive horde below. My contribution to irritating the hulls out of the beasts without being accused of overstepping by the men in front of me.
I smirk. “If you’ll excuse me.” I turn to search for something that will make me feel useful. I promptly come upon Kel pulling bedding off a wagon to help lay out.
“Are these for the noblemen?”
“Nah. They can get their own litched blankets. These are for the soldiers.”
I grin. “In that case . . .” I go to help him, and it takes little less than an hour before the cart’s emptied and we’ve set up bedding for five whole units.
“Let’s do another,” Kel says, and it’s only then it occurs to me he’s trying to keep busy too. He won’t even look in the direction of the wraith army.
Of course.
He’s scared.
“Have you ever heard the legend of the bolcranes?” I ask after a minute.
His interest is immediate. I help him tumble off a roll of thin mats before hopping down from the wagon. “Some think they were from Elementals. Or rather, they are Elementals.” I kick a mat toward him so he’ll keep working.
“Ones that lived so long ago, no one remembers if it’s true or not anymore. But legend claims they were the most beautiful beings on the face of the Hidden Lands—and the most powerful. Until over time they began to squander that beauty and power and started using it for their own gain and glory rather than for helping others.”
I scratch at my wrist.
Then scratch it harder until I’m abruptly aware I’m doing so. I frown and glance around. And hear it.
I don’t know what’s just happened in the valley below, but there’s a sudden spike in the wraiths’ hissing, and it’s not just from the rain I’m blessing them with. It scratches at my skin and inside my head, and for a moment I swear it sounds like, “He’s coming for you, pet.”
I flip around and stare down at the writhing horde that smells of death and decay and is worse than any bolcrane ever could be as a subtle suggestion hits me. Soon it’s birthed within my chest bones and spine—Draewulf has just sensed my presence.
“Nym? What happened to them?”
What? I narrow my brow and turn to Kel, who’s waiting with an expectant expression.
Oh. Right.
I shake off the eerie sensation and toss him another bedroll. “They became arrogant and selfish.”
“Like Lord Myles?”
I bark a laugh and look around to see if the oaf heard. He didn’t. He’s too busy speaking with Rasha.
“Yes, a bit like Lord Myles. Except way worse.”
“That why they turned into bolcranes? ’Cuz they wasn’t acting human anymore?”
“You could say something like that.”
He snorts.
“How about you? Any good legends to tell?”
Silence.
When I glance up, he’s not even looking at me. His gaze is leveled on something to the right of me, and he’s squinting through an air that hangs thick with what none of us are saying. “We will survive,” I whisper.
When he doesn’t reply, I turn to see what’s got him so fixated.
“What are those?”
My gaze drops to where he must be looking and my breath clogs up my throat, my head, my heart. Wraiths have just lit the soldier stakes on fire, burning the dead men like they are fuel for light and warmth amid the sickly dark fog. Or food.
“Those are funeral pyres,” I whisper.
“Not those. Those.” He points closer to my right—along the ridge against the horizon. “There.” He tips his head toward the shadowed sun. “Are they—? Ah, no way!”
Five giant oliphants are lumbering toward us, swinging their trunks between tusks that are larger than a tree. And riding on top of the first one is Allen, the Travelling Baronet.
“Anyone call for reinforcements?” the dwarf yells.
CHAPTER 34
MUSIC FILLS THE NIGHT AIR, SWINGING BETWEEN brassy pitches and soft, melodic voices that sing of wars and lovers and days of old. Of past queens I’ve rarely heard of and past kings who were dethroned.
One day left and then tomorrow we fight.
But tonight?
Tonight we celebrate life.
And love.
And freedom.
I grin and walk from my tent—an oversize white-linen thing provided to Rasha and me in spite of the fact I tried to decline it multiple times, until Rolf pointed out it had more to do with our safety than comfort. Tucking my hair inside my cloak for anonymity, I glance around for Rasha or Eogan before finding myself joining in the laughter as sweaty bodies wrap arms around waists and swing each other to the victorious notes. Squeals and shouts float into the sky and hang there above us, like the stars twinkling where I’ve blown back the massive black fog. As if the constellations are whispering, “Tonight we dance, for tomorrow, come what may, it will be as it should. It will be all right.”
