by Gwynn White
That was a discussion for another, less-fraught day.
Boa dumped a pile of meat into Stasha’s bowl and then kicked the coals. “We’ve got veggies buried somewhere in here.”
“I thought I smelt onion.” Smiling broadly for the first time since Stasha had met him, Eliezar bent down and rummaged through the coals with his blade. He pulled out a dozen or so blackened onions and potatoes, then speared an onion and tossed it aside to cool. Legs crossed, he sat next to it.
Stasha plunked down next to him and tucked her cloak tight around her. “Standing guard over your hoard?”
“Absolutely.” His pale eyes crinkled. “And I’ll happily stab anyone who challenges me for it.”
“Noted.” She smiled at him, glad to finally see his “human” side. It made him seem slightly less intimidating.
Averin, Trystaen, and Klaus joined them, while everyone else, Boa included, found other spots around the firepit. The battalion and Klaus had raided the pile of Pyreack clothing and were dressed in warm clothes with thick cloaks wrapped around them. She’d go through the leftovers after she’d eaten.
With order restored in her world, she dug into her delicious meat and vegetables. Only when she could eat no more did she lick the fat off her fingers and look up to take an interest in what everyone else was doing.
Apart from Averin, Suren was the only other fae around the fire.
Someone had moved the spitted roast away from the heat and had tossed fresh branches onto the fire. Heat radiated from the burning branches, and she held her hands out towards them, palms first. She smiled as warmth cascaded over her face and body. A warm fire and a full belly were enough to make any girl happy. Even better, the leftover meat would make a delicious breakfast.
Klaus and the battalion had set their bowls aside. Well-fed drowsiness had wiped the day’s tension off their faces. Either resting on their elbows with their legs stretched out in front or arms wrapped around knees pulled to chests, they stared pensively into the flames. They needed a proper night’s rest.
Averin touched her lightly on the back. “Everyone needs to be fighting fit by morning. Get the battalion to bed, and then sleep yourself.”
She stretched and suppressed a yawn. “I should take a watch.”
He shook his head. “Peace is a fragile thing, pit princess. Let’s not push Boa. As it is, she’s stalked off in a huff to”—he made air quotes—“sort out the watch.”
She snorted. “Yet you’re insisting Eliezar and Trystaen take a turn?”
He gave her a twisted smile. “They’d be wounded if I excluded them.” His head cocked. “They’re with her now, arguing over who’s doing what.”
“What fine ears you have.” She elbowed him. “Prince Averin Trysael of Zephyr, the last of the great peacemakers.”
“That’s me.” He bumped her shoulder. “Sleep easy, my pit princess. I promise that I have your back. Nothing will harm you tonight.”
A reference to the slinker attack when he’d been unable to promise that he’d never hurt her?
“Oh, Averin,” she sighed as she stood. “You have to be the most complicated person I’ve ever met.”
The stars in his eyes glittered. “That’s why you like me so much. Admit it.”
“In your dreams, Blue Eyes.” She turned away before he could read her sadness at his many contradictions. A thought struck, and she glanced at him over her shoulder. “How’s your magic?”
Thin lipped, he shook his head. “I’m not holding out hope for a return until we leave Ocea. It’s placed Trys and El at a distinct disadvantage too. Boa’s not that keen for them to join a watch.”
“So the sooner we get to Atria, the better.”
“You said it. Not that Boa’s objections count for much. Not when I have people in this camp I’m responsible for. I’ve lost too many today already. I’m not losing any more.” He stood, patted his sword, and called softly, “Suren. Time. Let’s go.”
Suren gently shifted sleeping Vlad’s head off his arm and let it loll against Feral Fox. He stood, checked his weapons, and stalked off after Averin.
She walked to the closest tent and pulled aside the flap. In the firelight, she counted five bedrolls spread out on the floor. Perfect for her, Klaus, and the battalion. She went back to the fire and touched Klaus’s shoulder.
“No! Leave her! She’s done nothing!” he shrieked.
She rocked back on her heels. “It’s okay,” she hissed. “It’s me. Stasha.”
