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On this side of the war, we knew why Barrett made his choice. We understood the vision he had for his people. It was admirable he was willing to remove himself from that future in order to give it a chance to bloom.

To the Engrossians, though…an Angel could flip a coin on how they would react.

“Who’s to say you wouldn’t?” I challenged.

While Barrett and I shared the same sense of misdirection about our futures, there was one stark contrast: he still mourned his title.

Barrett wanted to see his people thrive and be the one leading them to peace. It was clear in the tension rolling off his shoulders. Where I had turned my back on title, happily handed it over to Ophelia as rightful Revered, Barrett held onto a different kind of hope, whether he wanted to or not.

“She tried to turn me into a monster.” His eyes squeezed shut. “The roots are there. A part of me is afraid of how they’ll grow if I have power.”

And I told him something it had taken me months to recognize. Something Ophelia and my friends had proposed the day he first arrived in Damenal, bleeding and chained and so damn snarky. “You are not your mother.”

A beat of understanding passed between us. A silent acknowledgment of how far we’d come since that first introduction and a wary tremor of concern for where we might go.

“Thank you.” He studied me for a long moment, those eyes, twin to mine, introspective and personal. “I’m going to sweep the perimeter and take watch. Send a message to Lyria updating her of our progress, then get some rest, brother.”

I huffed at his continued use of the name, but pulled my cloak around myself and huddled against a trunk. Quickly, I scribbled a letter:

Lyria,

A few days until post one. Send word of what is needed from the villages.

- M

We kept our letters brief and without explicit detail. A list of supplies Esmond and the other healers needed most from the Bodymelder villages, but no routes. We trusted our allies surrounding her at camp, but we’d been burned before.

And with us traversing the territories, it was possible the responses would take time to arrive or could even misjudge a location if we were mobile while it was sent. Still, I sealed up the inkwell and tossed the folded letter over the mystlight lantern where it vanished.

Taking a canteen from my bag, I took a long drag of the herb-infused water I’d packed. Then, I flipped through Lucidius’s journal to reread his plan to summon an Angel and the tangents that followed.

There was a reason these were here—there had to be. Unless Lucidius had been overtaken by some power that night he attempted to summon the Angel—which I supposed could have happened—these next entries had to be important. With my own ink and pen, I underlined words that jumped out to me. Which clans he referenced, which legends. Even mundane hints like the weather patterns. Anything that woke the churning feeling in my gut, until my worries were soothed by the monotonous scratch of ink on paper and the hum of docile forest creatures.

Not long later, I received a message, but it wasn’t from Lyria.

M,

How good of you to let us know. List from Es is below. Safe travels, and we’ll welcome your royal envoy soon.

- Mila

I sat up straighter, rereading her message and trying to calm the shot of adrenaline in my veins. I’d thought about Lyria Vincienzo’s best friend since she left with our commander to secure the border. Thought about the soothing words of hope and reasons to fight she’d given me at the Battle of Damenal, when Cypherion was injured and I was caving to my mind’s torture, and she’d shown up at the last moment to save us.

I’d wondered a few times how she was faring, remembering those scars that covered her legs.

There was a joke woven in Mila’s words now that chased away those inquiries. Pulling out the inkwell, I scrawled a response:

A royal envoy? You seem to think highly of us.

The next letter appeared quickly, in her handwriting.

Perhaps some of your party has grown on me.

The drugs I’d ingested were turning my head heavy, so I set the note aside and shut my eyes rather than decipher her words. And when I drifted to sleep, visions of clashing weapons outside a fog-filled temple chased me.

Chapter Nine

Ophelia