by Zaya Feli
A longing stronger than he had anticipated made it hard to speak and Anik worked to swallow. When was the last time he had held someone like this? “They won't get me that easily, Aritai. I promise.”
Aritai released him and handed him the reins of his horse, then pulled himself up behind Cainon.
“I was told there were a lot more of you,” Anik said, settling himself onto the back of Aritai's horse. After weeks of riding with stiff Fraynean saddles, having nothing but sheep skin and a blanket between himself and the horse was a relief beyond measure.
“There's more,” Cainon said, pointing to the copse of trees. “We just didn't want to make ourselves too visible out here in the open.”
Anik steered his horse towards the trees. “Lead the way.”
A makeshift camp was set up between the trees when they arrived, men and women busying themselves tending to horses, preparing food, or setting up places to sleep. Just as Valkon had heard in the guard's report, there were no children.
“We're not here to find refuge,” Cainon explained, letting Aritai slide off the back of his horse before following. “Skarlan and Fraynean altercations are becoming more and more frequent on this side of the border. You'd be surprised how easy it is to pick up what they drop or finish off the weaker party.”
“Like carrion crows,” Aritai said, tone dark.
Anik handed him back his horse and Aritai clicked his tongue, their little group of horses following him obediently towards the river.
“You have to take what you can get,” Cainon said to Anik, gesturing for him to follow. “The drought has lasted too long. The asshole king controls the river north of the Lowlands. You know what it's like.”
“I know,” Anik agreed.
Around them, men and women lifted their heads, expressions of surprise, recognition, and joy clear on their faces when they met Anik's eyes. He smiled back, exchanged hugs with people he knew and asked about their families. Not all the news was good, but Anik's heart still swelled. This was the closest thing to family he had. They regarded him with the same kind of respect they did Cainon. Cainon might be older and more experienced, but Anik had earned their trust and the right to lead them. He hadn't spoken this much Lowlandish since running into Sifa's group on the way to Stag's Run.
“I never expected to find you here, Anik,” Cainon said, offering Anik a seat beside the slowly growing fire. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Aritai came towards them, finished with the horses and apparently eager to partake in their conversation. He sank down on the log next to Cainon, blond, ruffled hair falling over a pair of striking blue eyes.
Anik's gaze lingered on Aritai. He had known the boy almost all his life, but now, his likeness to someone else was hard to ignore. He reached up for the horseshoe necklace, then lowered his hand. He dragged his gaze away, looking back to Cainon. “I'm afraid I don't have much time,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees so he could warm his hands by the fire. “I'm here because I need a favour. Two, in fact.”
* * *
Ren took in the sight of the camp that took form around him with mixed feelings, kicking a pine cone that had landed in the tall grass out of sight. Their plan to evacuate Fort Llyne had gone as well as they could have hoped, with limited losses. Ren wasn't sure if their heedless flight across open fields could be called a success, but he'd take what he could get. They had lost horses, food, and equipment, but not more than they could handle. It had pained Ren to see his little group of soldiers from Stag's Run diminished. After everything he had dragged them through, they were still here with him. Ren had offered them release, the chance to withdraw, but none of them had taken his offer.
Surprisingly, the Lowlanders were still around, too. As far as Ren could tell, they had only lost a man or two, but not because they had shied from the fight. On the contrary. After everyone else in their camp had collapsed from exhaustion, the Lowlanders were still up, binding each other's wounds and tending to the horses they had taken from Fort Llyne. They grouped together at the edge of the camp, the Skarlan soldiers putting some cautious distance between them. But Ren was glad to see that his own Fraynean men walked to and from the Lowlander section of the camp with little concern. Valkon passed out rations from his own bag to the others. Ren would have to talk to him later to find out if he knew something about Anik.
Evalyne's tent was positioned in the centre of the camp, anonymous amongst many others aside from the pair of soldiers stationed at its entrance. Ren's own tent was nearby, but first, he had an audience with the princess.
