by Ann Aguirre
“I don’t think he’ll go after any fortified strongholds. He needs a victory to reassure the troops and keep morale strong. My people were born for battle.”
At that, he noted Thalia’s flinch. Hmm. I meant it figuratively. Surely she doesn’t believe the old stories? Ancient legends suggested that long ago, the Eldritch had bred his people as war beasts and eventually lost control of their creations.
“What does that leave?” Pru asked.
With no military strength and few resources, small settlements were pointless. All at once, his head tingled with the force of the epiphany. “Can I see the map again?”
Five camps, arrayed like that…
Suddenly Alastor knew; he had no doubts at all.
“He’s marching on Hallowell.”
The city had no standing defense, and if Tycho took it, he could exert a dangerous level of control over shipping and industry. Plus, locking down the universities and diplomatic structure would put civilization in his cupped palm. His first move would be executing the weak along with any males strong enough to resist. Diplomats would die next. Before his brother was through, he would ‘cleanse’ the city and stamp it into the mold of New Golgerra.
“It won’t even be a fight,” Thalia breathed.
Pru was nodding. “A massacre. We have to warn them.”
“What good will that do?” Alastor lurched out of his seat and strode over to the far wall, tapping the army camps with too much force. “With the numbers he’s fielding, he can take the city and occupy it—with plenty of troops left for the next offensive.”
“He’ll convert the factories,” Thalia said then.
While her cleverness probably wouldn’t save them, he agreed with her assessment. “Any that can be swapped out to weapons or armaments, will be. The economic impact will be devastating. There will be shortages. He’ll force us to ration if he can.”
“We’re already doing it,” Pru muttered.
Thalia drummed her fingers, staring at the map while Alastor mastered the urge to put his fist through the wall. “They’ve disrupted supply lines already.”
The situation was grim to the point that he hated thinking about it. Even worse that this was his responsibility.
“There’s only one thing for it,” he said with patently false cheer.
Pru cocked her head. “What’s that?”
“I have to defend Hallowell.”
4.
The news reached Sheyla the next day.
By then, she had the prince’s test results and had been studying his physiology for almost eighteen hours. At first, she couldn’t believe he was packing, but when she located the Golgoth cohort, they were clearing out of the apartments. It was the worst idea she’d ever heard—leaving the sanctuary of Ash Valley to do… what, exactly? In Hallowell.
“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded.
Alastor turned. “Possibly.”
He clearly hadn’t slept much the night before; his pale skin gave it all away, just as this ridiculous mission would eat up his strength and waste the time he did have. She could have made all those arguments aloud, but his expression made it clear it would be futile. So she changed gears to fact-finding.
“What’s your goal?”
“To prevent my brother from taking the city.”
“You have thirty men and no war machines,” she pointed out.
Burnt Amber war machines were coveted and the bears didn’t part with them easily. Exceptional mobility, heavy artillery, missiles, laser weapons, all packed into a convenient metal frame suitable for one soldier. With a couple of those in the air, any infantry unit could feel better about its chances. The prince didn’t even have a Rover to his name.
“History is full of great battles where a minuscule defense force faced a monstrous invading army.”
Sheyla spoke through clenched teeth. “And the one thing those stories have in common? Crushing defeat.”
“I’m glad I got to see you before our departure. Your pep talks are so bracing.”
“There’s no way I can talk you out of this?” Mentally, she was already cursing the juggling this would require.
The prince tilted his head and she instinctively mistrusted that look. “Careful. If you beg, I’ll suspect you’ve grown attached to me.”
“If you won’t stay, I must go with you. In Hallowell, the equipment should be substantially better and will allow me to provide you with better care.”
Alastor stilled. “I can’t take you from your people. Not now. There may be another attack and without you—”
“They’ll survive. Dr. Bohalian and the nursing staff may curse me, but if the pride master agrees, I’ll go. Tell me when.”
He searched her face for a long moment, and whatever he found, made him smile slightly. “Tomorrow, just before dawn. I’m still figuring out how we’ll get there.”
That was a good question. Vehicles left outside the hold had been destroyed by the enemy or blown up as weaponry, leaving few transportation options. The pride probably had a few Rovers stashed for emergency use, but it was doubtful that Dominic would turn them over to the Golgoth prince. She’d love to know what Alastor planned to do in Hallowell with nothing more than an honor guard, but she wasn’t signing on as a tactical advisor.
“Good luck,” she said. “I have some arrangements of my own to square away.”
With a wave, the prince dismissed her, and Sheyla hurried to what was left of the ops center. Normally Slay and Magda would be here with Dom, but Magda had gone with the wolves, and Slay… nobody had seen him in long enough to be worrisome. There was talk of Dom choosing a new second, but he was resisting. Dom must be trying to repair some of the surveillance equipment, get some perimeter security back online, but from his expression, it wasn’t going well.
“Something up?” he asked.
Nodding, Sheyla summarized the situation as concisely as possible. “That said, I’m formally asking for permission to take leave at the hospital.”
“This is a shitty time,” Dom muttered. “But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Did you talk to Pru?”