His head jerked up, and he stared at her with eyes so wide, his pupils floated in a sea of white. He huffed out a breath and rubbed his face. “Bad dream. The Kňazer were about to burn you.”
Her stomach knotted. “But they didn’t,” she said urgently, hating that the Kňazer still had power to torment him. “We survived them. And the Pyreack. Even Angharad.” She tossed her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. “We’ll survive them all.”
He hugged her. “Why did you wake me?”
“There’s a tent with bedrolls. We’ll be warmer.” She pointed at the tent. “I’ll wake the others.”
They parted, her slipping around the fire while Klaus shuffled to the tent. She reached Feral Fox first. Unmoving as a rock, he stared at the flames. She cleared her throat. “There’s a—”
“Tent with bedrolls.” He nodded. “Wake Ivan. I’ll take care of young Vlad.” He swung around and scooped little Vlad into his arms. Vlad didn’t stir. Laden, Feral Fox groaned as he stood.
Stasha smiled. “You do know that he’ll hate being carried.”
“That he will. But our young Vlad’s a waif with a bad attitude. We need to nip it before it rots him. Young lads need caring for if they’re to amount to anything. It’s our job to raise them right, whether they like it or not.” He plodded across to the tent and slipped through the flap.
The world would be infinitely poorer without Feral Fox in it. She swallowed a lump and looked around for Ivan.
He wasn’t at the fire.
Her chest locked, and she spun a full circle, looking for him. Beyond the dancing firelight, someone leaned against a tree. “Ivan,” she called softly.
There was no reply, although the person shifted.
Blinded by the light, she fumbled across the clearing toward the tree. Halfway there, her boot rammed into something solid but yielding.
A loud oomph sounded, and Ivan sat up and glared at her. “Curses, Stasha. You kicked me in the kidney.”
She clicked her tongue. “It was an accident, you big grot. What are you doing here when there’s a perfectly good fire over there?”
“Minding my own business.” He threw his hands up. “You’d think being a super-streamlined fae would make you a tad more graceful. But no. You’re just as gangly and uncoordinated as—”
The person at the tree stepped into view. “Pipe down, the pair of you.” She recognized him as one of Boa’s fae. “Or we’ll have every Pyreack in the country storming down on us.”
She held up a hand. “Sorry. We’re leaving now.” She grabbed Ivan’s arm and yanked.
He shook her hand off and stood. “Where’s this tent you were babbling on about?”
“Follow me.”
Ivan grumbled something unintelligible but fell into step with her. She racked her brain for words to comfort him but came up short. He’d lost the most important person in his life. There were no words that could take away that pain.
They were a few paces from the tent when Ivan stopped and grabbed both her hands. “You offered Boa a vow to kill Darien in exchange for her help.” His voice was low, intense, and his grip on her hands painful.
For a split second, she considered pulling away but then decided to endure the pressure. If Klaus had died that afternoon, she wouldn’t just be squeezing a friend’s hands too hard. She’d be setting the kingdom alight.
“I want the same vow,” Ivan croaked. “Only I want to be there when it happens. I want to watch Darien Pyreaxos burn for what he’s done. I
t’s the only way I’ll ever find peace.”
Her stomach dropped to her feet. How could she promise him that? “A vow on my life?” she choked out to buy time.
“No. On his!” Ivan released her and dragged both hands through his greasy hair. “I don’t know how this fae stuff works. I just want to be there when Darien Pyreaxos dies.”
She swallowed to lubricate her bone-dry throat. “If it’s in my power—”
“Of course it’s in your power! These fae princes and princesses run square circles around you.” He gave a bow and mocked, “Whatever you want, Stasha. Is this good enough, Stasha?” He spat on the ground. “Your wish is their command. Make it happen.” He stalked into the tent, leaving her alone and bereft.
Knowing sleep was impossible, she stared up at the stars while she waited for her heart to stop pounding. True and faithful, The Sword constellation blazed brightly above her. Finding no pleasure in looking at it, she rummaged through the pile of Pyreack leggings and red tunics with the firebird crest for something that would fit. She settled on a pair of black leather leggings and a belt for her sheath. With Eliezar’s black tunic, she’d be warm enough, if not glamorous. She trudged to the tent with them.
