by Mary Weber
“What, scared you’ll start throwin’ yerself at me?” He winks and kisses one of his biceps. “Understandable.”
I smile. “Yes. That’s it. Hold me back.”
“Well, maybe just for experiment’s sake, let’s say you try it. An’ if you can’t keep yer hands off me, I promise I’ll help you resist.”
“You don’t drink?” Eogan looks surprised. “It’s practically water.”
“I don’t like the taste. It doesn’t sit well.”
“Oh c’mon.” Colin pokes me. “Go ahead an’ tell ’im the truth. It makes her crazy ’bout me. Girl can’t keep her paws off. You shoulda seen ’er at the common house. I was like, ‘Nym, please! Come on!’ It was embarrassing, I tell ya.”
Eogan raises a brow at me, as if he’s assuming Colin’s joking, but he’ll wait for me to deny it.
“Practically begged me to marry ’er! Talk about movin’ fast. It was awkward.”
Eogan narrows his eyes and then they’re boring deeper as if suddenly analyzing my feelings for Colin, although I don’t see why he’d care. But he keeps prying with that emerald gaze until I want to tell him to direct it elsewhere so I can stay above water and remember how to breathe.
Tell him why you don’t drink.
Colin keeps talking big. Eogan keeps liquefying my insides with his questioning eyes until I’m nothing more than a pool for drowning in.
Tell him why.
Fine. “I killed the sons of owner nine.”
Colin stops midsentence.
I can’t look at either of them.
Just hurry through. “The two of them thought it’d be fun to get me drunk one night. They were laughing and getting chummy with their hands, and when I tried to scream, they discovered the drink had incapacitated my voice. And then not just my voice, but my body. Apparently, drink saps what little control I have and paralyzes me. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t fight.” I stand, trembling at the memory as much as my blatant confession. “Before they could do anything . . .”
I pick up my satchel. “My hailstorm tore them limb from limb.” I walk away without giving either of them a chance to respond.
CHAPTER 17
I’M JUST REPACKING MY THINGS WHEN THE HORSES slip back to us like ghosts from the dark. Haven’s chewing on what appears to be a deer bone. I demand she drop it before Eogan saddles her up. She whimpers and tries to wipe her bloodstained mouth on me. I sigh and push her off, muttering, “You and I are a perfect pair.”
We ride along the side paths rather than the main road, keeping to the moonlit trails as we begin climbing the cascading southern foothills covered in firefly trees. The trees are starting in with their evening glimmer. I slow Haven, waiting to take in the brilliance. The only place in the five kingdoms they exist, and I’ve never gotten used to their magnificence.
The firefly lights flicker. Then flash brighter.
I hold my breath as the moon slips behind a cloud.
“What the—?” Colin whispers, and the forest surrounding us erupts in pure, color-lit splendor.
“Teeth of a naked ferret-cat,” he mutters. And even Haven seems impressed. She prances, head high, through terrameter after terrameter of trees filled with fireflies blinking their tiny lights of purple, orange, pink, blue. It’s the bugs’ mating season, and they’re bragging their most exquisite displays, fluttering among the overhead branches and breezes. We pass beneath in silence, soaking it in without disturbing their dance.
It’s an hour later when the performance is finished and we emerge from the trees. The foothill path we’re on becomes steeper and cloaked in night’s dark shroud. Twice I catch Colin dozing off. I prod his arm to keep him from falling forward and garnering his horse’s meat-loving interest.
He mumbles and says something about tying himself to the beast, then begins to snore. Eogan falls back to tie Colin down, keeping one hand on Colin’s reins as the animals work to keep their nimble feet steady.
The dark deepens until it’s hard to see farther than Haven’s head. When my own eyes lull, I stretch my neck and let the cold air seep through my cloak collar. I need something to keep me conscious.
I glance in Eogan’s direction. “Where are you from?”
I can’t see his face, but I hear his breathing change as if he’s surprised I’m awake. “Faelen.”
