by Aimee Moore
“The woman you speak of is a corpse in the pit of my mind. Do you wish to beg for your life?” I asked in a slow, deadly voice. The other Kraw was screaming now, as the fire refused to be put out. The one who had sneered cast a glance at his writhing companion, and backed away with a single shake of his head. I sheathed my sword, gave my wrist a slight flick toward the burning stink of Kraw rolling in the dirt, and kicked him in the stomach.
Then I knelt next to him, my hands burning into his arms just enough to catch his attention as he panted and moaned at his mangled body. “Next time, you will be food for the war mutts,” I whispered, “if they'll have your stinking meat.”
I shoved off of the Kraw and strode through the crowd.
That night, when silence began to settle over the camp like a dark fog as the warriors found sleep, Dal held me close and whispered that I was strong. Even though my body warmed at his touch, became electric with the deep murmur of his voice, I did not dare indulge in his affections for fear that my wounds would open anew.
The Warlord had taken this night from me as well. The burn I had inflicted on Dal's chest was mostly healed over now, the tattoo interrupted like swiped away chalk. Dal refused all of my apologies, for the burn and everything after. While he said there was nothing to forgive, I didn’t find it so easy to forgive myself.
“I do not want you with the Dagger in Shadow when we arrive at the capital,” Dal said into our small darkness.
“You have already chosen my fate and this is it,” I said in a curt tone.
Dal's body went still, and silence muffled our ears for a time. Dal's voice broke the darkness after a few tense minutes. “Kraw warriors have been known to injure a mate with child to keep her out of battle.”
I lifted my head, gasping at Dal. “You wouldn't dare.” I couldn’t see as well as he, but I knew that he was watching me with ease.
“If you want to be Kraw, then that is what it is to be Kraw.”
I scowled. “Is your war queen too ruthless for you now? You would injure her to make her lesser?”
“My war queen is suffocating the human woman I care for,” Dal said.
I let a long breath out of my nose.
“Do not lose yourself under Patroma's skin, Seraphine.”
“This isn't Patroma's skin, it's mine. I'm stronger than you think.”
“You tire and I see it in your eyes. No matter your strength, you are still a dragonfly among hawks. I do not think it wise for you to be in the battle.”
I softened at these words. He was right, but something in me was shattered, leaving the remains of myself to prance across the broken pieces of what I used to be. The child growing below my navel, despite the occasional dizziness and nausea, seemed so far away.
“I don’t have a choice, Dal. You knew, when you put Patroma's head in my hand that day, what was to become of me. You knew what you were inflicting upon me.”
“Your anger toward me does not come as a surprise, and I deserve it. I have made many errors in judgment, and the Warlord is one that I will forever regret.”
I looked away. “I know; you would never wish that on me.” It was a hard admission, as I realized that I did hold him accountable to a small degree. But it was cruel of me to blame Dal completely. We all made choices. Choices that forged us into what we had become. Choices that kept us alive.
Dal took a deep breath. “I thought I was giving you the key to your own freedom, the banner to wave for your world, and the strength to rise above anything in your path. I did not expect the Warlord to read our bond with such ease. I thought that the hatred in your heart, for the loss of the people you loved, would keep your sense of self firmly rooted in the soil of your world. But now you are losing yourself in the brutality of my people, your hatred turned against your own kind.
“Nothing is following the course of events that I had set in motion, and both of us bear the injuries of my poor judgment. I excel at war, Sera, but I am not a warrior at heart. I grew to care for the human who could take two opposites like yeast and water and forge them into something great and sustaining. The human whose strength and compassion formed something stronger than human and more vivid than Kraw.”
Yeast and flour. I had forgotten those things. The mornings spent in the kitchen, smelling the sour tingle of rising dough and the warm char of a hot oven. The hollow sound a tapped loaf of bread made when cooked just right, and the fluffy warmth within. I had forgotten my sweet sister and her husband, and my parents and their loving smiles. My quaint village and my betrothed. I’d lost sight of all of it. All of me.
