by Gwynn White
The arrows stopped as quickly as they’d started.
The wonderfully familiar scent of fresh running water, salt, and rosemary reached her. Her heart surged, and she had to force her cry of joy back down her throat. “Boa!” she yelled, sharing the good news with everyone on the longboat. “Just in time.” Averin on one side and Eliezar on her other, she leapt up and searched the bank for Boa and her rebels.
Her eyes met with a pair of mauve ones. They swirled with wild anger.
Savage and fierce, Princess Boa stood at the water’s edge with a bloodied sword in hand. Her fish-scale armor was splattered with blood, possibly from the four downed Pyreack soldiers crumpled at her feet. Dark hair, constrained by no combs, whipped in the wind around Boa’s swarthy face.
Frea stood at Boa’s side. One steely mauve eye stared down the length of an arrow—an arrow aimed straight for Averin’s heart.
Stasha’s jaw dropped.
Before she could speak, Boa yelled, “Prince Averin Trysael of Zephyr, relinquish Stasha into my care, or die with schorl in your heart. That is your choice.”
Stasha gasped, looking from Boa to Frea and back again. “What are you doing?” she called loud enough for her voice to travel across the remaining stretch of water to reach Boa.
Boa didn’t shift her furious gaze from Averin. “Stasha, keep out of this. My fight is not with you. Our arrows are aimed at that windbag Averin.”
There were more archers hidden in the forest? Not good.
“Fight Averin and you automatically fight me,” she snarled, unable to believe Boa’s idiocy. She pulled two handfuls of fire from her core and held up her burning fingers for all to see. The fire sizzled and spluttered as it consumed the hailstones hitting it.
“Thank you for the show of solidarity, Stasha.” Averin gave Boa a shallow bow. “Princess Boadicea, pray tell, what have I done now to offend you?”
“You heard the princess’s command,” Frea snapped. “Pull your boat to the riverbank, and let us have Stasha, or I will kill you.”
Averin snorted. “I’m hardly going to do that with an unspecified number of arrows straining at my heart. And you’re crazy if you think I’ll move my human battalion into danger by coming a foot closer to you. And as for Stasha—”
“Averin and I have a deal,” Stasha interrupted. No wonder Darien had come out on top when all Boa and Averin ever did was yowl at each other like alley cats. “Nothing can come between that. Not even a schorl arrow in his heart.” She thumped both Trystaen and Eliezar’s shoulders. “If Averin dies, I will go to Zephyr with them.” She narrowed her eyes, even though the venom she was pushing into her expression was probably lost behind the curtain of hail. “And be warned, Averin’s death will be avenged. Frea, expect to burn if you so much as touch a hair on Averin’s head.” She tossed a fireball from hand to hand.
“I didn’t know you cared so much, pit princess,” Averin muttered under his breath. She caught a smile in his voice. Even with arrows aimed at his heart, he seemed unfazed by Boa’s temper tantrum. Perhaps it helped that Boa had no ice claws or mist swirling around her. Her magic was also clearly gone.
“Take advantage of me when we get to Zephyr, and it will be you who I set alight,” she muttered back, keeping her focus on Frea.
“I don’t doubt it.” Averin shoved his hands into his pockets, but the lazy gesture was lost under a sudden frown.
No time to decipher that.
Boa watched her with preternatural stillness. After what seemed an age—at least another inch of hail had to have fallen onto the longboat—Boa flicked a finger at Frea. The archer lowered her bow. The wood and leather strained as she let the arrow drop between her fingers.
“Prince Averin,” Boa yelled. “We had a deal to meet at Shantawa. Yet here I find you almost ten miles south of the river that would have brought you and Stasha to my camp. What else am I to assume other than you intended to slink away to Zephyr with Stasha? Given your history, it’s entirely reasonable to presume you plan on turning her against me and my rebel army. I can only conclude that you are now my enemy.”
Averin threw his head back and laughed bitterly. “And that has always been the problem with the Ocea royal family. Instead of working on solid facts, they assume, presume, and then conclude way too much. Much better to stop and ask questions first, I think. But hey, what do I know? I’m just the fae who spent a year at your side, spilling my magic on Angharad to clean up the mess you and your father started in the Blue Desert.”
Boa flinched as if Averin had punched her.
