Headed for Lockmire.
She bolts back to Ilvara, spilling the information in a jumble.
“Lockmire? Are you sure?” Ilvara pulls herself into the driver’s seat.
“No. For all I know, anyone could be riding that dragon. Or it could be moving on its own, for some reason. But that sounds like the same one Caius and I rode, and it was headed for Lockmire. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“But why would he go there?”
“I don’t know.” Evelyn sits next to her, shifting on the hard seat. “All I know is that, if he is there, we must go to him.”
Ilvara yanks the horses back, but they’re unwilling to move from the feeding trough. “Walk on,” she orders, and steers them to the gate. She looks back at Evelyn. “Shouldn’t we tell Asher we’re going?”
“That’ll waste too much time. We need to go now.” Evelyn stretches forward in the seat, as if doing so will quicken their pace. “Hurry!”
Ilvara whips the horses once. They trot out of Tarreth’s gate and onto the dirt path.
As the minutes turn into hours, Evelyn tries to remain calm. She distracts herself with eating and with conversation, but Ilvara’s responses are stiff. Odd for her. When silence takes over, Evelyn leans back and shuts her eyes so the sunlight overhead flickers across her lids. She thinks of the way the sun used to shine through the windows of the castle hall. Of the gardens in summer—all the flowers blossoming, bumblebees drifting around, back when her biggest anxiety was Grogar’s mood that day.
The birds around sing a happy melody, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air. Evelyn opens her eyes again, blinking to focus. The splashes of light on the path remind her of walking up and down the trails near Lockmire, back when she was still training. She takes herself back to that first major assignment: killing bears in Prynveil. The excitement. Her own clumsiness with weapons. All that blood in her hair. Asher’s reaction to her damp clothes.
How much has changed since then.
“Are we almost there?” she can’t help but ask.
Ilvara sighs as if she’s been asking this question the entire trip. “Almost.”
The meadow stretches out in front of them, a huge expanse with forest spanning every horizon not blocked with mountains. Evelyn tries to understand why Ilvara has been so impatient today. She seems different than she was before Evelyn left.
“Are you certain everything is well?” Evelyn wonders quietly.
A beat of silence, then: “I don’t want to go back to Lockmire.”
“Why not?”
Ilvara shakes her head. “I thought you had improved with this.”
Evelyn grabs her arm in desperation, nearly throwing them off the road. Ilvara curses under her breath as she guides the wagon back onto the path.
“Apologies,” Evelyn mutters. “I just wanted to say that I wish you would help me understand. You’ve been acting strange, and you know it’s hard for me to guess at these things.”
“I don’t want to go back because I don’t want to see Hadrian. Or Caius.”
Evelyn blinks, sitting back against the wooden plank. “Count Hadrian,” she whispers. “Of course. But why not Caius?”
Ilvara sighs again, a harsh one that puffs her cheeks and spits out between her teeth. Her hands grip the reins so tightly her knuckles turn white. But she remains silent.
“There was a time we shared everything with one another,” Evelyn says. “You know there are many things I can’t understand. It’s difficult for me to comprehend what another person is feeling. It’s often difficult to comprehend what I am feeling. You have always explained things. Even when it wasn’t pleasant.” She looks down at her hands. “Like about me never having children.”
Ilvara’s grip on the reins loosens. “I don’t know. I’ve not been the same since you…”
“Since I returned?”
“Since you died.” Ilvara’s eyes turn to her, round and very sad. “When I found out you had died, my entire world fell apart.”
“But I’m here,” Evelyn says, touching her arm. “I’m back. I’m alive.”
“Caius and I…” Ilvara bites her lip. “We had a bad conversation as we were burying you.”
“About what?”
“I just pointed out the things that happened since you two have been close.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you found out about his past and stabbed him, were shot with arrows and nearly killed, thrown in prison, escaped as fugitives. Then you were killed by some stranger Caius knew in the forest somewhere. You must understand. You left with him, and you returned dead in his arms.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Evelyn says. The thought of Ilvara blaming Caius for her death breaks her heart. Even more awful is the thought of Caius blaming himself.