It was filled with gentle snores. Even Ivan seemed asleep.
The bedroll closest to the tent flap was unoccupied. Before claiming it, she slipped out of her ragged leggings and stepped into her new ones. They pooled over her red leather boots and fitted loosely around her skinny waist. She looped the belt, with her dagger in its sheath, around her middle. Fabric bunched around it. She pulled the belt tight. Baggy and way too airy, they would have to do. A quick tug to pull her cloak tight around her and she collapsed onto the vacant bedroll and dragged the tent flap closed against the cold.
Vlad sat bolt upright next to her. “I could’ve walked, you know.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Just enjoy the ride. It’s not every day that people care enough to carry you.” She rolled away from him.
It took a minute or so, but he settled and was soon asleep.
Worried about Vlad and Ivan, missing Goul, terrified she’d never unite the warring fae despite Ivan’s claims, and scared of what awaited her in Zephyr, no rest found her, no matter how still she lay or how often she tossed.
She was about to abandon the effort when Averin’s low voice broke the silence. It came from behind the tent. “You gave up your family today.” He had to be speaking to Suren.
A long moment passed, and then Suren’s voice confirmed her suspicion. “Yes.”
“You knew the cost?”
“I did.”
Averin was quiet for easily a minute. “I judged you harshly in the temple.”
“Your caution was wise.”
Averin cleared his throat. “I was prejudiced. That’s not caution.”
She waited for more, an apology perhaps, but Averin was so quiet, she figured they’d moved on.
“I want to be part of this battalion.” She almost gasped at Suren’s unexpected whisper. “It’s the first time I’ve had the chance to fight for someone I believe in. If I had to lose my family, at least it was for something worthwhile.”
“Stasha has a way about her, doesn’t she?” Averin replied, just as softly. “She makes one believe any crazy thing is possible. The next thing you know, you’re following her into Angharad.” A low chuckle. “And winning. That’s infectious magic.”
A blush crept across her cheeks. All Averin had to do now was offer Suren a heartfelt apology on everyone’s behalf for the loss of his family and all would be perfect.
“May I make one request, Prince Averin?”
Averin remained silent, and she imagined his head canted with that familiar speculative glint in his eyes.
“When we get to Zephyr… don’t hurt her.”
Averin hissed in a breath. “What makes you think I would allow any harm to come to her, Lieutenant?”
“Perhaps I’m also prejudice.” Suren’s voice hardened. “Toward monarchs and royals. You’ve all left a bitter taste in my mouth.” A short pause. “And I was on the longboat today. I heard it all.”
Averin snorted a sharp laugh. “Don’t believe everything you hear. There are always things left unsaid.”
Averin was evading the question. As usual. Her stomach looped nauseatingly, though why it surprised her, she’d never know. She listened for more. Only the soft chirping of crickets interrupted the stony silence. Knowing how quietly fae other than her moved, she guessed they’d walked on.
With no sleep tugging at her eyelids, she lay back and stared at the dark roof.
Averin hadn’t apologized to Suren. Not really. That spoke of royal entitlement and was wrong on so many levels. So why did she want Averin so much? Her magic hadn’t lied when it said he made her toes curl.
Sadly, her desire for him didn’t stop there.
Despite his many faults, she enjoyed being with him, talking and joking with him, even squabbling with him. She snorted softly that she liked his mind as much as his body. And that whole synchronicity thing which allowed him to anticipate her moves? There were no answers to that. Just as she had no answer to the burning question of whether he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
At times, she caught the surreptitious longing in his gaze when he thought she wasn’t watching. At other times, he was indifferent, treating her as nothing more than a friend.
It all came back to what awaited her in Zephyr.
It had to.
Without knowing what that was, she would never fathom Averin’s heart. Or be willing to clear the final space in hers needed to truly love him. Hopefully, after just a few more days of fighting their way through Ocea and Atria, they’d be in Zephyr. She shivered. What would happen if Zephyr’s truth was worse than Darien’s hail and slinkers?
