by Amber Argyle
He pulled her flush against him and deepened the kiss. “Your mother will be coming.”
In answer, she hooked the front of his trousers and pulled them deeper into the mist, the rushing water pounding past them. Supposedly, the pipers had herbs to prevent pregnancy. Larkin didn’t have them. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t do other things.
So they did. So many beautiful, awkward things.
Larkin wrung out her tunic as best she could. Denan leaned over and kissed her bare shoulder. She smiled at him.
“Denan?” Talox called from somewhere out of sight.
Larkin froze and then hurriedly tugged her sloppy tunic over her head.
“Denan,” Talox called louder. “It can’t wait.”
“The forest take him.” Her voice was rough. “Because if it doesn’t, I will.”
“What?” Denan growled loudly to Talox.
“It’s the king,” Talox said. “He’s here.”
Larkin tugged on her trousers. “What’s the king doing here?” She shivered, though it wasn’t cold.
Denan gave a sharp shake of his head. “I have no idea.”
They gathered their things and headed down the path. At the second pool, Larkin tried very hard not to notice the abundance of naked men whooping and cavorting.
His own shirt damp, Talox waited for them, his expression sheepish. “He’s in the pavilion.”
Denan pushed past Talox without a word. Halfway down, they passed Mama with the little ones. One of the pages held the baby. Mama covered Sela’s eyes against the soldiers’ nakedness.
“Aren’t you going to help me keep an eye on your sister?” Mama asked in exasperation as Larkin passed her. Her eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles. Had Brenna let her get any sleep?
“My page will tend the little ones while you bathe,” Denan said with a pointed look at the boy, who looked uncomfortable but nodded anyway.
“Go far enough into the mist and no one can see you,” Larkin said over her shoulder.
Mama called after Larkin, who ignored her. She would pay for this later. Nothing to do about that now.
At the pavilion, four guards stood at each corner. Inside, King Netrish paced back and forth. Middle-aged and portly, he looked more like a tavern keeper than the powerful king his embossed mantle declared him to be. This was the man who sentenced Bane to die—the only man in the Alamant more powerful than Denan. He was the reason she’d been forced to take Bane and flee. The sooner Denan’s magic came into full power and he could ascend to the throne, the sooner this man would be a relic.
Denan bowed. “My king?”
Netrish’s expression landed on Larkin, at her tunic dripping a fat circle around her feet, and his mouth tightening with disapproval.
“I’ve received word of Gendrin’s company.” Netrish handed Denan a missive. “His runners couldn’t get through the mulgars to reach you, so they came to me in the city. I managed to slip away with half a dozen of my best pipers.”
Denan opened the seal. “Where is he?”
Netrish leaned over a map pinned to a small table and pointed to a patch of trees south of Landra and Cordova, the two cities on the northwesternmost tip of the United Cities of the Idelmarch. Denan and Talox clustered around the king.
“Ancestors, what is Gendrin doing there?” Denan scanned the missive.
“A half dozen men slipped through where a single scout couldn’t? That doesn’t make any—” Talox began.
“Ancestors save us!” Denan handed the missive to Talox, who read quickly.
Larkin wished she could read more than the few letters and small words Denan had taught her.
Netrish stepped closer. “You must send your army at once. Demry’s too.”
“What’s happening?” Larkin asked in a small voice.
Denan let out a long breath. “The mulgars—we didn’t thin them. They doubled back to attack Gendrin’s men.”
She remembered the name. Bane’s sister, Caelia, was married to Gendrin. Caelia, who didn’t know that her brother was dead or that her husband was in grave danger.
Larkin held her hand over her mouth. “What is Gendrin’s army doing so far from the Alamant?”
“The treaty is over,” Netrish said.
She’d forgotten. The pipers were cursed to never have daughters. In order to fight against the wraiths, they had to have children. So in exchange for protection, the Black Druids secretly allowed women to be taken. But since the Idelmarch had declared war on the Alamant …
Larkin covered her throat with her hand. “Gendrin and his army … they’re taking girls.”