“Then whose was it? Look at the facts, Evelyn.”
“I followed him willingly. I went with him because we were—we are—partners. I think I…I think I love him.” Saying the words aloud sounds funny to her.
Ilvara lets out her breath. “Darling, you don’t know what love is.”
Evelyn stops. She turns her face to hide the tears in her eyes.
The time with Caius floods through her mind, particularly the span in the woods. Weeks of sleeping above him, hearing his soft breathing through the night and, sometimes, strange chatter. When he would talk in his sleep, it was like he was updating a friend, who he would sometimes call “Silas.” But he talked about past and present events at once. His mother was sick, the war was at full strength and Asher wasn’t leading it properly, and Evelyn was with him. He chuckled sometimes, about her. He joked in his sleep that Evelyn was working on her archery, so no one could dress like a straw man around her. That she was learning how to cook and had a fascination with plants. That she was beautiful, with golden hair and eyes the colour of the summer sky. That was only once. She thought he was joking until he kissed her on the shore.
Those events rush by in a blur. The only clear thing now is her deep attachment to him. Before, she wanted him around constantly. She appreciated his criticism and adored his open praise. She drank in every drop of advice he gave her—about shooting a bow, cooking a squirrel, about the integrity of staying in an army when it would have been easier in every way to leave.
She thinks of the way Caius laughs—that deep chuckle when she surprises him or that funny squeaky laugh when he finds something very amusing. She thinks of the warmth of his eyes, the warmth of his arms. Of his protection over her. His devotion to her happiness. His understanding of her. But above all of that, she is inexplicably drawn to him, like a thirsty pilgrim in the desert is drawn to a spring.
There is doubt in her mind, but not in her heart. Her mind tells her that Ilvara has never lied to her, as far as she knows. Why would she? Ilvara has taught her everything. She has always known it all. Isn’t she always right?
“No,” Evelyn says finally. “This time, you don’t know what love is.” She takes a deep breath. “I can see why you think that of him. Of me. At first, it does seem like my life blew apart the moment we grew close, but that wasn’t what happened.”
“No?” Ilvara laughs once, but she isn’t smiling.
“No. Think about it. Would any of this have happened if I hadn’t left the castle in the first place? If I hadn’t decided to join Lockmire’s army, I would have stayed your servant. None of it would have happened at all.”
Ilvara doesn’t respond. Her muddy brown eyes are set forward.
Evelyn goes on, “Mama, the truth is—you were hurting and you needed someone to blame. But Caius is a good man. He’s saved my life in many ways. He’s taught me lessons I’ll never forget. And truly, it wasn’t Caius who forced me to join the army, fight against the opposition, or stab him. He didn’t force me to escape. And at the end, he didn’t push me in front of that dagger. I am in love with him. I chose to get in front of it because I would rather die than live without him.”
She glances at Ilv
ara, whose face shimmers with tears. The wagon wobbles along for a while, crunching on smalls stones and pattering on the packed dirt. Evelyn absently traces patterns on her palm as she waits for Ilvara to reply. But it seems she never will.
“I suppose I…” Ilvara starts. She licks her lips, clears her throat, and tries again, “I suppose I have a certain view on love. I left the life I loved for someone I thought I loved more. And he has put me through so much. And you, too. There has just been so much going on. So much mayhem every moment. I’m tired, Evelyn.” She drags her eyes to meet Evelyn’s. They’re so lifeless. Hopeless. “I’m just so tired of it all. If you hadn’t come back, I would have no more reason to live.”
“Don’t say that,” Evelyn replies sternly. “I’ve seen the other side. I know what it’s like to have my life leave my body.” Her eyes soar off into the trees. It’s suddenly so cold. Even the sunshine isn’t warming her. “At that moment, all you want is to live. But it’s too late. Your body is too far gone. It’s like watching yourself die from a distance when you’re screaming at yourself to wake up. It’s the most terrifying feeling. Especially when you have no hope.”
Ilvara shifts the reins to one fist and grabs Evelyn’s hand. She composes herself for a moment before saying, “I wish I could have gone through that in your stead.”