This standoff wasn’t helping anyone, least of all Stasha’s efforts at pulling together a huge, united army to take down Darien.
She pressed both hands onto the railing and leaned up on her toes. “Boa, ignore Averin. He’s being as idiotic as you are right now.” With Averin’s huff loud in her ear, she couldn’t hear Boa’s tight reply. “Darien called this hailstorm down on us just after his slinkers attacked the longboat. Goul is—” She gulped. “He’s dead.”
She resisted the urge to look at Ivan, who sucked in a ragged breath. Her heart panged, and she fought the lump that rose in her throat—she needed to finish her impassioned plea. “The rest of us are exhausted. Not to mention battered and bruised. We need shelter, food, and rest. Will you help us?” She let her voice harden. “Or must I, Stasha, Orphan from Askavol, Bearer of Wild Magic, and Weapon Coveted by Nations and Kings find a new ally?”
Now there was a fine title to shove into the exquisite faces of all these snotty fae royals. It was indeed a title befitting a girl with both water and fire magic.
Boa stiffened. “The true queen of Ocea will always support Stasha, Orphan from Askavol and Bearer of Wild Magic. As will her rebel army.”
It wasn’t lost on Stasha that Boa had conveniently forgotten to mention the third and, perhaps, most important part of her grand new title.
Boa continued. “That offer does not extend to the Zephyr royal you choose to hang out with, even though he and his family do indeed covet your power. Has he mentioned that yet? Or is he still holding you to that ridiculous bargain that stops you asking questions and demanding answers about what awaits you in Zephyr?”
It was Averin’s turn to flinch. Trystaen and Eliezar both stiffened.
Oh, what fun awaited her at Zephyr. Maybe even as much fun as she was having right now. It took all her self-control to keep a lid on the questions she longed to fire at both Boa and Averin about Zephyr. Keeping a cold eye fixed on Boa helped.
After a long moment of silence broken only by the clatter of hail, Boa bowed to her. “Stasha, you and your human friends are welcome to spend the night with me and my troops.” She waved a hand at a crowd of fae who stepped out from behind the brambles. They all carried swords or bows and arrows. “In the morning, I’ll escort you through Atria. It’ll take a week or so, but once through”—a sneer—“you can meet up with Averin in Zephyr.”
Averin snorted and slapped the railing with an impatient hand. Trystaen and Eliezar shifted into fighting stance, throwing-knives in hand.
Ready to pull her hair out with all these stupid, warring fae, Stasha looked pointedly from Boa to Averin, and then back to Boa. “C’mon, people. Cut it out. You know this isn’t the real fight. We’re not enemies. We have but one enemy, and his name is Darien Pyreaxos.”
Boa sneered at the name, and Frea spat on the ground. Her saliva mingled with the Pyreack blood on the riverbank. Progress, but still no softening of Boa’s mauve eyes as she glowered at Averin.
Heart thudding like a hammer against her ribcage, Stasha held her scarred palm up for all to see. “Princess Boa, I vow to you that I will destroy Darien Pyreaxos. Your kingdom will be restored to you. We will all finally have peace.”
Averin sucked in a sharp breath and turned to glare at her. “Have you any idea of what you’ve done? If Boa accepts that vow and you fail to destroy Darien, she can claim your life. The magic will kill you to restore balance and keep honor.”<
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As if she didn’t know that. She already had such a bond with the Tiyanak. What was one more if it gave her leverage to build an army strong enough to destroy the Pyreack forces and kill Darien? She ignored him and the empty pit in her stomach.
Boa stood so still, if not for her fae eyes blinking slowly, she could have been one of the darkened trees. Finally, she said, “Nothing good is safe while Piss Swill breathes.”
Stasha nodded. “Which is why we all have to work together to kill him. To be a reliable part of our united army, I must go to Zephyr to learn to control my magic. If I don’t, it could kill me long before the bond I’m offering you does.” She looked at Eliezar for support.
Eliezar slapped his chest with his open palm. “Stasha, Orphan from Askoval, Bearer of Wild Magic, and Weapon Coveted by Nations and Kings speaks with wisdom others in this company would be wise to emulate. Training her has to be our number-one goal.”
Urgh…why did he have to sound so patronizing? Boa was bound to take exception to that jab. She watched the princess closely.
