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“With any luck, Hybern won’t, either.”
“And the Carver?”
“He can rot down there. I don’t have time for his games. Bryaxis will have to be enough.”
Rhys glanced at my arm, as if he could see the new, second band beside the first one. He lifted our joined hands and pressed a kiss to the back of my palm.
Again, we silently looked around the town house, taking in every last detail, the quiet that now lay like a layer of dust upon it.
Rhys said softly, “I wonder if we’ll see it again.”
I knew he wasn’t just talking about the house. But I rose up on my toes and kissed his cheek. “We will,” I promised as a dark wind gathered to sweep us to the Illyrian war-camp. I held tightly to him as I added, “We’ll see it all again.”
And when that night-kissed wind winnowed us away, away into war, away into untold danger … I prayed that my promise held true.
PART THREE
HIGH LADY
CHAPTER
Even at the height of summer, the Illyrian mountain-camp was damp. Brisk. There were some truly lovely days, Rhys assured me when I scowled as we winnowed in, but cooler weather was better anyway, when an army was involved. Heat made tempers rise. Especially when it was too hot to sleep comfortably. And considering the Illyrians were a testy lot to begin with … It was a blessing that the sky was cloudy and the wind mist-kissed.
But even the weather wasn’t enough to make the greeting party look pleasant.
I only recognized one of the muscle-bound Illyrians in full armor waiting for us. Lord Devlon. The sneer was still on his face—though milder compared to the outright contempt contorting the features of a few. Like Azriel and Cassian, they possessed dark hair and eyes of assorted hazel and brown. And like my friends, their skin was rich shades of golden brown, some flecked with bone-white scars of varying severity.
But unlike my friends, one or two Siphons adorned their hands. The seven Azriel and Cassian wore seemed almost vulgar by comparison.
But the gathered males only looked at Rhys, as if the two Illyrians flanking him were little more than trees. Mor and I remained on either side of Nesta, who had changed into a dark blue, practical dress and now surveyed the camp, the winged warriors, the sheer size of the host assembled in the camp around us …
We kept Elain half-hidden behind the wall of our bodies. Considering the backward view of the Illyrians toward females, I’d suggested we remain a step away on this meeting—literally. There were only a few female fighters in the legion … Now was not the time to test the tolerance of the Illyrians. Later—later, if we won this war. If we survived.
Devlon was speaking, “It’s true, then. The wall came down.”
“A temporary failure,” Rhys crooned. He was still wearing his fine jacket and pants from the meeting with the High Lords. For whatever reason, he hadn’t chosen to wear the Illyrian leathers. Or the wings.
It’s because they already know I trained with them, am one of them. They need to remember that I’m also their High Lord. And I have no intention of loosening the leash.
The words were a silk-covered scrape of nails down my mind.
Rhys began giving unwavering, cold instructions about the impending push southward. The voice of the High Lord—the voice of a warrior who had fought in the War and had no intention of losing this one. Cassian frequently added his own orders and clarifications.
Azriel—Azriel just stared them all down. He had not wanted to come to the camp months ago. Disliked being back here. Hated these people, his heritage.
The other lords kept glancing to the shadowsinger in dread and rage and disgust. He only leveled that lethal gaze back at them.
On and on they went, until Devlon looked over Rhys’s shoulder—to where we stood.
A scowl at Mor. A frown at me—wisely subdued. Then he noticed Nesta.
“What is that,” Devlon asked.
Nesta merely stared at him, one hand clamping the edges of her gray cloak together at her chest. One of the other camp-lords made some sign against evil.
“That,” Cassian said too quietly, “is none of your concern.”
“Is she a witch.”
I opened my mouth, but Nesta said flatly, “Yes.”
And I watched as nine full-grown, weathered Illyrian warlords flinched.
“She may act like one sometimes,” Cassian clarified, “but no—she is High Fae.”
“She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon countered.
A pause that went on for too long. Even Rhys seemed at a loss for words. Devlon had complained when we’d first met that Amren and I were Other. As if he possessed some sense for such things. Devlon muttered, “Keep her away from the females and children.”
I clutched Nesta’s free hand in silent warning to remain quiet.
Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army.
Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses.
“Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta said beneath lowered brows.
If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood.
Take them into our war tent, Rhys said silently to me. Devlon honestly might throw a hissy fit if he has to face Nesta for another minute.
I’d pay good money to see that.
So would I.
I hid my smile. “Let’s find something warm to drink,” I said to my sisters, beckoning Mor to join. We aimed for the largest of the tents in the camp, a black banner sewn with a mountain and three silver stars flapping from its apex. Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry, rocky ground.
The tent’s interior was simple yet luxurious: thick carpets covered the low wooden platform on which the tent had been erected to keep out the damp; braziers of faelights flickered throughout, chairs and a few chaise longues were scattered around, covered in thick furs. A massive desk with several chairs occupied one half of the main space. And behind a curtain in the back … I assumed our bed waited.