“Before Faelen.”
Silence.
“Who said I’ve lived anywhere else?” he says after a minute.
“You speak like the upper class and work with them, despite the fact you hate them.”
His reply is a soft chuckle through the dark. “Perceptive.”
“So?”
“Does it matter? I came as a wanderer like the rest.”
“But you’re not the rest. You block powers. You know how to train Uathúils. You understand war.”
“Things easily learned in life when one pays attention.”
“Liar.” In fact, something tells me that whoever he was in his former life, he’s now either desperately hated or dearly missed for those talents. “Have you ever been to Drust?”
“You’re full of questions tonight.” His tone drops. “Why are you asking?”
“Call it curiosity. I’m trying to stay awake.”
“There are more interesting ways to stay awake, believe me. Perhaps Colin and his irresistibility could teach you a few,” he mutters. Then, after a pause, he says, “But yes, I’ve been to Drust.”
“Have you ever met Draewulf?”
“Have you ever considered you’re not the only one who doesn’t enjoy discussing the past?”
“So that’s a yes on Draewulf?”
“That’s a what in hulls are you getting at, Nymia?”
My mouth falls open. I’ve never heard him use my full name like that. And even though he’s saying it in annoyance, for some reason it makes my stomach flutter. I peer through the blackness, wishing I could see his expression. “I’m not sure. I just want to know who you are.”
“You know who I am,” he murmurs. “At least, anything worth knowing.”
My breathing skips. Do I? “How long have you been with Adora?”
“Three years.”
“How’d you start?”
“She was looking for a new trainer. I saw the objective she was trying to accomplish and the usefulness of a position there.”
“And do you like it? Working for her?”
He hesitates. “Let’s say it’s a relationship of efficacy. She gets what she wants. I get what I want.”
The horses’ hooves clip through the darkness. One of the beasts snorts.
She gets what she wants . . .
Wait—oh no. Oh, disgusting. “What do you mean ‘she gets what she wants’? Like you two . . . you both . . . are together? Like . . . romantically?”
“What do you mean ‘romantically’? Are you asking if we’re lovers?” From the sound of it, he nearly falls off his saddle. “Curses, Nym, have you ever considered minding your own business?”
I gulp and the world starts sliding. “Is that a yes?”
Inhale. Just inhale.
“No, it’s a definite no! But do you really need to ask? Is that what you think?”
Exhale. The world tilts back. “Well, you said she gets what she wants.”
“I guarantee there are things she wants more than me.”
“But Breck said Adora killed a kitchen maid because of you.”
“Trust me, she’s killed for a lot less,” he mutters.
A chill envelops me, reaching through my skin to rattle my bones. Horror blooming, I look through the dark toward Eogan. “Then why haven’t you stopped her? How could you just stand by?”
“Do you always stop the people you know harm others?”
“No. But only because when I try, I hurt everyone. But with you, you’re in control. You can—”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Seems pretty simple to me, I say.”
“It’s not,
” he snaps. “Are we done here?”
“No. Maybe. Yes.”
“Good.”
Unless you want to tell me why you’ve been cold to me for the past week.
After a quiet minute, he sighs. “So what about you? What’s this thing between you and Colin? Are you in love with him?”
“What? No.” It’s so loud, Haven jumps and I think Colin stirs awake. I pause and gulp and pray to Faelen he didn’t hear us.
His snoring resumes.
“Such passion,” Eogan muses. “They say the louder you deny something, the more you desire it.”
I’m thankful the blushing flames licking my face aren’t illuminating the dark. “You’re such a bolcrane,” I mutter, and nudge Haven to pick up her pace as Eogan’s soft laughter ricochets through the night. The rest of which passes in silence.
By the time dawn hits, the forest is smothered in smoke carried in from the war front. My hands and thighs are glued to Haven, and my lungs are on fire. It takes a minute for my fuzzy mind to decipher the smell mixed in with the haze, but when I do, I nearly throw up in my seat.
