“The city guards are expecting us,” Serla Vellis cried as Rilla bound her hands behind her back. “My brother is the leader of the Circle in Whitewater City. When we don’t reach the gates, they’ll come looking.”
Eris smiled at her. “Then I’ll send your regards.”
*
It was a tricky, time-consuming business to steal what clothes, weapons, and armor Eris and her allies would need to continue her plan, and get the coach past the magic-torn ground. But by the time Atal hung high in the sky, Eris sat upon one of the coach’s padded seats, watching the world trundle outside the window. The coach’s lanterns cast a faint light ahead, but unless she pressed herself against the thick, cold glass, all she could see was her own reflection. The glass was smooth, but if she looked closely, she could make out the faint swirls and spirals within, which marked it as mage-made. How readily dregs relied upon magic and all it could do for them, yet they’d just as soon imprison every mage in the world for that self-same magic.
Ben, who sat opposite her, cleared his throat. “I wish you had not left them in the forest.”
“Would you rather I killed them?”
“You may as well have. They’ll die from exposure before anyone finds them.”
“They’re bound together,” Adrie said from next to Eris. “They’ll keep each other warm. Besides, I reckon that guard captain will have them all freed before too long.”
Marcen sat next to Ben, hands resting in his lap. Like the others, he wore some of the fine clothes the group had found in Serla Vellis’ luggage; perhaps gifts for her brother. They looked out of place on his lanky frame. “I dunno. Leal’s knots were strong.”
Ben sighed. “A sister to a Circle priest. Is her death worth the lives of your friends?”
Still not looking at him, Eris tapped the coach door. “You’re free to leave any time, Ben. I’m sure Serla Vellis would appreciate you coming to her rescue.”
Ben was silent. Eris smirked to herself and continued watching outside. She caught muffled snatches of Brice and Rilla’s conversation in the driver’s seat, with a few of Cai’s enthusiastic comments sprinkled in from where he rode postilion. She could not make out Leal or the other mages through the window, but knew the Sufani rode the captain’s mount, and had taken some of the guard’s armor.
A call came from outside. Rilla and Brice’s conversation halted and the coach jerked to a stop. Eris sat up, listening to the muffled cries that followed, and then the shouts and clang of steel.
“We’re being attacked,” Marcen whispered, hands clenched, skin glowing as he prepared his magic. Adrie did the same and the air within the coach thickened with heat. Eris held up her hand in a plea for silence. A few more shouts, and this time, Eris recognized one of the male voices as Cai’s. Light flashed somewhere in front of the coach, and the vehicle shuddered. Only a few seconds passed before silence descended. Heart pounding, Eris clenched her own fist, willing her magic to create heat and fire as Adrie and Marcen could, but nothing happened. Just as she was about to peer outside, the coach door opened, revealing Cai’s narrowed brown eyes.
“You need to see this,” he said, nodding toward the road.
Eris slipped out and sucked in a breath from the shock of the cold, which struck her anew after being within the magic-warmed coach. She clutched Serla Vellis’ velvet cloak around her shoulders, thankful for the fur lining, and followed Cai past the horses, with Mar, Adrie, and Ben on her heels.
Leal, Brice, Rilla, and the other mages stood around a pair of Whitewater City guards kneeling in the road. Auda held their mounts a few paces away. Eris stopped before both guards, whose heads were ducked. “So Kerenza was telling the truth,” she murmured.
Cai shook his head. “Aye, but that’s not what I…” He made a noise of frustration and knelt beside the larger of the two guards, whose helmet lay on the ground beside him. “Look up, you miserable shit. Show her your ugly face.”
“Don’t touch me, you filthy moon-blood,” the guard spat. But he did look into Eris’ eyes and her heart froze at the sight of the burn marks and scratches that marred his already bruised face. Her fingers itched with the memory of raking her crow-talons into his skin the night this guard—this monster—had murdered her husband.
The guard stared back at her, blinking, until a crooked smile came to his face. “Come back for another round with Ballard Faircloth, moon-blood? Come back for revenge?” He spat again, and drops of blood pattered to the snow. “Do what you like to me, but your friend is rotting in the ground. Nothing you do will change that.”
