by Jayne Castel
Soft laughter rumbled in Elias’s chest. “Aye … let’s get our clothes back on.”
Reluctantly, Ryana slid from the table and reached for her abandoned clothing. She had just pulled on her leggings when she glanced up to see Elias staring at her. His gaze was luminous, his expression tender. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
Suddenly shy, Ryana smiled and looked away.
“It’s true,” he continued, stepping close and hooking a finger under her chin. She raised her gaze, meeting his eye once more. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”
Ryana swallowed, her smile fading. These moments were magical, yet already she could feel time passing, traveling with frightening swiftness toward dawn. “I wish we had longer together,” she murmured back.
His mouth quirked, and he stroked her neck in a sensual gesture that made Ryana’s breathing quicken. “So do I,” he replied, “Never has time seemed so precious to me … but we will have to make the most of these hours we have left.” He stepped back from her then and reached for his breeches. “Fortunately, most of the night still lies ahead of us.”
They finished dressing in silence and left the library. The servant, Isla, was nowhere in sight so they retraced their steps back to the courtyard garden.
Mysandra was still there. The High Enchanter sat quietly, staring into the flames of the brazier. She glanced up when they entered, a knowing smile curving her mouth.
“I was wondering when you two would reappear.”
Ryana felt heat stain her cheeks. She knew they’d both been noisy, and wouldn’t have been surprised if Mysandra understood exactly what had happened in the library. “Can Elias stay here overnight?” she asked casually.
Mysandra nodded, her smile widening. “I’ve already had Isla make up a room for you upstairs. She’ll take you to it.”
Ryana hesitated. “Did you want to go over our plans for tomorrow?”
The High Enchanter shook her head, waving them away. “They can wait till morning.”
When they left the garden, Isla was there waiting for them.
The servant led them up to the third floor. Mysandra had given them a large room that looked as if it had seen better days. The whitewashed walls were stained and peeling, yet it sat on the corner of the building with a wrought-iron, wrap-around balcony that looked out over the building’s inner courtyard. It was a warm evening so Isla hadn’t bothered to light a fire in the hearth. However, she’d set two glowing lanterns either side of a large bed that was covered in a soft white woolen coverlet.
Ryana thanked Isla, and the servant let herself out, bidding them both a good night.
When they were alone, Elias and Ryana merely stared at each other. Ryana drank him in. Her fingers itched to tear his clothes off him, to explore his powerful body once more, but she prevented herself.
Ryana forced herself to slow down her breathing. She wanted to savor this moment.
Elias broke the spell, moving toward Ryana with a hungry look that made excitement rear up within her. Throwing any lingering caution aside, she rushed forward and threw herself into his arms.
Elias fell back on the bed, breathing hard. Stretching out next to him, Ryana placed a hand upon his chest. His heart pounded against her palm. A thrill went through her; she loved being able to shatter this man’s self-control.
“Shadows, woman,” he gasped. “Any more of that and I won’t be able to walk at dawn.”
Ryana gave a soft laugh, her hand splaying out across his chest. “Showing your age, Elias?”
“I’m only thirty-four,” he huffed.
She leaned forward and kissed the scattering of dark hair upon his chest, before she curled herself against him. “Still in your prime then.”
“Cheeky wench.”
She felt his hand curl through her hair, gently untangling the heavy waves. He’d done that after the first time they’d lain together. She liked the gesture; it relaxed her.
“I’m exhausted,” Elias admitted after a pause. “I feel like I could lie here for a week.”
Ryana let out a soft sigh. “That’s what happens when you stop fighting,” she murmured. “You take a deep breath, finally realize where you are … and then it hits you.”
He huffed. “Like a club to the head.”
“I feel the same way,” Ryana replied. “I wish I could slow down time … hold back tomorrow.”
“About tomorrow,” he said finally, his tone sobering. “I want you to be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks with Gael.”