“No, Mama—” Evelyn begins, but at that moment, ruckus behind startles both of them.
Ilvara twists around in her seat to look. “Gods, what was that?”
An arrow skims the side of the wagon. The horses leap in fright. Ilvara struggles to control them as she whips them into full speed. They charge into the forest. The sounds behind are clearer now—shouts and jeers. Orders to halt mingled with coarse laughter. Laughter that sounds hauntingly familiar.
Ilvara jerks the horses off the main road, into the woods. The wagon bobs and crashes through bushes, bumping so hard Evelyn slips and hits her elbow on the wooden seat.
“Off!” Ilvara shouts, leaping from the seat and rushing to the front. “Untie that horse.”
Evelyn’s fingers fumble at the leather straps binding the horse to the wagon. Before she has it done, Ilvara calls her over. Evelyn glances up to see Ilvara already on her horse, glancing back at the direction of the soldiers. She quickly finishes the last loop on the horse’s straps.
“No, come onto mine. That one will be the diversion.” Ilvara reaches down to help Evelyn mount, then turns to the remaining horse at the wagon. She reaches for the horse’s reins, drags it back toward the path, and smacks its hindquarters.
“Hopefully that will distract them,” Ilvara says. She leans forward and grips the horse’s mane. “Hold on.”
Evelyn clings tightly to Ilvara as they charge ahead. Trees flash by. Evelyn just focuses on holding on, praying not to feel the pierce of an arrow in her back. She glances behind to see the boulders, and to the right of them, a grey cloud rising into the sky. Her mouth goes dry. Prynveil.
Faster and faster they ride, swerving round trees, climbing hills. Then, at long last, the doors of Lockmire come into view ahead. Evelyn nearly weeps when she sees them. Caius, we’re coming.
One glance at the sky causes Evelyn’s heart to drop. The dragon they saw earlier circles above the city, black eyes scanning the forest.
Until it spots them.
“Ilvara!” Evelyn screams.
The ball of fire explodes where they had been, igniting the trees. The horse takes them away, from Lockmire, from anything familiar. Into the dense brush where it needs to twist about sharply to avoid trees. But not away from the eyes of the dragon. Green foliage turns to flame, so close to the horse that it cries out.
Terror collapses Evelyn’s chest. They charge on, through columns of flame that eat through bark and leaf and needle all at once. They leap into areas without fire, but they’re running out of spaces. The fire bites at them. It wants to devour. Swallow up.
For hours it seems they dash to avoid the red heat. Claws rip at Evelyn’s back, shoulders, legs. She shields the back of Ilvara as best she can, tears drenching her face as she struggles not to scream in pain.
All at once, the flames stop following them. They run from the burning forest. Evelyn looks back again. She can barely see the dragon through the clouds of rising smoke, but it must still be there, focused on the men that were coming behind them. Caius must have ordered it to attack whatever came near. She’s sure he’s there now.
“Should we go back there?” Ilvara asks, panting to catch her breath. She turns the horse back to the burning forest.
“We have to,” Evelyn replies. “Caius is there.”
“But so is that dragon, and so are the soldiers. It makes sense, I suppose, for Esterden to attack now. If we wait, the dragon will make short business of those soldiers, and we can go back when Caius has called it off.”
Reluctant still, Evelyn says nothing. Orange light pierces the clouds of smoke spinning off the treetops like demons rising from the forest. Distant screams echo in the mountains from men burning alive. A great roar rumbles the ground and shakes her bones.
Ilvara is already pointing. Evelyn gasps.
Soaring toward Lockmire above the trees are five smaller dragons, screeching like monsters of Hades, unleashing torrents of flame that engulf the forest around the city. Evelyn lets out a hoarse cry and reaches forward, as if she can pluck the dragons from the sky.
Ilvara pulls Evelyn to her chest to shield her eyes from the sight, but Evelyn struggles away.
“We have to go,” she says, voice breaking as she reaches for the horse’s mane.
“It’s no use.” Ilvara wrenches the mane away from her. “We’ll just die trying to get inside.”