“Eris,” Ben said quietly.
But she ignored him, too overcome to speak, or even move, until Cai touched her arm and nodded to the guard. “He–”
“I know,” Eris said.
“Please,” Cai growled. “Please let me.”
Those who did not hold either guard in place stood in a ring around the prisoners, and at this, they shifted in place. Adrie cleared her throat. “We could at least use their gear.”
“We will.” Eris ignored the second guard and took a step closer to Faircloth, who met her gaze without flinching. Something hard rose in her throat; fury coiled in her belly and danced through every vein. “Murderer,” she whispered.
“Aye, and I’d do it again.” Faircloth grinned at her with bloody teeth. “If you kill me, mage, you won’t be no different.”
“Eris…”
But she had no thought for any of the others. They didn’t matter, not right now. Only Gideon mattered. The dreg was right; nothing she did now would bring her husband back.
But this moment was not for Gideon.
She grabbed the fellow’s thick neck, making his eyes bulge in surprise, and stared at him as magic swarmed within her body, seeking a release. As she had tried to do with Talon what felt like a lifetime ago, Eris focused on the tender, exposed whites of his eyes, and forced her magic upon him. Her fingertips prickled and he gasped aloud, his eyes rounding again, his mouth opening in shock. He shrieked and tried to wrench out of her grip, but the others held him firm. Eris stared into his watery, red-rimmed eyes and willed them to melt away like candle wax. The guard shrieked again, twisting and writhing, but his movements were erratic now; no struggle for freedom but the helpless thrashing of a trout on dry land. Magic swam through Eris, burning hot, fueling her rage and grief.
“Enough.” Leal shoved Eris aside, hard enough to break the contact with the guard, but not so hard that Eris stumbled to the ground.
Veins still thrumming with magic, Eris whirled on the Sufani. “What are you doing?”
Leal stared at her, breathing hard. “You said you wanted to save your strength for later.”
“This…thing must die,” Eris replied, glaring down at Faircloth, who had collapsed at her feet, whimpering.
“You’ve made your point,” Leal said. “Now let’s tie them up like the others and be on our way.”
“No.” Cai stepped over, the silver braid on his stolen livery shining in Atal’s light. “I made a promise,” he said to Eris. “To you, and to Gid. Let me fulfill it.”
Eris stared at her fellow mage, who had been Gideon’s closest friend. The desire to take the dreg’s life still gnawed at her, but revenge was costly and she could feel her strength flagging. Leal was right.
She glanced at the other mages, but none offered any objection, though Marcen looked as if he was about to be sick. Brice and Rilla, too, remained silent. She didn’t care about Ben.
“Finish him,” Eris said to Cai.
Faircloth whimpered again, though whether it was because he heard their words or because he was lost to his own pain, Eris did not know, nor care. Cai, grinning in the darkness, knelt beside Faircloth, took the fellow’s chin in his hands and forced his bloodied face up. “That’s right, dreg,” he whispered as the guard moaned. “Know that you breathe your last. And know that your fate will be the same as Gideon’s.”
A choked scream filled the air, then a gurgle, and then F
aircloth fell to the snow and did not move again. No one spoke at first until Brice cleared her throat and pointed at the other guard, a young man whom Eris had hardly noticed until now.
“What about that one?” Brice said quietly.
The remaining guard looked up at Eris. “Please, I don’t have anything against mages. Lieutenant Faircloth just asked me to come along at the last moment. Please, don’t kill me. Please show mercy.”
“We’ll need his gear, too,” Eris said. “The other guards back at the city will be expecting two to return.”
“Please,” the guard cried again.
“Leave him, Eris,” Marcen said. “He’s not our enemy.”
Brice and Rilla chorused an agreement, but Eris was already nodding to Leal. “Take care of it, would you?”
Leal stared at her. “It is against the One’s edict to kill without just cause. This man is innocent.” The Sufani’s shoulders squared. “And I am not yours to command.”
“He’s a fucking murderer, like they all are,” Cai snapped.