It’s the distinct scent of death.
The clatter of horses and clanging metal greets us before the forest spits us out into a village whose main path is lined with soldiers preparing to depart. They ignore us as we hedge through, while the few townspeople eye us with open suspicion. I can practically taste their fear.
We dismount in front of a market of three stalls and an inn smaller than Adora’s barn. Yellow and red flowers, the colors of Faelen’s flag, wave from one of the windows. A man who’s clearly the squadron’s commander yells at his men to saddle up, then clips his horse over to Eogan. Our trainer sends Colin and me into the market for bread and fruit. As I walk away I see Eogan shaking the man’s hand.
“Where you off to?” the inn’s matronly owner asks me.
A little boy peers out from behind her legs. I wink at him. “Higher up the mountain.”
“Gonna see what all the smoke and smells are about, eh?” Her tone is flat but her quick look at the little boy strikes of terror. Like she knows the war is right next door.
“Their ships have hit the water passage above the Fendres Mountains, you know,” she says, as if reading my mind. As if the Bron army attacking 275 terrameters north of here makes her feel safer because their entire force isn’t focused on the Crescent’s open cliffs three foothills away.
“I wish strength for our soldiers,” I say.
A slip of a smile breaks apart the weary lines of her face. “Me too. Go with the creator.”
I nod and thank her for the food. Outside, I’m walking toward Haven and the noisily departing soldiers when the woman’s little boy runs up and tugs on my shirt. He reaches his chubby little hands out, a flower in each. “For you.”
And if it wasn’t dissolved before, my heart is instantly a puddle. For him. For his mum. For the people of Faelen who have no idea what discussions take place and plans are being made behind the king’s and Adora’s war-chamber doors. They just know how to hope. And fear.
I tuck the blossoms in my shirt, next to my chest, and slide one of Breck’s simple ribbons out of the braid in my hair and press it into his palm. His eyes enlarge to the size of bumblebee eggs. He laughs and hugs it to his chest, then runs off.
“Go with the creator,” I whisper.
When I look up, Eogan is watching me with one of his heart-clenching almost-smiles.
We remount and continue to climb at an even steeper incline, and immediately the air is colder. I shiver and clasp my cloak tighter, thankful for Haven’s body heat. Snow appears in patches, then thicker banks, until we’ve gone far enough that our surroundings are covered and starting to look like my first home in the Fendres. My real home.
My chest aches with the familiarity of the trees and winter-white. Except this area has something wrong with it. Something off. When I ask Eogan, he simply points to a flat spot higher up and reminds us to drink more water.
It’s another two hours before we reach the place he pointed out, and by then I’m gasping from the smoke and thin air, and practically falling off Haven in exhaustion. But when we amble to the center of the plateau, everything—tiredness, burning lungs, weary legs—fades.
Because it’s my first view of the Sea of Elisedd in months.
My body reacts to the taste of salt in the air, some of which is frozen into the snow around our feet, and my blood is pulsing hot and alive like it’s homesick for something bigger, wilder, more powerful than me. Something dangerous and beautiful and terrifying.
And then Eogan’s pointing at the base of the cliffs below us. At first I can’t understand because a dense fog is in the way. I create a low breeze to push it apart, except it’s not fog at all. It’s smoke. Drifting up from the charred remains of towns and people burned along the entire coastline.
And then I see the boats. Hundreds of metal-plated Bron warboats with black stripes painted down their sides, surrounding the waters off the southernmost point of Faelen.
CHAPTER 18
WE RELEASE THE HORSES TO REST AND FEED while we make camp beneath the cold afternoon sky. Colin clears snow from the ground and I tug a breeze up to evict smoke from the air so we can sleep a few hours.
When we wake, the warboats are still in line of sight, ignited in burnished reds and oranges from the day’s dying sun.
What are they holding back for? Why haven’t they finished the assault with their airships?