Ryana tensed. She didn’t want to talk about what lay ahead, but she knew she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Dawn was creeping inexorably toward them.
“I will be careful,” she promised, before she propped herself up on an elbow and peered down at him. “But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“There’s no point in saying that … you know I will.” Ryana frowned then. “Don’t you go falling on your sword. I don’t care what your father said to you … try to survive the battle.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And if Rithmar wins?”
“All the better.”
“You think Nathan will welcome me … after everything that’s happened?”
Ryana held his gaze. “We’ll deal with Nathan when the time comes. He’s proud, but not unreasonable. When he hears you were sincere in your talk of peace, he may decide it’s worth keeping you alive.”
Elias raised a dark eyebrow. “Let’s hope so.”
“I hope so,” she said huskily.
Elias stared up at her, and she watched his handsome features tighten. “You deserve better than this,” he said softly. “Better than a few stolen moments.”
Ryana favored him with a small smile. “I’m glad you sought me out earlier. If either of us falls tomorrow, I don’t want there to be things left unsaid.” Her vision swam then.
Sweeping up her hand from his chest, Elias brought it to his lips. “This can’t be the end,” he said, his voice suddenly urgent and rough. “I won’t let it be.”
The sun was just peeking over the rooftops to the east when Elias slipped out of The House of Light and Darkness. It was a humid morning. The air was charged, almost as if another thunderstorm was on its way.
Elias stepped over a puddle of urine and walked up the street. He didn’t look back at the House, instead he kept his gaze firmly forward. If he glanced back, even once, he’d be lost.
Leaving Ryana was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
After their conversation earlier, they’d slept fitfully in each other’s arms for a while. And then, as the first streams of light filtered in through the shutters, he’d forced himself to rise. They’d said little then while he dressed. Everything that needed to be said had been. However, before leaving, Elias had knelt by the bed and pulled Ryana into his arms one last time. She’d wept, silently, and it had nearly torn his heart from his chest.
He’d kissed her then, a soft, lingering touch, before leaving the chamber.
Elias made it to the end of the street and then turned left. Immediately, he started to feel better, although the ache in the center of his chest still hadn’t eased. He hadn’t made things easy for himself by going to Ryana, and yet he was glad he had.
He’d sensed that beneath her anger she’d cared about him. He was relieved she’d not let pride sour everything for them both.
He had a memory now that would sustain him during what was to come.
The streets of Veldoras had a gloomy air this morning. There were few folk about save patrols of Anthor soldiers and people who slept rough. There were quite a few vagrants these days, more than he remembered: men, women, and children bundled up in blankets on the hard cobbles. Most likely, they’d been turfed out of their homes by soldiers.
The occupation of Veldoras was starting to take its toll.
His father ruled the city with an iron fist, taking the best food for himself and his huge army. He’d forced locals to bille
t his men as the barracks weren’t big enough to house them all. Elias passed an older couple as he walked through the slums. Both thin and dressed in threadbare tunics and leggings, the husband and wife had bare, filthy feet. They avoided meeting Elias’s eye.
Elias thinned his lips and lengthened his stride.
It’s time to give Veldoras back to its people.
The vehemence of his reaction surprised Elias. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him, for he was still one of the oppressors and had helped his father conquer this city.
A lad of no more than ten winters appeared ahead. Barefoot, his thin body caked with grime, he looked like one of the mudlarks—the forgotten children who roamed the riverbed at low tide. The boy’s face was hollowed with hunger.
Something twisted under Elias’s ribcage—a strange sensation that he suddenly realized was guilt. At this lad’s age he’d lived in luxury, and had never known a day of hunger or real hardship.
Elias dug into the pouch at his waist and moved to block the boy’s path.
The lad saw him and stopped, cringing back. “I didn’t do nothing,” he gasped.
“Here,” Elias said gruffly, holding him out a gold talent. “Get yourself some food.”
The boy stared at him. His hazel eyes widened, suspicion flaring in the depths. The urchin didn’t trust him—and for good reason too.