Netrish huffed. “A reaping is a natural consequence of breaking the treaty.”
“Reaping?” Larkin asked.
Denan met her gaze. “Usually, only those chosen by the White Tree go in search of their heartsong. During a reaping, all men can.”
The time her villagers had tried to burn the forest … the perpetrators had been found dead without a mark on them, and two dozen girls had gone missing.
Larkin rocked forward, hand on her forehead. Ancestors. It had been a reaping. And now it was happening again, all over the Alamant. How many girls were being kidnapped by pipers, never to see their families again?
“This … this violence has to end.” Larkin’s voice shook with emotion. For kidnapping and forcing girls was violence, whether done gently or not. “The Idelmarchians and the Alamantians—we’re not enemies. The wraiths are our enemies.” Somehow, she must make both sides see this.
Denan turned away from the accusation in her eyes. “Tomorrow. I’ll send my armies to rescue Gendrin tomorrow.”
Netrish stepped closer. “They won’t last the night. You know they won’t.”
“As long as they maintain their perimeter—” Denan began.
“Their perimeter has already fallen once!”
“I have women and wounded to protect!”
“You have your woman!” Netrish roared. “There are over five hundred women with that company—terrified girls who are all going to die so you can protect your own wife!
“Send Larkin and the wounded on to the Alamant,” the king went on. “I’ll go on ahead and sally forth with a company to bring them in. My guess is that wraiths won’t bother a small company of wounded when they have an entire army they can obliterate.”
“You don’t understand,” Denan said. “This is a trap.”
“Trap?” Netrish said in disbelief. “What trap?”
Larkin had spent one terrifying night high in a tree while the wraiths circled. These girls would know ten times that fear. “Denan—”
Denan slapped the table, causing her to jump. “The Wraith King is trying to draw us in, make us fight on his terms. He knows he can’t defeat us from our strongholds. He won’t let Larkin slip away—not again.”
Netrish rocked back on his heels and eyed her. “Ramass has fixated on her?”
Denan nodded, and his gaze asked Larkin to tell the king the truth. Her look begged him to let this slide. She didn’t trust Netrish. Denan nodded again, more insistently this time.
Talox cleared his throat. “Too many have seen it for the secret to remain much longer, Larkin.”
Reluctantly, she flared her sigils. The sword and shield formed in her hands.
Netrish gasped and staggered back. “Ancestors save us, she has magic!”
“Now you see.” Denan rubbed his eyes, his exhaustion momentarily getting the better of him. “If Ramass senses Larkin, he and his fellows will form near her and take her. A small company wouldn’t stand a chance fending them off.”
“She can’t flee to the Alamant,” Netrish agreed. “Not without a sizeable army.”
Denan braced himself against the table. He and Talox examined the map. “The gully Gendrin is surrounded in is a death trap for any army caught inside it. Ramass is forcing me to abandon Gendrin or meet his army in the time and place of his choosing. Even if we do manage to defeat the wraiths, that adds
an extra two nights in the Forbidden Forest—two nights in which he attacks us.”
The Wraith King had realized Denan’s forces were too strong to overpower unless he gave himself an advantage.
Netrish cleared the emotion from his throat. “He’s my son, Denan.”
Larkin slipped over to Talox. “Who’s his son?” she murmured.
“Gendrin,” Talox said, his eyes never shifting from the map.
How had Larkin not known Caelia’s husband was the king’s son?
“I could command you,” Netrish said without feeling.
Denan rose to his full height and faced the other man down. “You may be king, but I am commander of these armies. And now you know the stakes. We can’t risk her.”
Netrish didn’t meet Denan’s gaze. “You think your men will follow you in abandoning their fellows and those women?”
Denan gestured wildly. “You think they’ll forgive me if I let the only woman in three hundred years to possess the magic fall into wraith hands? I don’t fight battles unless I’m confident I can win.”