The Skarlan soldiers guarding the tent entrance didn't stop him, offering a standard Skarlan greeting, fist to chest. Ren pushed the tent flap aside and let it fall behind him.
“Doesn't looking at that endless sea of grey ever get depressing?” Ren asked, attempting to ease some of his own tension.
Evalyne raised her eyes from the map spread out on the ground, smiling. “Is that how Frayneans say hello?”
Ren sat down on the flattened patch of grass beside her. There were no table and stools; the most bothersome objects to transport had been left at Fort Llyne. In the tent was only her cot, travel bags, and a wooden tray of food and water. Evalyne reached across and grabbed a loaf of bread, handing it to Ren along with a cup of Skarlan wine. The drink was sharp, sharper than Fraynean wine and bitter on the way down, but he thanked her anyway. “You were going to tell me your plan before we were so rudely interrupted.”
She laughed. She held his gaze, blue eyes so much like his own studying his face. She didn't speak, just watched him.
“What?” Ren asked when she made no sign to continue.
Evalyne shook her head. “It's just that...a few weeks ago, I was an only child. Now I have a brother.” She looked down, shrugging one shoulder. It was a strangely childlike gesture. She was younger than him, Ren realised, by a few years. Maybe around Hellic's age. It seemed at odds with the way she had carried herself since their first meeting, self-assured and with eyes like steel.
“My family situation seems rather fluid. I'm starting to get used to it,” Ren said, mirroring her smile.
She nodded slowly, turning her attention back to the map. “Nathair is injured and his Skarlan force is in shreds. He'll stay at Fort Llyne for at least four or five days. He might be a persistent snake, but he values himself too much to risk death by mindlessly pursuing us. If they want to continue the chase, Halvard will have to send reinforcements. That'll take time, too.”
“What are we going to do with that time?” Ren asked.
“Go west.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “Skarlan is west.” She had said so before, but Ren hadn't thought they'd cross the border.
“Exactly.”
“What are you proposing?”
Evalyne leaned back, taking a bite of an apple and swallowing before she spoke. “We need daddy dearest off your throne, but we can't even beat the force he sent out to stop us. If we're to have any chance of success, we need a bigger army. One we can use to breach Aleria.”
“And where are we going to find one of those?” Ren asked.
“Iskaal,” Evalyne said, tapping the map. “And the settlements along the border. Halvard is protecting the city well in his absence, but I don't think he ever anticipated having to protect it from me. And I have more allies in Skarlan than he realises.”
Ren frowned. “Enough that we can take Iskaal?”
Evalyne shook her head. “We don't need to take it. We just need to recruit. Rafya and his men from Isilgha can get into Iskaal without causing a stir. They can get the men we need and walk out of the city with them without it ever coming to a fight. I have a lot of loyal supporters in the Order of the Fox.”
“You have a lot of faith in these assassins of yours,” Ren said.
“I do. Rafya got you out of Nyleer, didn't he? And that was just one man.”
Ren angled his head in agreement. “All right,” he said finally. “It's the most solid p
lan I've heard in a while, so I'll take it.” Not that there was much else he could do. His own host of men had dwindled to just a few dozen.
Evalyne nodded. “We'll move across the border here, with the woodland as cover,” she said, pointing at the map. “Fenn is just to the north. We can restock on supplies there. From Fenn to Iskaal is a lot of open stretches of land with little cover. We'll have to be smart about our movements, but I think it'll be doable.”
Ren drained the rest of the sharp wine, placing the cup back on the tray. As good as the plan sounded, it was difficult to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him it wasn't going to be that simple. Everything they had tried so far had failed. It had left him more cautious and guarded than he'd once been.
Evalyne seemed confident. Then again, her track record was a lot better than his own. Maybe he should allow himself to be a little optimistic, even if it was difficult.
“Once Halvard is dead, Skarlan will be without a king,” Ren said, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Do you know what you're going to do?”