But Dal didn’t.
Maybe I needed to forget, because that girl couldn’t live through the things that I’ve seen and done.
“This is what I am now, and I am surviving. I will be in that battle with the Dagger in Shadow, because the Warlord expects it, because the entirety of the Kraw army expects it. What would you think of an Eyes and Ears that does not partake in battle?”
Silence met my ears for a time, and I thought that Dal might not answer. Then at last, he said, “I would think that the Eyes and Ears knows something that I do not.”
“I would think her a coward,” I said. “I’m going, and you won’t stop me.”
“Sera. As my mate, your choices matter to me. As much as I hope that my choices matter to you.”
“Your choices have done this to me,” I whispered.
Dal moved away from me then, claiming his own side of the bed.
I should have apologized. I should have brought Seraphine of Lambston to the surface and realized that he needed comfort as much as I did right now. I had only Patroma, and she snarled within my mind and grew impatient with his needs.
The next morning was much the same as the previous, and it came much too early. Kraw did not sleep enough for my liking. I fought my drooping eyelids as surely as I fought the Warlord's advances, climbing beside him on the cart with my chin held high, refusing to be intimidated or belittled as he ordered Dal to pull alongside the massive beast.
“My new Third looks rested. Perhaps he is inefficient after all,” the Warlord said with a leer. The many unblinking eyes woven into those thick black braids stared into my mind, seeing all that lurked under my calm façade.
I smirked. “The Warlord's skin must burn with the knowledge that his Eyes and Ears prefers Dal over him. Perhaps the Warlord should be taking lessons from Dal,” I said with a smug grin.
The Warlord rested that thick, suffocating hand on my leg again, and the smile was wiped off my face. “Perhaps I shall,” that bottomless voice growled in my ear with a superior grin.
I kept my mouth shut the rest of the journey, Dal bearing the Warlord's lashes with dignity, turning to me now and again, the hazel piercing my gaze like a spear. Despite our disagreement last night, it broke my heart to see him suffer. But I would not give the Warlord any more delight in tormenting us.
Finally, the Kraw army crested the hill that I had once ambled over as a starving, scared, country bumpkin. My breath still caught at the sight of Elanthia in all its splendor, and when I turned to the Warlord to see his reaction, my heart sank to see him watching me instead.
“Let's get on with it,” I said, a blackness coming over me at the reality of how many humans were to die at the hands of my new allies.
But instead of pulling the army forward, the Warlord only raised one hand to halt. “Make camp,” he said, and immediately the Kraw army began to do his bidding. Here in the light of day, in plain view of the human capital of Elanthia.
Mouth ajar, I turned confused eyes to the Warlord, who only cut me a superior smile in the face of my confusion. “You can't be serious,” I breathed. “The humans will slaughter us as we sleep. We’re not safe here.”
The Warlord laughed at me, and I huffed and climbed down from the wagon as one of his many peons climbed up to have a word.
Dal was removing his harness, and I approached him, noting the red welts on his skin, the sweat beading down and d
isappearing under his leathers with the streaks of blood and fresh wounds. He was still breathing hard as he tossed the harness aside with a careless flick of his wrist, then set his eyes upon me. The tension in him eased at the sight of me. Regret and guilt punched me in the chest.
“Strength,” he said, saluting his Eyes and Ears.
Aware of how many eyes were on us, I kept my face neutral, even though I had so much to say.
“Stopping here is not logical,” I said.
Dal flicked his gaze to the top of the wagon behind me, then back to me. “The Warlord is no fool. An enemy with a face can be more fearsome than a faceless threat. Humans are irrational when fear orchestrates their song. Kraw are superior and have no fear of being encroached upon here. The Warlord is showing this to the humans, striking more fear into their hearts.”