Boa’s eyes locked on Averin, and her lips pursed. She huffed, then said, “Stasha, Orphan from Askavol and Bearer of Wild Magic, unlike the Zephyr prince, I do not require a death bond from you.” She gave Stasha a gracious smile. “If anyone can kill Piss Swill, it’s you. Until then, I offer your entire party my protection. Pull your boat over. Rest the night with us. In the morning, I will help all of you across the border safely.”
Relief flooded through Stasha, and she sighed out a painful breath. She glanced at Averin. His face was hard, the stars in his eyes masked by something dark. Despite his obvious qualms, he dropped back down onto his bench and took up an oar. Trystaen and Eliezar followed his lead, as did the others.
With Klaus at her side, Stasha braced herself against the battered railing as The Sword powered through the hail to the blissfully calm riverbank. Before it had even grounded, two Ocea fae stepped into the water to pull it onto dry land. The water lapped coolly at their scuffed boots. They must have been among the lucky fae who’d been in Ocea when Darien’s curse had taken hold.
Desperate to be out of the hail, she dragged Klaus onto her back, clambered over the railing, and jumped onto the pebbled beach. Her legs buckled, and they both rolled onto the ground in an ungainly tangle of limbs. The world tipped and rippled as she tried, and failed, to stand. Giddiness swirled in her ears, which were already ringing from the hail, even though the storm stopped at the water’s edge.
Boa chuckled. “It might take you a moment to find your land legs.” She held out her hands to help Stasha and Klaus up. The bright-blue living tattoos on Boa’s hands were still. Another sign that her magic had been stolen.
Smiling sheepishly, Stasha allowed Boa to yank her to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but she managed to stay upright.
Still on the ground, Klaus laughed. “Are you sure you’re actually a fae, Stasha? You seem awfully human to me.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “You made no allowance for me carrying you.”
“True.” Ignoring Boa’s proffered hand, he lumbered slowly to his feet.
She bit her lip, unsure if she’d done the right thing in dragging him off The Sword. Finding her place with this new Klaus was almost as challenging as dealing with fae royals.
Without waiting for Averin and the rest of Stasha’s friends to disembark, Boa commanded, “Follow me.” She and her soldiers weaved through the brambles and were lost from sight. Torn between waiting for the others and going with Boa, Stasha hesitated.
Averin jumped off The Sword to land neatly at her side. “Go. The rest of us will catch up.”
She shook her head and folded her arms. “We leave here together or not at all.” She strode to the edge of the brambles, ready to yell at Boa about her lousy hospitality but bit her tongue instead.
Boa and her troops had stopped in a clearing just beyond the brambles. Six dead Pyreack soldiers littered the ground between a circle of tents and a pig on a spit above a firepit. If her nose didn’t deceive her, potatoes, turnips, and onions were roasting in the coals. Her stomach roared at the delicious aroma, and it took a huge effort not to gouge out a handful of the crisp, roasted meat and stuff it into her mouth.
She pulled her gaze away from the food to where some of Boa’s soldiers were ransacking the tents. Others stood guard at the perimeter of the camp, while others dragged the dead Pyreack to the river. The pilfering soldiers tossed a collection of weapons and clothing onto a pile next to the firepit.
It seemed silly not to join them.
Flanked by Averin and Klaus, she led the rest of her friends into the camp.
“Dig through that stuff,” Boa called. “The clothing is tainted by Pyreack sweat, but you might find something warm to wear. It’ll be even colder in Atria.” She scooped up a dagger in a sheath teetering on the pile and held it out to Stasha. “You might find this useful if you can see past the Pyreack crest to use it.”
“I think I’ll manage.” She took blade and tucked it into her leggings. Best not mention that Averin had already given her a dagger, one she’d forgotten in the longboat.
Averin nudged her and held out the blade. “I brought this off The Sword for you. Now you have two.”
Boa huffed and kicked through the pile. She pulled out a thick, gray cloak, which she tossed at Stasha with a flourish, as if challenging Averin to top that offering.
Stasha threw the cloak around her shoulders—it was gloriously warm, even if it did reek of wood smoke and sour sweat—and stomped to the roasting pig to escape the warring royals. “When do we eat?”
