Page 19

Evander

T he moon is still visible through the clouds when I wake that morning, though it’s light is fading with the coming sun.

I stretch and move from my bed to the bathing chamber.

There is a heat throbbing in my arm, but I know it can’t be from infection.

Bria thoroughly cleaned it. It’s also not as painful as it was last night, more a dull feeling now.

There had been a soft knock on the door last night.

I heard it but by the time I threw the door open, she was gone.

An empty hallway stood before me with only the bandages she left on the floor.

I used them to bind the wound tight for the night but hadn’t bathed before falling asleep.

The smell wafting from my body this morning is unpleasant, to say the least, and my eyes water when I raise my arms.

Gods. I fucking stink.

I also forgot to leave my water buckets by the fire last night.

Usually, some of the rebels that keep up the inn will fill them for us if we are out on patrol or working all day, though if not, we just trek outside and fill them ourselves.

But a trick I learned early on from Quinn and Bria was to let them sit by the fire all night.

It allowed for a quicker bath in the morning, not having to wait to heat them.

So here mine are, sitting in the cool washroom, and I have no patience for it this morning.

I dump them in, filling the tub with chilly water before sliding my body in.

It’s uncomfortable but I don’t need to stay in long.

I scrub the now-crusted blood off myself and my mind drifts back to her—the feeling of her hands on my chest and in my hair, the closeness of her body, the lavender scent of her soap…

She’s all I can think about lately and gods is it frustrating.

I remove the bandages carefully, peeling back the layers of gauzy material, and start examining the wound.

But my breath halts, and I drop the bloody bandages to the floor when I catch sight of my arm.

The carved flesh had been gaping last night, an open, jagged slice through skin and into muscle. Now, the sides are closed, nearly fused back together. Only a thin line of the interior flesh is still visible. It’s nearly healed.

Impossible . There is no way a wound that size could have healed so much in so little time, no matter how tightly I bound it overnight. I dunk it back into the water, letting it soak my skin, and scrub at it with a cloth, ignoring the stinging pain it causes. But nothing changes.

Fuck. Me. Because whatever this is, it’s not normal.

I hurriedly dry myself and snatch the remaining bandages from the nearby vanity, winding fresh material back around my arm and wracking my brain for what could have caused the healing.

I used no bizarre salves or balms on it, took no tinctures, though it isn’t as if we have real healers here anyway.

Not any with magic that could do something like this.

Was there magic in the sword that bastard used against me?

No. It wouldn’t have healed me if the sword was tipped in anything or blessed, and the priests don’t dole out their magic like that, certainly not to a lowly scout or soldier.

I’ll have to ask Bria or even Cato later today if I can find them.

I have to meet with Helara this morning and I can’t be late.

Especially after yesterday. I’m in enough shit as it is already.

After dressing, I strap the bandolier back on my chest, sheathing the wealth of daggers and setting my swords in their home at my waist. I might not need the full arsenal today as I don’t know what Quinn and I will be assigned to do, but it’s better to be prepared.

Though we will probably be starting training for the new arrivals.

I arrive downstairs before the others and help Ash with the trays for breakfast. She makes an attempt at conversation, but I have no interest in discussing last night with her. Or Quinn, for that matter. Better to pretend like it didn’t happen, let them keep their opinions to themselves.

They know I flirt with Bria, that I’ve always found her unbelievably attractive.

I’m not sure there is a man alive who doesn’t, and I’ve gotten in my fair share of brawls over her throughout the years.

Not that she knows that, but not once did I try to hide that from them.

Quinn was aware I had feelings for her when we were younger, but I gather he thought I let go of my attachment some time ago, perhaps when I was in the capital or even before, when she was with Cedric.

But just because a love is unrequited doesn’t mean it disappears.

I tried to keep it hidden—the longing to touch her, the pain I felt when I saw her exhaustion and how drained she was from the training.

The sickness in the pit of my stomach when I thought of her future and what she had to do.

How her destiny was not only horrible, but how it had nothing to do with me and never would.

I had managed to keep that to myself until last night.

But given my outburst, the way I slammed down my glass, and stormed from the room?

Now they probably have an inkling of how I feel about Bria.

Helara and Quinn descend the stairs to the main dining room together a few moments later.

They’re already deep in a discussion about the prior day.

The regal captain greets me cordially before gathering a few bites of food and moving into the privacy of the meeting room.

Quinn comes up beside me and we follow silently.

Once settled in the room, Helara takes a sip of her steaming mug, the bitter smell of her tea trailing through the air.

She launches into a recap of the meeting with the commanders.

From what she asserts and what the other commanders have reported, villages like the ones we found over the last few days are starting to fall to the king.

The Crown’s forces are getting closer by the day, closer to finding our mountain hideout. Our time is running out.

The village we visited yesterday was the farthest north the king’s scouts have been seen thus far.

Though, Commanders Grayson and Finnegan checked the communities that lie directly east and south of our camp and declared them untouched.

No one lives any farther west than where we are located.

Only the Godless Mountains and Forsaken Woods remain in that direction.

“He’s closing in on us. It’s only a matter of time now before he decides to send scouts into the mountains.” Helara shows no trace of fear in her voice, just facts. The captain knows what we are up against better than anyone else.

She faced the king before. And she failed.

She is doing everything in her power to keep that from happening again.

Years before, Helara had been one of the leaders in the Uprising.

When King Braddock began waging war against those with magic, when the people figured out just what he was doing, they rallied against him.

Now, she is biding her time until the prophecy can be fulfilled and help her in that quest.

My mother regaled me with all the old stories when I was a child. She told me everything she could about ancient magic and the old gods. So I’m well aware of the history—how those with magic came to be hunted like this and how we ended up in this war to begin with.

Centuries before, gods walked Azudora in their mortal forms: Uldnoir, the Keeper of life and death; Rhezenar, the Current of water and wind; and Caarae, the Incendiary of earth and fire.

They came from the Forsaken Woods, though I’m sure the area was called something more pleasant before.

The Woods were said to be the life source of magic, the forest brimming with powerful creatures and crystals.

Every drop of magic that lives in Azudora came from that one place, the creation of all that is powerful in this world.

The three gods were cherished, ethereal beings who blessed those wherever they traveled.

Their blessings contained a fraction of the power they held, doling out the ability to heal, to manipulate water, to forge fire, or transform air.

There was no limit to the gifts they bestowed and those who came to reside in the Woods with the gods were strengthened by the magical land around them.

The Ancients, they were called—those men and women who bound themselves to the gods, protected them and lived with them, devoting their lives to keeping magic thriving.

Others flocked to the Woods as well, witches yearning to harness the power of the forest and work with the magic of the gods.

They lived like that for ages from what I understand, only a few of the Ancients leaving the protection of the forest to live among the mortals.

But those bloodlines they created were the most powerful around.

Magic lived in their blood and was passed down through generation after generation, both from the Ancients and others who were blessed by the gods.