I let a slow breath escape out of me, then switched to my language. “My people were cruel in treating you as a beast. But your people made you a beast in a much crueler capacity. I am sorry that I could do nothing to stop it.”
“Everything will be right in due time,” Dal said with an easy roll of his shoulders.
“I hope that I am there for it.”
Dal gave me a strange look, glanced somewhere behind me, and then got to work removing the harness from the snorting, stomping barn of a beast next to us. I cast Dal one sorrowful glance, then marched away, to find Chatska.
I found her nearly twenty minutes behind the front of the war procession, scolding a child sitting on a makeshift cot in the middle of the chaos of settling warriors.
“—Not meant to be jumping off the back of that Wagon. And I'm not meant to be fixing petulant little demon feet, yet here we are. Make my job easier and listen to what you're told, or I'll slip sleeping elixir into your soup and be free of you.”
The small child with a shock of black fuzz atop his otherwise shaved head bore his little fangs at Chatska. “My mother is fiercer than you and you would die,” he growled.
The old woman struck the child up the back of the head, causing the shock of black hair to bob forward. “You'll do as your told or I'll break the other foot. Now go.”
The child growled at Chatska again before hopping down from the makeshift cot and hobbling off with a lot more bounce in his step than should become a child who was struck by his healer. Chatska leaned over a chest of healing supplies.
I strode forward, and her body went rigid for just a moment before relaxing. “Humans, strange smell,” she muttered.
I resisted the urge to show a smile. “Hello, Chatska.”
Chatska rose from the chest with a pile of blankets topped with square vials, and eyed me from head to toe in the space of a breath before setting things down. “Well then, looks as if you're healing well enough,” she said.
Two warriors walked between us, saluting me. I gave a curt nod and strode toward my healer after they passed. We had to speak loudly to hear each other over the din of settling warriors. “I'm glad that I'm not the only one keeping you busy,” I said.
Chatska held a vial up to the sun as she spoke. “Brats,” she said. “In for a nasty shock when they get back home.” She lowered the vial and looked at me. “You're pale.”
“I'm fine.”
“How are the wounds?” She asked in a flat tone, replacing one vial and raising another.
I let a long sigh out of my nose, becoming dizzy with the deflation. As the world lightened to a nauseating degree, I helped myself to the edge of Chatska's cot, keeping my back straight so that I maintained the illusion of superiority, even though I wanted to lay down and sleep for the rest of eternity.
“Wounds are still there,” I said on a weak sigh. I hoped no one else heard me.
Chatska's body stilled in my peripheral vision, and she came to kneel in front of me, a crease between her brows as she really looked at me.
I noticed, for the first time, that Chatska's brown eyes had begun to take on a slight tinge of milkiness. She was probably very old.
“You have a problem,” she said in a voice like hay, as low as she could manage amid the din.
“I have many,” I said.
Chatska shook her head, then rose. She bent over her chest of medicinal things, and came back up with a vial that glimmered like a starry night. Inky blue, almost black, with a small explosion of what could only be described as a twinkle now and then.
“One drop of this before sleep, and you'll wake refreshed.” Chatska shoved the vial into my small hand and turned away as if she'd just given a child a candy he had been begging for.
“What is it?” I said in a quiet voice.
With her Kraw hearing, Chatska caught my words and turned to me, disregarding some parchment she had started to look over.
“Reprieve. Yes, it's safe for all parties involved. But only one drop. Six drops will kill the Warlord's hulking beast and three will ensure you an eternal slumber. Got it?”
I nodded, clutching the small bottle close to my chest. If she was lying, Dal would know.
I rose slowly, nausea leaving my belly in short waves. “Thank you, Chatska.”
The old Kraw simply waved me away with a grunt, and I smiled and left, tucking the vial away in my pocket.
I made my way back toward Dal, only to be halted when a loud horn blew across the camp. War cries rang out, the massive voices of thousands of Kraw bellowing and taking up arms. With a frown, I continued my path to the front of the massive camp, moving much faster than my easy pace before. Within five minutes I had made it to the front of the camp, where the Warlord set those fierce eyes upon me.