Eris ground her teeth and glared at Leal. “Aye, and you’ve had no qualms until now.”
“There is a difference between seeking justice and slaying an innocent,” Leal shot back. “This man had no part in your husband’s death.”
Cai rolled his eyes and grabbed the guard’s throat. “Well, if you won’t, I will.”
Before anyone could stop him, Cai’s hands glowed with heat once more. The second guard cried out as he burned from within, but he fell to the snow before the sound had finished echoing off the trees.
Cai dusted off his palms and nodded to Eris.
“Do you feel better?” Ben hissed. “Now that you have ‘justice?’”
Cai didn’t answer the Assembly man, but as the others began to strip the fallen guards of their gear, Eris looked within her own heart for the answer. She found only a void.
*
A few hours later, Serla Vellis and her retinue arrived at Whitewater City gates, escorted by two city guards. The company passed into the city without incident.
Twenty-Seven
Dusk had fallen by the time Flint and Milo emerged from the bastion. Milo fastened the lock over the gate but did not secure the catch even though he had given Mage Sadira the key. The lack of sound from the secured lock seemed to echo in the gathering dark, and he shot a nervous glance at Flint. “There’s no going back now, is there?”
“There never was, Mi.”
“Right.” He made one final check of the bastion gates to ensure they at least looked secure before the twins began to head back for the garrison. Snow fluttered down around them, carried by a steady wind. He had no feeling in his cheeks, nose, and chin, and the cold had long since seeped through his gear, despite the additional layer of underclothes he wore.
“We should find Talon,” Milo said as their boots crunched over the snow. “Make sure she doesn’t expect us to run any more errands for her. Then we can see to Stonewall and the others.”
Flint’s voice was hard as her namesake. “What if she does have a task for us? Won’t it be more suspicious if we check in with her and then take off? Why not just help our squad now?”
“But if she is looking for us,” Milo countered, “she’ll find us. Better to keep her thinking we’re on her side. Right?”
His twin exhaled a scattering plume of breath. “I guess. I hate this,” she added, kicking at a stray stone that poked through the snow. “Planning. Waiting.” She gripped her sword hilt. “I want action.”
“I’m sure we’ll find some soon…” Milo trailed off as a horse and rider trotted out of the stables. It was difficult to make out the rider through the snowfall, but he recognized the horse at once. “Who’s riding Frost?”
“Not the sarge, that’s for sure.”
They exchanged a brief, worried glance before hurrying in the direction of the horse and rider, heading for the main gates that led into the garrison. When they drew closer, Milo sucked in a breath. “Captain Cobalt!”
“What in Nox’s frozen tits is he doing out here?” Flint muttered. “Sod was half-dead last time we saw him.”
“He might know if Talon wants us,” Milo ventured. Checking in with the captain was almost as good as checking in with the commander. They could fulfill their duty and help their squad-mates that much sooner.
Flint nodded. “Let’s ask.”
They hurried to meet the officer and his mount. But Cobalt didn’t pay the twins any mind until they were right in front of him, waving and calling his name. Only then did the captain pull Frost to a halt.
“Out of the way, burnies.” Although he was fully armored, weapons and all, the pale eyes that looked down at the twins did not seem to see them, and Cobalt’s hands trembled as he gripped the reins.
Milo spoke before he could stop himself. “Ser, you’re not well. You should go to the infirmary.”
Cobalt glared down at him, his scar an angry red against the parchment backdrop of his jaw. “That was an order. Back off.”
“We’re just looking for Talon, ser,” Milo said, raising his hands.
The captain snorted. “Good luck.” He considered, and then nodded to the gates. “Open them for me and secure them once I’m through.”
Milo goggled at the older sentinel. “You’re really going out now?”
“A storm’s coming,” Flint said, gesturing at the increasing snowfall around them. “If our roles were reversed, you’d tell us to get inside. Ser.”
Frost danced beneath the captain’s seat, as if eager to be underway. Cobalt slipped in the saddle, but righted himself before he fell. “Argent will fix this,” he muttered. “Argent will bring back order when she can’t be trusted.”