I shuffle my way through the growing crowd of peasants and soldiers as the scent of roasting meat and apples floats through the air and sends my stomach rumbling and my mouth salivating. I hadn’t even realized I was hungry,
but the food combined with the crisp smells of fire and earthen smoking pipes and ale has me making straight for the camp’s center where great fires have been lit.
Around each of them someone’s placed roasting spits loaded with meat for anyone to cut pieces off at their leisure. And beneath them, pots of boiling broths and stews.
I grab a bowl from a cart and help myself to one of the less-seasoned-smelling ones. Then turn to wander in search of Eogan, whom I’ve not seen all day.
A chorus of laughter draws me to the right where one of the travellers has brought out a panther-monkey and is entertaining the youngest soldier children by feeding it nuts. Which it throws onto their heads, bopping them and making them laugh all the harder because everyone knows panther-monkeys don’t eat nuts. They eat dog.
On my left a young man has brought out what I suspect is double-lavka—an alcohol with a considerably higher content than the usual common-house fare. I grin as two elderly men challenge the young man and his friends to a duel of drinks because it’s clear the old-timers are going to show them a thing or two.
Good for them.
I keep walking and farther ahead, around the biggest fire in the mix, someone picks up singing “The Monster and the Sea of Elisedd’s Sadness.” It carries low at first, like the hum of a death chant. Until another voice picks it up too. Then another. Soon the whole crowd around the fire is singing it, clear voices and tones rising up into the air and spreading to the rest of the camp. Until the whole hilltop we’re standing on and the valleys below are ringing as one tragic song about the night Draewulf stole our identity as a kingdom.
The ocean, she’s begging for our salvation. Begging for blood that will set our children free.
The song ends with a hush that falls so deep and heavy, it’s like a blanket over the space. A blanket of grief and sadness.
“The fight will be loooong and losses will come,” a child’s voice pipes up to sing.
Every eye near me turns to see who it is, but I already know.
It’s Kel. Adding his own ending to our Faelen anthem.
I smile and shove a gust of wind to carry his words over the entire camp as he continues singing.
But the hope of Faelen will not fail.
Because hope is in her people, in her brothers and children, in her friends who’ve come to fight beside her.
Lead us into battle, Faelen. And the other kingdoms will folloooow.
And Draewulf will fall through the power of unity.
Through the power of the Creator.
We will not fail.
We will not fail.
The farmer beside me lets out a choked gasp. Tears are filling his eyes and running down his cheeks. As they are on the weathered skin of every other face surrounding us.
The farmer’s fist raises and thumps over his heart as Kel’s song comes to a close. The Bron sign of high respect for this boy who has sung hope into our Faelen future.
The crowd moves as one to mimic the farmer’s offering while Kel bows his head.
I sniff and wipe my nose on my sleeve because apparently I have been weeping too.
Until the music starts back up and this time it’s a jovial tune—one often played before weddings or after the birth of a firstborn. Suddenly people are jumping up and hands commence clapping and, as more wood is thrown on the fire, dancing begins. Followed by laughter.
A hand slips into mine, and when I look down, Kel is there, smiling shy-like. “Want to dance?”
I nod. “Although I warn you I’m no good.”
To our delight we soon discover neither of us is any good, which makes us a mess in the midst of what’s already a rather poetic chaos of bodies and warmth and sparks from the fire lighting up eyes and faces filled with affection.
When we finish a round, I’m out of breath and laughing too hard. I glance around for Eogan, but I still can’t find him amid the crowd.
“May I cut in?” Rasha’s kind eyes greet mine.
I giggle. “Of course.”
“Favorite part of tonight?” she asks.
“Um . . . Kel’s song. You?”
“Petting the oliphants. Did you see their size?”
We burst into laughter, and words don’t seem to matter in the midst of the music and energy and friendship. We dance until our hearts have opened broader than ever and our souls have emptied of everything but mirth and wonder at this moment. This time. These people surrounding us as family.
“Might I have a turn?”
I come face-to-face with King Sedric.
“Only if you give her back tomorrow,” Rasha says in a tone of mock offense.
Sedric chuckles. “Will do, m’lady.”