“My Eyes and Ears. Come, the dead men approach already, begging with hands open for fear to be laid upon their doorsteps. Let us not disappoint them,” he said with a sneer.
I glanced at Dal as the Warlord turned away. My mate gave a deep sigh.
“You are coming, are you not?” I asked Dal.
“I am one of the Daggers in Shadow, and so I will be present at the first slice,” he said.
My brows drew together as I noted hesitation in Dal. His gaze was reading me, demanding into the space between us for me not to go.
The Warlord strode between us, shoving me and Dal back as he did so. “Fate has cursed me with the weakness of two mated fools for a Second and Third. Do not make me regret my complacency,” he growled. “Come, let us go strike terror into the hearts of these maggots, let them look their death in the eye as they grovel for a peace they don't deserve.”
I reached for the mount that was brought to me. “Strike fear into those maggots? I’ll strike death into them, should the Warlord to command it,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, Dal stilled at my words, then took his time mounting his steed.
The Dagger in Shadow, which consisted of the Warlord, myself, Dal, and seven other hulking Kraw, descended the hill overlooking Elanthia. The tiny, brightly colored council striding toward us on horseback reminded me of painted chess pieces from a life lived so long ago.
They halted their progress not far from their gates, and the glinting of arrow tips sparkled along the tops of the great wall erected around Elanthia. From this high up on the hill, I could see human warriors gathering behind the wall, rallying an army ready to defend or strike. Catapults were being erected quickly, trampling the bits of farm that were closest to the wall.
The Warlord had mounted the towering beast that had pulled the cart alongside Dal. It snorted with its giant nostrils and stomped with its stumpy legs, making a groaning sound that shook the ground. The beast had been painted in slashes of black, bones draped around it for armor.
The Warlord him was the stuff of nightmares, and I could easily see every human within miles running for their life. Dal and I each got a painted and armored war steed, along with the rest of the Dagger in Shadow, and together the ten of us thundered down the hill, bones clanking, beasts snorting, leather creaking, laughter rumbling.
As we neared the council, I realized a sixth figure now sat wi
th the original five.
Mindrik.
We slowed nearly one hundred paces from the council, ignoring the threat of arrows aimed at our hearts. The Warlord to my left, Dal to my right, and the rest of the Dagger in Shadow spread around us. Upon arriving, the Warlord raised his chin and looked down at the council. The human horses stomped and shied, ears back and tails swishing with nerves.
Our Kraw war steeds were as calm as milk cows. The council shined in their glowing robes, their clean saddles of gold and silver, their crowns of glorious light. Compared to the black and gray of Kraw bones and dirt, the council were shining jewels.
I watched Mindrik, wondering when he would recognize me in my blood and bones and glinting crown of spikes. Dal was to my right, and Mindrik's eyes stopped on him first, glaring, a sneer of hatred forming under the large nose. As if Dal hadn’t protected him and kept him nourished all that time before this.
“If you've come to beg for mercy, do it with dignity so that my beast does not wretch,” the Warlord said down to the uneasy humans. That deep voice of death, like drowning in the bottom of a dark well, spoke the human language, surprising me.
“We come to negotiate peace,” Sol Vraldok said in his crown of yellow.
The Warlord laughed, as did the rest of us. Sitting on the Kraw side of the battle as I was, I recognized it as a stupid thing to say, pitiful and expected. Peace, it was weakness. They may as well have bowed before the Kraw.
“You forfeited your right to peace when you drank from the wound in your world,” Dal said aloud to them. “You have ignored logic, and will continue to do so until death summons you.”
“You filth, where is your traitorous, impotent whore? We welcomed you into our gates, and this is how you repay kindness,” Sol Lalpund snarled, the flame of his crown pulsing with fury.