Evalyne smiled a little. “I've been preparing to take my father's place since I was born. This is the best chance our countries have had in centuries. We can make a new peace. A lasting one. With me on the throne in Iskaal and your brother in Aleria, we'll have a good foundation, and you...” She looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. “You're a child of both our nations. You can unite our kingdoms like no one else can. We can turn it into something good, what it should have been from the start.”
Ren blinked, releasing the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. It sounded like a lot of responsibility. It also sounded incredible, like the happy ending of a fairy tale. He found himself wanting it more than anything, but to think that he could play a crucial part in something so fantastical... “It seems like a massive undertaking.”
“I know. I guess all we can do is try to be better than those who came before us.”
Ren ran a hand through his hair, gazing down at the map. “You're right.”
“Go and get some sleep, Ren,” Evalyne said. She rolled up the map and lit a candle in the dwindling light. “I have a dozen scouts in the area and we're relatively well hidden here. You can rest easy.”
Ren thanked her for the food and the wine and got up.
Outside, the setting sun cast long shadows across the grass, men and women preparing to settle down for the night or putting on extra layers in preparation for a long shift. A few of the soldiers Ren passed gave him nods or salutes in greeting, but most of them ignored him. Ren wondered what they thought about this – fighting alongside the enemy to overthrow their own king. Maybe they were as tired of Halvard as their princess was.
Their princess. His half-sister. Evalyne had been nothing but kind to him, but the expansion of his family was still hard to swallow. It wasn't just Halvard, although Ren would readily admit that it was a big part of it. No, he wasn't just a Fraynean anymore. It stung to admit and he avoided meeting the eyes of the soldiers he passed on the way to his own tent. He had just as much Skarlan blood in him as he did Fraynean. He could hardly call himself a stag of Frayne, anymore. Thais was the only true stag left.
Ren lingered in front of the entrance to his tent, glancing towards Thais' nearby. He wanted to talk to Thais, to spend just a few hours in the company of the family he knew, but it was late and Thais was probably as exhausted as Ren.
Pushing the tent flap aside, he stepped inside. His tent was as bare as Evalyne's had been, with nothing but a cot and a tray of food and drink. Someone had put together a new travel bag for him, with a few extra supplies and a change of clothes, but none of his own things were in there. They had been left in the guest room in Fort Llyne.
Ren undid the straps of the double sword sheaths he wore. The right one was empty, Hellic's sword glaringly absent. The left one wasn't empty, but Ren almost wished it was. Detaching Anik's sword from his hip made his stomach tighten with a loneliness stronger than he had anticipated. He wasn't sure why his thoughts kept circling back to Anik, and to the kiss, the moment of intimacy they had shared. He had shared a lot more than that with complete strangers and never given them a single thought afterwards. Although, a little voice in his head whispered, he hadn't travelled halfway across the country with them, hadn't risked his life to help them or have them do the same in return.
Ren let Anik's sheathed sword fall to the ground a little harder than he had meant to. He sank onto the cot and worked his boots off with sharp tugs at the strings. Anik had promised him they'd see this whole mess through together. He had accepted Ren's gift and stuck by him despite his distrust of Evalyne. Just as Ren had thought he'd have someone alongside him for the worst of it, Anik had left him behind. For something he couldn't even help. Did he think Ren enjoyed having Halvard's tainted blood coursing through his veins? That he would have ever chosen Halvard to be his father if he'd had a choice?
He kicked his boot across the tent and it hit the canvas tent flap, landing on its side. Despite having Thais, Jayce, and Ilias with him, he felt more alone than he had since Hellic's death.
* * *
“Will this be enough? It's all we could find in the clearing.”
Anik studied the dry, blueish bundle of plant stalks with curling leaves in Cainon's hand. He took it from him, carefully wrapping it with a small leather band along with the bundle he had picked himself. “It will. Thank you,” he said. He stuck the bundle deep into his pocket to keep it safe. “I think we have about an hour to make it back to the river boat.”