“Ser?” Milo said.
“One more word,” Cobalt snarled, “and I’ll throw you both in a cell with that Sufani rabble. Now, open those gates.”
Milo exchanged another glance with Flint. Should they comply? “He’s not well,” Milo said softly. “He could die out there.”
“We tried to stop him,” Flint replied. “Better to let him leave now. One less person to get in our way.”
It was a cold truth, but it resonated. Besides, if the captain was right and High Commander Argent really was on his way here, that would make the twins’ task infinitely harder. Milo’s stomach began to creep to his throat.
“Burnies!”
Milo jumped to attention out of habit and they both rushed to the gates, where Milo opened the lock with trembling fingers to allow horse and rider to pass through. With a clatter of hooves and a flurry of snow, Cobalt and Frost darted into the city and the night.
The twins watched him go for a few seconds, and then looked at each other. “We must hurry,” Milo whispered.
Flint nodded, her face tight. “Aye. Stonewall first, or Beacon and Rook?”
Milo frowned at the keys in his hand. “The sarge’d want us to help the others first.”
“Stonewall could be dead by now,” Flint countered, but she shook her head. “Ah, you’re right. Come on.”
As with the bastion gates, they closed the garrison gates but did not fasten the latch. What did it matter if the gates were locked? They wouldn’t be here to be punished for the infraction, and even if they were, who was left standing to do so?
*
Tor, help me.
Cobalt leaned his weight against his mount’s dappled-gray neck as he urged the horse down the road from Whitewater City in the encroaching dusk. He had only fragile memories of winding through the city streets, crossing the bridge, and leaving the main gates, although if he listened, he could hear the waterfall calling his name.
His armor was stone. He was stone, too, for he allowed himself to feel nothing; not cold, nor fear, nor weariness. He was beyond all discomfort. He only existed for right now. He had to get to the High Commander. Argent would bring order back to the garrison. Only then would Cobalt allow himself to feel again.
A thick layer of clouds hid the rising
moon and earliest stars, casting the road ahead into darkness. Although it was not snowing now, hoarfrost blanketed the ground on either side of the road, while slush and mud made the going treacherous. At one point, Cobalt passed a coach-and-four, but he did not spare the vehicle more than a passing glance.
Cobalt’s breath fled in streams of fog and his horse was already steaming. Frost was a good mare, hardy, strong, and steadfast, but he would ride her to death if it would bring him to Argent even a minute sooner. He nudged her sides again, urging her faster. No time to worry about the footing. No time to worry about anything but his mission.
So focused was he that Cobalt almost ran down the sentinel scout who’d stopped in the middle of the road. Frost noticed the other horse before he did and whickered once in soft greeting even as she shimmied out of the way.
A woman’s voice called, “Well met, brother in sacrifice. Are you from Whitewater garrison?”
She held no torch and it took Cobalt a moment to make out a flash of silver in her armor. But the familiar greeting was enough to set him somewhat at ease. He opened his mouth to reply, but his words wouldn’t come. Weakness overtook him, making his vision swim, making him aware—again—of just how exhausted he was. He slumped in his saddle and prayed he wouldn’t retch on his fellow sentinel as her horse came closer.
“Ser?” she said, alarmed. “Are you ill? What’s your name?”
But Cobalt heard nothing else and saw only darkness.
*
Cobalt awoke to the sound of his name. Not his rank, which was clear by the insignia on his armored shoulder, but his name, spoken by an unfamiliar male voice, smooth and polished as glass.
“Ah, he’s conscious,” the man said. “Give me the mixture.”
Someone pressed a cup to Cobalt’s mouth and he took several deep swallows of water before he noted the metallic tang: hematite powder mixed in. Thank you, Tor. Thank you, sweet, merciful Mara. He drank greedily and allowed himself a moment of pure pleasure as that familiar, delicious heat swam through his veins, setting him on fire from the inside out. Bliss, that’s what it was: slipping into a hot spring after a cold, exhausting day; fresh-baked bread slathered with melting butter; a lover’s knowing caress. He hardly noticed the urge to retch for the sheer joy of hematite.
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