It’s a strange feeling—seeing them and their smoldering horrors on one side, while the land I’ve slaved in for my whole life is on the other. And as much as I hate my former masters, I know it’s their servants and peasants who will suffer most when the bare cliffs two mountains away are breached. Looking out at the vessels, I give us a week, maybe less. And according to Adora, we have nothing to stop them except for Colin and me.
I wrap my cloak closer against the frigid air and look at Eogan.
Or maybe not.
“What about the other assassins?”
He glances up from the fire he’s building. “Who?”
“The other assassins you trained for Adora. What happened? Where are they?”
His eyes tighten as he bends to blow on the sparks, and Colin jogs up, arms full of branches. Warm breath puffs from his mouth.
“They’ve served their purpose,” Eogan says without looking up. “Some are dead. Some still around.”
“What do you mean ‘served their purpose’? Like they’re just done and wandering around now, and you have no interest in them anymore?” Is that what Colin and I will become to him? He’ll train us and then move us on?
“Don’t, Nym. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Colin drops the wood. “What are we talkin’ about?”
“The other Uathúils he’s trained,” I say, watching Eogan. “Where are they, then?”
“Around. They don’t announce themselves, as you both should know.”
Colin plants himself near Eogan. “Wait a second. Yer answerin’ her? Do you know ’ow many times I’ve asked and you said nothin’?”
I ignore him. “Were any female?”
Eogan frowns and tips his head as if wondering why I’m asking. “One,” he answers slowly.
“Where is she?”
“She grew too cocky and got herself killed. She was a Terrene as well.”
Got herself killed by Adora? I almost ask.
Colin nods as if he, in fact, was aware of this. “So ’ow many other Uathúils are there?”
“In all five kingdoms? I’ve no idea. Your people revere Terrenes but rarely associate beyond Tulla’s borders, so it’s hard to say how many there are. Cashlin’s Luminescents rule their country, but their genetic line is sparse. The visiting Princess Rasha is one of only a few. However, they have other Uathúils, and they welcome all peace-seeking ones—as long as doing so doesn’t put them at odds with anyone. There are also hereditary anomalies every so often, a
nd those are mostly the ones Adora finds. And Elementals, well . . .”
“Being Uathúil is hereditary?”
“Usually.” He glances at me, and I’m pretty certain we’re all thinking: Except for Nym, who’s a cursed fluke.
“So ’ow many are still alive?” Colin says. “Of the ones you’ve trained?”
“For Adora? Four. But there were more before I got involved.”
“Why do they stay hidden?”
“Not all do. But it’s definitely to their advantage to maintain the element of subtlety, especially in our current war climate where a sense of threat is already high.”
“Well, ’ow come they ’aven’t done more to stop the war?”
“They have. How do you think Faelen’s survived this long? But unfortunately, some haven’t been as strong. Others switched sides.”
“Switched sides?”
He blows on the coals and lets that uncomfortable thought sink in.
Colin looks at me, steam from his half-clothed body rising in the cool air. His face is suddenly very serious, and I think I know why. Because it’s rippling through my head too.
“So . . . if they couldn’t win the war after all these years,” he says cautiously, “what makes you think Nym and I have any chance in hulls?”
Eogan pushes a hand through his bangs and stares at the fire licking the kindling near his feet. His dark skin is beautiful against the snowy background. He glances at Colin.
Not at me though. He won’t look at me.
Another swipe through his bangs.
“Because Nym’s the most powerful Uathúil anyone’s ever seen,” he finally mutters, and turns to stride off.
It takes a few heartbeats for his words to sink in, but when they do, I don’t know whether to laugh at their absurdity or cry at the horror. Either way, I can’t handle thinking about it. So I busy myself with boiling potatoes for dinner.
We wait for him to return before eating in a silence broken only by the periodic sound of distant wolf howls. I stoke the fire higher while Colin cleans up from the meal and Eogan ties our food bags between three trees on the edge of the clearing. We layer our clothing to keep out the ice and snow, then drift off to sleep beneath a smoke-shattered moon.