“Go on.” Elias flicked the coin into the air, and as he’d expected, a thin arm shot out, grimy fingers closing around the gold talent.
Watching the lad run off, clutching his prize, Elias found himself smiling.
It was a small thing, but it was a start.
Now that his father had disowned him, the loyalty that had been a yoke about his neck no longer weighed him down. He wanted Rithmar to defeat Anthor, and for his father to slink back to Mirrar Rock, a beaten man.
He wanted a chance to make a fresh start—with Ryana.
Emerging from the slums, Elias crossed The Spiral Way and The Bridge of the North Wind. The tide was up and a warm wind that smelled of the sea tickled his face. He was heading to the Western Barracks, a huge complex that hugged the edge of the city. It took him a while to reach his destination, for Veldoras was a large, sprawling city. However, the walk did Elias good. It allowed him to put his thoughts and emotions in order, to mentally ready himself for what was to come.
He wondered how the other soldiers would react to him. He’d once been their captain, and now he’d be fighting at the front with the other foot soldiers. In other circumstances, such a fall would have been humiliating, but Elias found he hardly cared.
He had other priorities these days.
Finally, the grey stone bulk of the Western Barracks hove into view. The building crouched in the shadow of the city wall, where the silhouettes of guards moved back and forth; dark outlines against a cloudy sky.
Drawing in a deep breath, Elias mounted the steps. The entrance to the barracks yawned before him, and he spied two guards stationed there, spears at the ready. Their gazes flicked over him, recognition flickering in their eyes.
They let him pass without a word.
Elias’s mouth twisted as he strode into the building. Of course, few of the troops would have heard about his fall from grace. His father had left it to him to inform them.
His boots whispered on polished stone as he crossed the entrance hall and walked out into a massive courtyard. The paved space was being used for hand-to-hand combat training this morning. The grunts of men as they punched, kicked, and wrestled punctured the heavy morning air.
Around the rectangular courtyard, the three-storied grey walls of the barracks rose up.
Halfway across the expanse, Elias halted. Without thinking, he’d been heading toward the stairwell that would take him up to the captain’s apartments on the top floor of the building.
But those chambers no longer belonged to him. Instead, he’d be sleeping on a pallet in a dorm with the other grunts.
“Morning Captain!” A soldier stepped away from the training. Face flushed and sweaty, he wiped an arm across his forehead and grinned. Elias recognized him. The man was a fairly new recruit, a soldier who’d only joined them for the siege of Veldoras. He would now be Elias’s superior—something they’d both likely have trouble adjusting to.
Iago—that was his name.
“It’s just ‘Elias’ now,” he greeted the soldier with a wry smile. “I’m reporting for duty.”
33
It Has Begun
“DRAG HIM IN here,” Mysandra hissed, beckoning Ryana toward the alley.
Ryana shot the High Enchanter an irritated look. “Aren’t you going to help me? I can’t do this on my own.”
Huffing with frustration, Mysandra emerged from the shadowy lane. Grabbing an arm each, the women dragged the soldier into the alleyway. They moved fast, stumbling in their haste. Any moment now a patrol would come stomping down the street and catch them.
Once they were hidden in the shadows, Ryana let out the breath she’d been holding.
On the street beyond, heavy booted feet thundered past. Both women froze, waiting until the soldiers had moved on before either spoke.
“This one’s perfect.” Mysandra’s gaze fixed upon the helmed figure who lay sprawled before them.
“I needed a man of around my height, wearing armor,” Ryana agreed. She knelt down and pulled off the man’s helm. “If I’m not well disguised, I’ll never get close enough to Gael to strike.” She glanced up at her companion. “I’ll need your help with this too.”
Mysandra gave a heavy sigh. As Head of the Order, she was a woman who preferred to give instructions and then watch from a distance while others worked, it seemed. However, she did as requested. Sweeping up her long skirts and crouching beside Ryana, she then began to unbuckle the soldier’s armor.