Apparently one doesn’t have to be a great dancer—or even a decent dancer—if one’s partner has been trained in such a skill his entire life. The king has some incredible moves, I have to admit.
“How are you?” he asks after we’ve gotten our feet under us and are swinging quite neatly to the tune.
“Alive. How about you?”
“The same.”
“We never finished our conversation from the banquet the other night. About you being the rightful—”
“Don’t.” I shake my head as, from the corner of my eye, I see Eogan. “I’ve made it clear I don’t want the throne. And I don’t even want to talk anything of it until after this whole thing is over. Otherwise I find it a bit like hoarding our goats before slaughter. We don’t know which will survive.”
“Meaning we don’t know if I will survive,” I almost tell him. Or if I should survive.
Or even if I can survive.
He nods. “Just know that I—”
“I know,” I whisper. “Although I appreciate the offer, I really don’t want to speak any more about it.”
I sense him nod again, but I’m hardly looking. I’m watching Eogan watch me.
“Will you excuse me?” I say abruptly to Sedric. “I have something I need to do.”
If he’s startled I’ve cut him off in the middle of the song, he hides it well. “Of course. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Then he moves on to see about dancing with Rasha from the looks of it. Except from what I can tell, it appears she’s slipping up to the cage where Myles is being kept.
Huh.
I make my way to Eogan, and when I reach him, I step close enough to feel his body heat and warm breath as I stare up into those brilliant green eyes that are taking me in even though his face is as sterile as ever.
“Care to walk?”
He smirks. “Depends. Where’d you have in mind?”
I point toward the outskirts of the camp, near where the tents are located, and beyond that, the Valley.
“King Sedric said you had a weapon left at Adora’s you went back for,” I say as we stroll away from the crowds.
He nods. “A few smaller versions of the bombs like those on the airships. With any luck we’ll be able to use them at opportune times.”
He stops as we reach the edge of the hill overlooking Draewulf’s army. The valley they’re settled into is pitch black. No lights. No fires. No celebrations.
And yet the magnitude of their presence is still tangible.
“There are so many and so few of us,” I say.
“Ah, but you forget—we’ve got an Elemental on our side.”
“Not funny,” I mutter.
“No? Really? I’ll clearly have to work on that.” He glances back toward the party. “Did you have a nice chat with
King Sedric?”
“Not overly. He offered me the same as before and I refused.”
Eogan’s already shaking his head. “You can’t refuse before you’ve even tried your hand at it. For all you know it’s what you were made for, and it may be exactly what your—”
“Do you want to fight tonight or dance?” I say far more gaily than I feel. I will not allow him to get on his soapbox about this issue. “I’m thinking we dance. So come on.”
Tugging him to life, I grab his hand and force him to dance a good round to a rowdy and wholly inappropriate common-house song. A solid minute into it he’s laughing and those eyes are relaxing.
Until a softer song begins and I get closer and our dance gets slower as our breathing grows heavier. Here on the edge of the world.
The music slows even more, and a moment later his hands are sliding to my waist. I gulp and try to keep my thoughts on the melody’s words as his thumb moves up and skims along the edge of my jawline, forcing me to fail completely. I tip my lips toward his fingers before pushing his head back to gently kiss his throat.
His breath catches and his fingers move lower. Their warmth against my skin burns like a bleeding star.
I travel up his chin to his lips, and the next second he tips his mouth to meet mine, to meld with mine. And I swear a dam’s broken loose inside me as every frustration and hunger from the past week pours forth into a single kiss.
Until his fingers gently tug on both wrists, untwining them from around his neck as he takes a retreating step and pulls away. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“This.”
I snort and open my mouth, but the torrent halts at his gaze.
“You’re making me insane, Nym. As if this whole thing isn’t hard enough. Can’t we just . . . leave it alone for now?” His fingers loosen on my wrists as his eyes slip to my lips.
“I make you insane?”
“You’re so bleeding stubborn.”
“Stubborn? I’m stubborn? About what, Eogan? That I want to kiss you? That I want to speak with you? That I want to see you without you trying every single way in hulls to avoid me? For litches’ sake—what is it? Have I done something? Or is it that you really think I want the throne?”