Vlad and Feral Fox encircled the roast. They were mottled with hail-inflicted bruises. Ivan stood behind them. In addition to his bruises, his red, swollen eyes were downcast. She squeezed his arm. “He’ll be missed. A lot.”
Ivan folded his arms tight across his chest. “It’s my fault he’s gone.”
“Nonsense!” Feral Fox wheezed through his missing teeth.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Averin stiffen before he strode to join them. Fae healing had already cleaned up all trace of Averin’s pummeling by the hail storm.
“Remember, lad,” Feral Fox continued. “Goul may have been a fighter, but that didn’t make him a soldier.” He shifted to include Averin. “Our prince will tell you that there’s a huge difference between the two.”
“Goul knew that, and he made his choice,” Averin said softly. “We have to honor his wishes.”
Ivan punched the air. “His brains were scrambled by a fish! You said it yourself—choice didn’t come into it.”
Feral Fox glanced at Averin, who waved a hand for Feral Fox to continue. Feral Fox tossed an arm around Ivan’s shoulders. “We can always choose, laddie. It’s the only true freedom we have. Goul made his choice. Now you need to make yours. Will you let this break you, or will you tuck his memory away safely and fight on?”
“Fight on, of course,” Vlad yelped. The light from the firepit highlighted his crooked nose, broken in his first fight back in Askavol.
Suren grabbed Vlad’s arm and yanked it hard. “Come, young dragon, let’s find some water. I’m sure everyone is parched.” He marched off to the closest tent, dragging Vlad behind him.
Stasha scraped her dry tongue over her teeth. As much as she longed to chug water, she couldn’t leave Ivan.
Averin lifted Ivan’s bowed head with a single, slender finger. “Master Ivan, look at me.” It took a moment for Ivan to meet Averin’s blue gaze. “Sargent Feral Fox knows what he’s talking about.” Feral Fox’s jaw dropped, probably at his sudden promotion. “There is much blame that can be apportioned for Goul’s death: mine, for choosing the river; the pod queen, for sniffing out Goul’s weakness; yours, for not keeping him in the longboat; King Darien’s, for setting the slinkers on us; the Pyreack soldiers who captured you both and took you to Angharad. We could even go back a thousand years to blame the three kings who started this hateful war. But what good does it
do? It doesn’t bring our friend back. Take heart, and keep your spirits up. I’m sure that’s what Goul would have wanted for you.”
Three kings had started the war?
She frowned at the pork fat spluttering in the fire. “If Darien Pyreaxos was one of them, who were the other two?”
“I promised you food.” Boa stalked out of a tent carrying an assortment of wooden bowls. She passed a bowl to Stasha before shoving the rest at Averin to hand around. “The chances of a Pyreack attack are good, so don’t let the food put you to sleep.”
Averin frowned at the bowls before passing them onto Feral Fox to distribute. “Boa, Suren, and I will join your troops on the first watch.” He looked around. “Where is he?”
“Here.” Suren strode back to the fire, Vlad tagging along behind. Stasha had no idea what Suren had said to Vlad, but the boy was smiling. “First watch works for me. Doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight.”
Boa glared at Averin. “Okay, but my troops and I will handle the rest of the night.”
“I’m sure Trystaen and Eliezar would hate to be overlooked,” Averin said mildly. “And to think, I could have contributed a barrel of ale to this fine meal you filched from the Pyreack.” He shook his head ruefully. “But it went for a swim during the slinker attack.”
“My troops will share their waterskins with you.” On command, a group of Boa’s soldiers walked over holding out waterskins.
Thirst overcame Stasha’s quest for information on the warmongers who’d plunged the continent into misery, and from the frown-inducing tit for tat Boa seemed determined to play with Averin. She grabbed a waterskin and chugged a few mouthfuls before pulling back. There were a lot of people in the camp, not to mention they’d also need water in the morning.
Boa pulled a knife out of a sheath on her belt and used it to hack off chunks of roasted pig. “First come, first served,” she growled.
Boa may have been a princess who had mastered the cold-and-regal act, but she was also one of the people. Maybe that was why she’d managed to raise an army in spite of Darien’s best efforts to turn the Ocea fae against her. That kind of magnetism was sorely needed if Stasha was to get her army together.