The man Ryana had just killed was young, barely into his twenties. His time in the army had not been kind to him; his skin clung to his bones and he had a cruel mouth—or at least Ryana told herself it looked cruel. It made it easier on her conscience. She didn’t like killing, but left alive this soldier would put both her and Mysandra at risk.
Ryana was dressed in her black Anthor-style attire from the previous day. Rather than remove her own clothing, she struggled to fit the gleaming obsidian armor over the top. Tugging hard, she finally managed to pull it over her ample chest. She turned to Mysandra “Quick, tie the straps while I hold the breastplate in place.”
“One moment … there … I’ve managed to get it on the loosest hole,” the High Enchanter announced finally.
Ryana released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “It’s difficult to breathe with this thing on.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
The rest of the armor went on easier. Ryana had braided her hair and tucked the plait down the back of her shirt. The helm went on top, concealing her identity. She then helped herself to the soldier’s long-sword, buckling it around her hips.
She turned to the High Enchanter. “How do I look?”
Mysandra stood back and cast a critical eye over her. “To me, you look like a woman wearing armor,” she said with a grimace.
“I don’t think Anthor has any female soldiers.”
“Well then, let’s just hope they don’t look at you too closely.”
Mysandra adjusted her own kerchief. The High Enchanter was also in disguise this afternoon. She’d changed out of her snow-white robes into a hard-wearing woolen dress. It was dyed blue, a popular color among the ladies of Veldoras this year. Under the matching blue kerchief, Mysandra had also braided her long white hair. Her face was free of make-up.
She was almost unrecognizable.
Ryana was just about to comment on that fact when a horn’s wail reverberated across the city.
Both women fell silent, listening. The wail drew out before the horn blew once more. And then it blasted a third time.
Mysandra let out a slow exhale. “Three blows of the horn �
�� last time we heard it the Anthor army stood before our gates.”
Ryana met her eye. “It has begun then.”
Elias stood high atop the walls and looked down upon the army that had amassed before the gates. The Rithmar numbers appeared huge: line after line of foot soldiers and cavalry. The men were garbed in gleaming silver helms and chainmail. Silver and green Rithmar banners fluttered from standards, and a sea of iron-tipped spears and the outlines of siege towers bristled against a monochrome sky. It was a grey, sultry afternoon, and in the distance thunder rumbled.
Spots of water splashed onto Elias’s face, and he glanced round at the dark clouds that were rolling in behind him.
“Great,” one of the men nearby grumbled. “We’ll be fighting in the rain.”
Elias frowned. Rain was the least of his problems. He’d lost his rank, his family, his woman—and now he was about to become battle fodder for the Rithmar front lines.
Dressed in Anthor battle leathers, his head bare, Elias felt dangerously exposed up here. As a low-ranking soldier, he didn’t wear armor or a helm, and the sword at his hip wasn’t the double-edged broadsword his father had gifted him on his thirteenth birthday either, but a much lighter, shorter blade designed for stabbing at close quarters. He was to defend the walls once the ladders and siege towers went up.
Standing there, Elias waited for despair to settle over him, but instead he’d never felt more alive. His grandfather had once told him that a man never appreciated life as much as when he was climbing the steps to the gallows. Elias had shrugged off the comment at the time, yet he understood now.
He wanted to live. He would do whatever it took to survive this battle.
Elias stood next to one of the catapults. He and two others were charged with loading it. A pile of heavy rocks sat behind him. An acrid odor reached him as more drops of rain splashed onto his leathers; cauldrons of hot oil sat nearby upon beds of coals, awaiting the siege.
As he waited, Elias spied a rider below. The sight drew him out of his introspection. His red cloak fluttering behind him, the envoy moved out from the gates toward the Rithmar front lines. They were around two furlongs back, but Elias could make out the smoke and charcoal grey robes of Rithmar’s enchanters—and there in the center of them was a figure in black: Ninia.