“We do what we must,” Larkin repeated his mantra. He flinched, clearly not liking the idiom thrown in his face any more than she did. “You’re a prince. You put your people first.”
He breathed out in frustration. “Larkin, you need to understand the risk in this. No matter how well prepared or how superior our forces, battles are unpredictable beasts.”
“You’ll keep me safe. As you always do.”
He scrubbed his hand over his head. “I don’t see how.”
“I know this gully.” Talox tapped the map for emphasis. “It’s narrow and steep. Surround him as he surrounds Gendrin.”
Denan folded his arms over his chest. “And what of Larkin and our wounded? They won’t be able to keep up with us—not at the pace we’ll be forced to set. And if Ramass has reserves hidden somewhere in the woods, a small group would be vulnerable.”
“Place the women and wounded at the top of that outcropping of rocks on the southeast side.” Talox touched the map near the gully.
“The promontory?” Denan asked.
Talox nodded. “There’s only one way in—a narrow pass, easily guarded. The rest is sheer cliffs.”
Denan leveled him with a look. “Going after Gendrin would add two nights to our journey. Two nights for the wraiths to attack.”
Larkin studied the map, noting how close Gendrin’s army was to the Idelmarch. “Not if we travel Cordova Road.”
Denan looked between them, a betrayed expression on his face. “You want us to invade the Idelmarch?”
Larkin hadn’t been able to save Bane—not yet anyway—but perhaps she could face Caelia if she saved her husband. “Just … borrow the road for a little while.”
Talox nodded. “Cordova Road is an easy march from the gully.”
She traced the road eastward to Cordova. “How far from Cordova to the Alamant?”
Denan pursed his lips. “A day’s forced march.”
After the battle was over, they could cross the remaining forest and camp on Idelmarchian land. “The people of Cordova won’t have dampeners,” she said.
Netrish nodded. “Free Gendrin’s army and spend the next night in the Idelmarch. March straight from there to the Alamant.” He grasped Denan’s forearm. “Bring my son back to me.”
Denan nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Netrish clapped a hand on Denan’s shoulder. “If I’m going to make it back to the Alamant before nightfall, we need to move.” He bowed to them, his gaze lingering on Larkin before he strode from the pavilion back into the rain.
Denan braced himself against the table. “Talox, a moment alone.”
Talox grunted and left.
Denan waited until both men were both out of earshot. “Larkin …” He shook his head, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t think you understand—this won’t be like the other battles. It will be bloody and chaotic, and I can’t guarantee we’ll win.”
He was the one who would be fighting, and yet he was trying to prepare her, comfort her. He was leaving, she realized, and he wasn’t sure he’d be coming back.
“I pushed you into this. If something happens to you—”
He reached out, his hand encircling the back of her head. He cradled her against him. “It’s the right decision with the knowledge we have. But the Wraith King will be waiting with everything he has, and Larkin …” His voice trailed off, his grip tightening until it was almost painful. “I’m afraid.”
She clutched him. He was alive and strong and hers. But by nightfall, all that could change. “I love you.”
Denan pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes bright. “No matter what happens, I will come for you,” he said roughly.
She sobbed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Always.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, turned on his heel, and trotted down the steps. He paused beside Talox. “You will keep her safe, soldier.”
“I swear it.” Talox came to stand beside her.
Denan strode away. Dripping wet, Tam came jogging from the direction of the springs. Denan called for his captains and pages and flung out orders for the army to march double time back to the west. Tam shot them a questioning glance before falling in beside Denan.
Larkin turned away. She refused to watch Denan go. It hurt too much.
“Nearly there,” Talox said with a glance at the sun dipping toward the horizon. Sela hung off his back.
“Praise my ancestors,” Mama panted.
Larkin worried for her mother. She’d hardly spoken at all that day. Every time they’d stopped to rest, she’d lain down and fallen asleep.