“Not yet.” She liked that his first question was whether she’d looped in his mate. “I’ll get her input next.”
“Unless she objects, you’ve got my approval. Just… be careful.”
That warning could’ve gone without saying, but she took his concern in the spirit in which it was intended. “Then I’m off to find Pru.”
The pride matron had a few more questions, but in the end, she gave her blessing as well. But her conflicted mien made Sheyla ask, “Was there something else?”
“Getting drawn into the Golgoth succession battle…” Though Pru trailed off, Sheyla could guess at her concerns.
“Certain risks are unavoidable,” she said. “I won’t be fighting on the front lines, but somebody has to make sure that Prince Alastor can.”
“Thank you for stepping up… if I have the right to say that. Something Arran said last night makes me think Alastor’s role may be pivotal.”
Science was her purview, but she’d never scoff at one of the seer’s predictions. “Can you be more specific?”
Pru hesitated, seeming torn. Finally, she said, “He told me he saw a great darkness, like storm clouds, only they produced no thunder, no lightning, and it swallowed everything it touched. Standing in the path of that great tempest, he glimpsed a dragon from the old legends with a cheetah perched on its tale.”
It didn’t take a sign-reader to guess that Tycho must be the oncoming storm, and Sheyla’s role was obvious, so that left Alastor as the dragon. Together, the two of us can stop all of this? That seemed unlikely. Still, she appreciated the intelligence.
“I’ll bear that in mind. If anything, this only strengthens my resolve.”
“Suspected as much,” Pru said.
Sheyla nodded, heading for the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my family.”
She didn’t expect th
ey’d be thrilled with the news. Her parents were easy to find, but she had three younger brothers helping with relief efforts and/or rebuilding. There was no reason to chase them down when she could enjoy a rare moment of peace with her parents while she waited for the boys to come home.
The flat had visible damage, cracks in walls and ceiling, but her parents had done their best to make the place not only habitable, but inviting. Family pictures had been shifted around and an afghan her grandmother had knitted was hung over the worst patch. By candlelight, the living room was charming, and her mother glanced up in surprise when Sheyla stepped in.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Mum said.
She looked tired, but she was healthy and that made Sheyla grab onto her, hugging tighter than she normally would. I don’t know how long it will be until I see you again. She heard her father’s footsteps as he came down the hall and into the kitchen. The floor creaked as if he was shifting his weight, nervous or trying to get a look at her expression, so she schooled her features and let go. They were used to her composure, not her fervent affection.
“Is everything all right?”
“You’d think I never came home for dinner,” she muttered.
“Not never.” Mum patted her arm as she stepped back. The soft touch said ‘sorry for teasing’, so Sheyla smiled. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to cook…”
She waved away the typical concern. “We can’t be feasting when everyone’s on rations. Having everyone together is enough.”
“Well said.” Pap wrapped an arm about her shoulders, hugging gently.
She spent an hour checking on their health none too subtly, and as her folks got irritated with the questions, her youngest brother, Avi, trundled in, followed by Zaran, and finally, Darvid. At one point, she’d hated the noise that came with a family of this size, but as they took turns pouncing, squeezing her sides, and ruffling her hair, she decided they had been worth the effort of raising them. Still, it didn’t mean she’d tolerate nonsense. When Avi went after her cheek, she bit him and growled deep in her throat.
“That’s enough,” Mum said in a reproving tone.
“Your sister has news, I think. We should hear her out.”
“After dinner.” That would be soon enough.
It was tough to know when they’d eat together again. She tried to keep her expression even, difficult to judge how well she succeeded. For the next hour, they talked and laughed while Sheyla luxuriated in the fact that her family was alive and well.
Which made it even harder to say, “I’m leaving.”
Only she did it, as she did everything, with quiet efficiency. Avi stopped laughing, one hand on Zaran’s shoulder. “What? Why?”
This time, it was complicated to explain because her family didn’t care that much about external demands and cross-cultural politics. Four voices rose in dismay, everyone speaking at once, and then Pap slammed his fist into the table. A weighted silence fell.
“Are they forcing you to go?” Mum demanded.
Unclear if she meant the pride leaders or the Golgoth royal. Either way, the answer would be the same. “It’s my choice to help the prince.”
“You’re choosing danger,” Pap repeated, incredulous. “That makes no sense. They should get someone else, a doctor who specializes in demonkin.”
Mum hit him, but he didn’t look sorry. He folded his arms, intractable as ever, and Sheyla had to admit she got that from him. She locked eyes with her father, willing him to yield. Even if he didn’t give his blessing, she’d still go. It would just hurt more.
One by one, her brothers stood and Zaran spoke for all of them. “I’ll kill that bastard for talking you into this.”
It had been a long time since Alastor worked through the night. In truth, substituting ‘never’ for ‘long’ encapsulated the situation, and he hadn’t worked so much as pleaded, but there were no resources to spare. While the cats appreciated his determination, they had nothing left to give. Sanctuary had offered some breathing room, but anything else had to come from his own efforts. That meant the Exiles must follow him to Hallowell on foot, carrying their own provisions. His eyes burned, tightness in his chest signified an impending reaction, but there was no time for him to retreat and ride it out in private.