“But Caius—”
“I know, darling, but there is no purpose in trying if we are only to fail.”
Evelyn meets her eyes, disappointed by her pessimism. “I know that he doesn’t mean to you what he does to me, but you must let me go.”
“That isn’t the reason. It’s dangerous. I cannot lose you again. What if he is not there? What if he is in Tarreth somewhere? Then you risk your life for nothing.”
“If I have nothing to die for, what do I have to live for?” She grips Ilvara’s hands. “I am safe, Mama. My soul is safe in Herus’ hands. If I die, I will be in Paradise.”
Ilvara sighs deeply. “But you won’t be here.”
“Come with me. We’ll watch each other, like we once did.”
“That was with harmless game. Not enemy soldiers or dragons.”
“Think of that as our training ground. This is the real battlefield.”
“I haven’t fought in ages. We didn’t even bring weapons.”
Evelyn thinks of the daggers in the bed of the wagon, abandoned at the edge of the meadow. “Some of the soldiers will have fallen by now. We can steal their armour and masquerade as Esterden soldiers to get inside.”
“And risk Lockmire attacking us?”
“They’ll recognize us when we take our helmets off inside.”
Ilvara lowers her eyes. “That sounds ridiculous.”
“Please, Mama,” Evelyn whispers. “Please.”
Ilvara finally meets her eyes. “You can never be convinced, can you?”
Evelyn lifts one shoulder. “Some things don’t change.”
Ilvara sighs. She touches Evelyn’s face gently. After a moment, she says, “Let’s go.”
Evelyn grins. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 16
Lockmire
Hadrian trembles on the edge of his bed, glad the clamour is gone from his door. He waits for the dresser in front of it to move again, but it remains still. They were supposed to be protecting him, not pounding on his door, crying for him to give them orders. He isn’t their general.
Silence is his only friend now. Achilleo is gone. Half the soldiers in his regiment left too. Edgar, Brutis, Demetrius—all abandoned the city when word spread that Ilvara left. Hadrian is left to control the city alone, and it’s been utt
erly uncontrollable.
Dianna moved to Vestar a few months ago. Her sister told him she married a cotton farmer willing to give her and her son a good life. He isn’t even sure if the child is his. In fact, he’s fairly certain it isn’t.
The bitter acid of anger, regret, and self-loathing stings in the pit of his stomach. Hopelessness penetrates his very bones. His city is falling outside, and his spirit is falling with it. The empty bottle in his hand proves that it makes no sense to go on. To try and rally the meagre remaining troops. To try and save the city.
Hadrian coughs hard into the air. Saliva coats his chin. His insides burn like the fire ravaging his city. He slowly lies down on the bed he once shared with Ilvara. She will be the happiest to hear of his death, he’s sure. Clenching the parchment in his other hand, he lets the strong wave of nausea pass over him.
Each breath is slow. Careful. Shaky. His heartbeat grows less regular, thumping painfully against the skin of his throat. His abdomen clenches in pain. He groans. Perhaps this was a mistake.
For a long while, his erratic heartbeat is all he hears. Thump thump. Thump. A pause, then thump. Thump.
Someone pounds on his door again. “Count Hadrian, it’s time we spoke.”
He knows the voice. Caius.
“Your city is collapsing. We’ve only killed two of their five dragons. Your men are falling and the rest hardly care. If you don’t open this door, I will break it down. Have some dignity and come out.”
It is silent for another long moment. He gasps for breath. Definitely a mistake. But he is too weak a man to fix anything anyway. Better to just give up. Easier.
Thump.
Agony suffocates him. He chokes on his own tongue. No. Not easier.
Thump.
“Count Hadrian? Open the door, I say!”
Come in, his mind screams. He lifts a weak hand. Save me.
The last thing Hadrian sees is the dresser move.
✽ ✽ ✽
The battlefront is chaotic. Evelyn and Ilvara make their way forward on foot, creeping through the fiery trees out of the enemies’ sight. Silver, greenish, and amber dragons above fight the black one, distracting it from spitting fire at those in front of the door. Esterden soldiers shout as they beat the gates with their weapons.
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