Around them, darkness fell, the last light visible between the trunks of the trees.
“Should be plenty. Get the horses ready,” Cainon said over his shoulder. A pair of the young ones rushed off to comply.
“There won't be room for them on the boat,” Anik said, taking the reins of the horse he had ridden to the camp, the one belonging to Aritai.
“Not to worry. We'll set them free and go the rest of the way by foot. When we settle down for the night, I'll get Kelad to ink you.”
“I appreciate it,” Anik said, casting a glance down at his own arm. The edges of the black tattoo were visible on his wrist, above the cuff of his jacket sleeve. He had received all his tattoos with immense pride. He wasn't so sure about this one, but he also knew it had to be done.
They broke camp, all fifty-eight men and women leaving the cover of the trees and riding into the hills. There weren't horses for everyone, but almost. Over such a short distance, those who didn't have mounts of their own could ride with their friends. The sun touched down on the horizon, colouring the sky a deep orange and pink.
“Straight ahead,” Anik instructed, and Cainon waved the others forward. Their horses struggled on the steep incline and Anik nudged the grey mare and leaned forward against her neck to aid the climb. At the top, the wind tugged on their clothes and the tails of the horses.
The river snaked its way through the landscape before them reflecting the sky in a glittering line of orange. The waters were still. No sail broke the horizon.
Anik swore under his breath. He should have known a single Fraynean wasn't going to wait on a band of Lowlanders. The old sailor had likely turned his boat around the moment Anik had disappeared over the ridge, even with the promise of a reward upon their return.
“Well, looks like we'll be riding,” Cainon said, not sounding particularly surprised. He knew as well as anyone that it was to be expected, but Anik still couldn't help but be annoyed that his plan had fallen through. Besides, they'd lose precious time.
“There's a cluster of trees nearby,” Anik said with a sigh. “We can continue ahead and rest there for the night.” Reaching into his pocket, he stroked the tips of his fingers against the bundle of plant stalks. Wolfsblood thistle. One bite of the plant's orange flowers could kill a man ten times over.
The cluster of trees didn't offer as much cover as the copse they had left behind, so they were forced to huddle tog
ether. Cainon stationed five men on watch at the edges of the trees and in the surrounding area.
Anik dismounted, giving the grey mare a pat before handing her reins to Aritai. Compared to his own dark stallion, she was soft and biddable. He didn't mind a well-behaved mount, but he missed the sense of tightly coiled power that radiated off his own proud beast. He should purge that feeling from his mind. It was no use longing for something he couldn't have. Before his thoughts could get a chance to stray further, Kelad's hand on his shoulder dragged him back to the present.
The middle-aged man had a clouded eye, but he was still one of the best artists Anik had ever met. He had created more than one of the weaving symbols on Anik's forearm, and those of countless others in the camp, Anik knew.
Kelad waved him along to where a few women were building a fire. The bone beads in Kelad's hair rattled faintly when he sat down. He waved his hand at the others and they scattered. A few of them whispered to each other, just loud enough for Anik to hear. He hadn't told any of them what he was getting inked onto his skin, but it was impossible to keep the word from spreading. The darkness seemed to close in around them when Anik sat down, despite the warm light of the growing fire. From inside his bag, Kelad produced a pair of bottles, removed the cap of one of them and sniffed the contents, then passed it to Anik.
Anik raised the bottle to his nose. The strange bitter-sharp scent was familiar to him, even though it had been almost five years since he had last drunk the thick liquid. Raising the bottle to his lips, he tilted his head back. The liquid burned like fire in his throat. The first few times, the feeling had made his eyes water, but now he could drink without wincing. It settled in his gut before spreading slowly to his limbs, making them feel warm and heavy. But Kal Au wasn't alcohol. It wouldn't dim the sting of the process, and rightly so.
Next to him, Kelad inspected the slender hawthorn spines before pouring the contents of the second bottle into his hand. The dark ink pooled in his palm, a single drop escaping from between his fingers.