Not now. This can’t happen now.
Ded took a step closer, but Alastor waved him off. Rowena was watching his face with uncanny attention too, so he must look unsteady. Then three males shouldered to the front of the group, each dark-haired and handsome, bearing a strong enough resemblance to Dr. Halek that he collected he was about to meet her family. The tallest aimed a punch at his face, and he might’ve dodged it, if Ded hadn’t caught the man’s wrist first.
“Don’t.” The snarl came from deep in the guard’s chest.
Alastor raised a hand, signaling Ded to stand down. “I surmise that you’re unhappy with your sister’s decision.”
“She wouldn’t be leaving if it wasn’t for you,” the boy accused.
Odd, but the tightness in his chest eased when Dr. Halek stepped closer, if as his body had already learned that she could alleviate his ills. “That is true.”
“Stop this.” Her tone made it clear this wasn’t a request but a command.
“If anything happens to her, anything at all, I’ll kill you myself.”
Alastor inclined his head. “I’ll take responsibility for her.”
“Zaran,” she snapped.
But her sibling ignored the doctor and marched off. After a brief hesitation, the others went after him. It seemed that Zaran was the one they followed; they were all near enough in age that Alastor couldn’t tell the birth order. That seemed to matter more in feline hierarchies whereas, in Golgerra, strength counted for everything.
“Looks as if I won’t receive a beating just yet. But I wonder, will Zaran be greatly disappointed if my own sibling does me in instead?”
“That depends on what happens to me,” Dr. Halek said.
“I’ll do my best.” Alastor wondered if she could feel his sincerity; he’d seldom meant anything more.
“That’s why I’m going. So you can.”
The pressure eased a little more. “You should sleep.”
“There’s no point. Besides, I’m used to going without.”
He’d heard about the way doctors suffered for their credentials, so he supposed that was true. “Then I’ll see you at the gate in a couple of hours.”
Turning, Alastor startled when her hand closed on his forearm. “Wait.”
“Is there something more?”
“What, exactly, should I pack?”
Alastor heard the unspoken follow-up question ‘how bad will it get’ and he wished he had an answer. But before he had to unveil the unvarnished truth, an angry-looking white-haired Eldritch shoved a path toward him. He recognized the male from his brief meeting with the pride matron and Princess Thalia. Dr. Halek stepped back, releasing her hold to make space.
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name,” Alastor said.
“Gavriel. We haven’t been introduced.” The terse reply told him volumes about how little the Eldritch liked his mission, whatever it was. “I’ve been assigned to your command by Princess Thalia. I lead twenty of her best, including all our surviving Noxblades. We are commissioned to ensure your safe arrival in Hallowell.”
That was the first bit of bright news he’d had all night. Yet it looked as if Gavriel would rather cut off his own arm than comply. “Are you sure? You seem as if you’d prefer to stab me.”
With effort, the Noxblade lowered his blood-red gaze. Unnerving, those eyes, like staring into the heart of murder. “My apologies, sire.”
“It’s fine. I’d be irate if I had to follow me into battle, too.” The crooked smile came easily, but Alastor knew all too well that humor could only carry him so far. Gavriel didn’t respond to the joke, so Alastor peered past him at the Eldritch mingling uneasily with his Exiles.
“You don’t exa
ctly inspire confidence. This is my lieutenant, Zandronicus.”
“Nice to meet you.” This Noxblade differed from his colleagues in three significant ways: ginger hair, gray eyes, and a friendly smile.
“Likewise,” Alastor said.
Dr. Halek seemed torn between impatience and aggravation at being interrupted. Best to answer before she lost her temper.
He turned to her. “Warm clothes, any gear you’ll need for living rough. We’ll be marching to Hallowell.”
At first, her mouth opened, but no sound came out. “What?” she managed eventually.
“You heard me.”
Gavriel cut in by stepping between them, and Alastor greeted him with a scowl. It took a surprising amount of restraint to keep the spines from piercing through his skin. A shudder ran through him, as it was the first time since he learned how to transform that he’d nearly gone bestial without volition. There was no time to ponder what that portended, however, as he locked his gaze on the Noxblade.
“I thought we were finished,” he got out.
“Not quite. I bear some further news.”
“Then deliver it.”
I sound like my brother. And that was almost enough to force out an apology, but Gavriel was already speaking. “If we can make it to the rally point, Pine Ridge means to send both soldiers and supplies. There, we will rendezvous with Burnt Amber as well. The Order of Saint Casimir is donating a quarter of their operational war machines to defend Hallowell.”
“Holy shit,” Dr. Halek said.
He didn’t think he’d ever heard the doctor swear before, but it encompassed his own reaction so well that he flashed her a smile. “To say the least.”
“That means you need to step up—in a big way.” The Noxblade didn’t have to add the last comment. “All these people are putting their hope in your hands, understand? It’s not just a family feud anymore. If you fail—”