Sweating under the wrap holding Brenna to her, Larkin pressed on through pine and rocky soil. Half an hour later, the three of them passed beyond a narrow fissure of rocks to a flat expanse that rose up sharply into the sunset.
The promontory. Larkin breathed a sigh of relief. They’d made it.
Coming up beside them, Magalia set down her end of the stretcher. The man inside had lost his left hand, the bandage bloody. She knelt next to the man and checked his forehead. “Still no fever. I told you I was the best healer in the Alamant.”
He gave her a weak smile. “And the prettiest.”
As a widow, she was also one of the few single women he would ever meet. Pretty as she was, Magalia probably had a new proposal every week. She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.
More pipers filed in. Magalia directed them to lay the wounded in neat rows. The healers immediately set about caring for their patients. Larkin, Sela, and Mama passed out water, food, and blankets.
Of the three hundred or so men who’d accompanied them, fifty men remained behind to guard the fissure. The rest departed at a fast clip to catch up to the main army.
Two soldiers passed Larkin carrying something made of sacred wood—symbols had been carved all along the surface.
“What are those?” she asked Talox.
Talox glanced at them. “The wards. They’ll set them out along the periphery.”
Magalia sidled up to Larkin. “What do we do about her?”
Larkin followed her gaze to find Maisy scampering up a tree. She instantly looked for Sela, who was too busy handing out food to have noticed, and let out a breath of relief.
“Leave her be if you can,” Larkin murmured. She realized she didn’t know much about Magalia. “Where are you from?”
“Landra,” Magalia said. “My father was a merchant.”
“Do you miss him?” Larkin asked.
Magalia’s movements slowed. “There are many people I miss.” At Larkin’s pitying look, Magalia smiled sadly. “I wouldn’t change it any more than you would.”
They both fell silent, the camaraderie of a common trauma binding them together.
“Larkin, Pennice, Sela, let’s go,” Talox said from behind her. “I want you all in a tree before sunset.”
The guards from their first night—Dayne, Ulrin, and
Tyer—flanked him.
“The healers need help,” Larkin said. “And besides, you have the wards to keep the wraiths off.”
“You want to help the wounded? You do that by getting in a tree.” Talox motioned for the guards to follow him ahead.
Mama wasn’t far behind. “Larkin, bring Sela.”
Sela trotted up to Larkin and gripped her hand.
Magalia took the rest of the blankets from Larkin. “We’re nearly done anyway. Go on.”
Larkin frowned. “It’s not fair that we have the safety of a tree and you don’t.”
Magalia shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I suppose that’s just the way it is. Some people have magic and some don’t.”
Frustration welled in Larkin. “It won’t always be that way. The curse can be removed—I’m proof that it can. We just have to figure out how to do it.”
Sela looked between the two. She let go of Larkin’s hand and motioned for Magalia to bend down. Shooting Larkin a confused look, Magalia crouched. Sela rested both her palms on Magalia’s shoulders and seemed to peer deep in her chest.
Magalia gasped and fell backward. Eyes wide, she gaped at Sela. “What— What did you do to me?”
Sela cowered, ran to Larkin, and jumped into her arms.
Larkin staggered under the onslaught. “What do you mean?”
Magalia pressed her hand to her chest and breathed out. “Something cold and dark was inside me. I didn’t even know it was there until she took it away.”
Eyes wide, Larkin looked down at her sister. The last of the sunlight lit her downy hair—just like it had the day Larkin had found Sela inside the forest everyone else was terrified of.
She’d been covered in mud and grinning, a fistful of flowers in her hair. “The trees are our friends.” Sela had said those words then, and she’d said them again when Larkin found her in the arbor ring mere days ago.
It was Sela.
Sela who’d Denan found first.
Sela who’d tried to go into the forest again because the trees were singing to her.
Sela who’d rested her hands on Larkin’s shoulders. Warmth and light had flooded her where before there had been darkness.