No point in thinking about that. She shifted for the umpteenth time and jolted Feral Fox, who lay next to her. He rocked onto his back and began snoring like a stag in rut. She grimaced, folded her hands behind her head, and resigned herself to a long, sleepless night with too much to think about.
She must have finally drifted off because a few short hours later, she was woken by dawn’s first light creeping over the tent.
“Do you think there’s any meat left?” Klaus sat up and looked around with bleary eyes. “I could eat a horse.”
“Plenty for all.” Feral Fox stretched. The reek of wet sheep coming from his armpits made her gag. He wasn’t the only one who stank. Everyone desperately needed a bath. She tossed off her bedroll and flung the tent flap open.
“Morning, pit princess.” Averin’s face lit with a radiant smile. He stood on the other side of the firepit facing her tent flap, a bowl in hand. The contents smelled of cold pork and fae snack.
Had he been waiting for her?
Her stomach fluttered annoyingly, and she scowled. “Have you left anything for the rest of us?” Eliezar and Trystaen flanked him, but there was no sign of Suren or Boa.
Averin waved a hand at the spit, which contained the remains of the pig roast. “Plenty to go around.” He held up his bowl. “We even found some fruit-and-nut snack. Join us for breakfast.”
Vlad prodded her back. “Out of the way, Stasha. There are hungry boys here, and you’re jamming the entrance.”
She hopped out of the tent and strode to Averin. “Where’s Boa?”
Averin shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
She sighed. Could it be water magic that made Boa so cranky? Darkness knew, her water magic excelled at making her crabby.
Her water magic made a spitting sound. She smiled. Cranky, sulky, and selfish as her water magic was, she’d hate to be without it. The magic sloshed from side to side in her core, cackling triumphantly. She shoveled in a mouthful of Averin’s fae snack and crunched the fruit and nuts to block it out. It had the double advantage of rushing much-needed energy through her.
“Must you, pit princess?” Averin asked, looking mildly aggrieved as h
e sucked on a piece of cold crackling. “With that racket, you’ll attract every fairy monster for miles around, not to mention damage my ears.”
She grinned. “Just drowning out an internal conversation I don’t want to be part of.”
Eliezar’s eyebrows rose. “You and your magic are talking? That’s excellent progress.”
She nodded. “We are. But don’t get too excited. Often my wish is anything but their command.” She grimaced. How could she make such a stupid mistake? She considered correcting herself, but that would call attention to her error. As it was, no one, Eliezar included, showed any reaction to the gaff.
That meant nothing.
She gnawed her lip, then stopped because that looked even more lame, like she had something to hide. Which she did. She rolled her eyes at her stupidity and the complexity of the problem.
“It takes time,” Eliezar said blandly. “We’ll get there.”
Averin glowered at her. “Just no more foolish bargains, pit princess. Any more deals, and the magic might kill you for nothing more than being a nuisance.” A smile replaced his glower, and she guessed that was a weak attempt at a joke.
“You wish,” she said pertly to cover up the turmoil raging inside.
Trystaen set his bowl aside. “Averin, I’ve been thinking,” he said softly. “Allies aside, the weather is our biggest enemy now, and Atria will be worse.”
Averin tossed his chewed crackling into his bowl. “I think we know that. What’s your plan?” He glared at Trystaen as if he knew exactly what Trystaen was about to suggest and didn’t agree with it.
Trystaen shrugged, then turned to Eliezar. “Tell him it’s the only logical thing to do.”
Eliezar looked up from peeling the rings off an onion. “Don’t involve me. I’m with him.” He tipped his chin at Averin.
“Would any of you care to open this conversation up?” She nudged Averin and then looked expectantly at Trystaen. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Trystaen’s eyebrows shot up. “Right. You don’t.” He grinned. “Don’t mind if I do. Boa said we overshot the fork to Shantawa by about ten miles. If that’s true, it’s a short trip down the river to the start of the Mikahara mountain range.” He tossed his ponytail over his shoulder with a gleeful flick. “That’s in Atria.”