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CHAPTER FORTY

N IKOLAI RAN INTO THE INFIRMARY, cheeks puffy and breaths ragged. Rheih tutted her tongue as she inspected Riven’s newly healed stump.

“Fine job, Keera,” she said approvingly as her eagle eyes assessed the thinnest scar along the amputation. Guilt thrashed in my throat at the pride that swelled in my chest at her approval. Riven squeezed my hand with the one he still had. I had expected him to turn sullen as the reality of his changed body washed over him, but he seemed elated. Eerily so.

I didn’t have time to contemplate that because Nikolai threw himself onto Riven’s lap. His chest heaved through his sobs as he cried, “I’m so happy you are alive.”

“As am I.” Riven laughed. There was a sincerity to his words that set my worries at ease.

Nikolai wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. He hadn’t even changed into something that wasn’t stained with ash or blood.

“I just kept thinking that if you had died, you would have died with me angry at you.” He lifted his head, thick tears pooling down his cheeks as his lips trembled.

“But he didn’t die, Nik,” I whispered, trying to calm him.

He swatted my hand away. “But he could have and I would have spent centuries wondering if giving him my favor could have prevented it.”

I crossed my arms. “Prevented a sword cutting through his bone and skin?”

“No need to dwell on the details, Keera dear.” His lip curled over his fangs as he sniffled into a handkerchief. He turned his attention back to Riven, who was staring down at the Elf with round, misted eyes. “I shouldn’t have let my anger cause a split between us—”

“Nik, my decisions took everything from you.”

Tears welled along Nikolai’s lashes. “Not everything.” He wiped his eye. “And while I can still be angry at the decisions you made, it would be unfair of me not to be angry at myself. I could have told Keera the truth just as well as you. I did not have to keep your secret. I chose to.” He took a deep breath, his brows trembling. “And it is a choice I will have to learn to live with.”

Riven sat up. Rheih threw up her hands in annoyance, walking back to her station of herbs where they could not annoy her. Nikolai’s hand caressed the smooth skin at the end of Riven’s arm.

Nikolai gasped as Riven pulled him into a tight embrace, refusing to let him go even after a long second had passed. “I am the one who is sorry, more deeply than you could ever know.” Riven leaned back, his hand still squeezing Nikolai’s shoulder. “I know that the divide I created between us cannot be stitched back together quickly, but I will spend a year for every lie I told making it up to you if that’s what it takes. And I will fight with everything I have to ensure we both survive this war so I will have the time to show you the truth of those words.”

Nikolai collapsed. His fingers lingered around the amputated limb and he shook his head. “My mother has told me many things. She left this life for one with the ancestors.”

Riven and I both froze, not daring to move as Nikolai finally spoke of Maerhal.

“She said that after this war there will be a new beginning,” he continued. “Cleansed in smoke and blood, fire and water, a new world will grow from the ashes.” Nikolai met Riven’s gaze with a forlorn look that tore at my soul. “I do not want to build a world that dwells on the pain of the past. Our people deserve better.” He looked up at me and squeezed Riven’s shoulder “ We deserve better. I want to grow a new world for our people that sprouts from a soil of trust and forgiveness. Where friends live as close as brothers because to the Elverin we are all kin.”

Nikolai held out his hand for Riven to shake. “It would be an honor to fight for that future by your side, miijin.”

My brother.

Riven took a ragged breath and shook Nik’s hand before pulling him in for another embrace.

“I can make you something useful for your arm,” Nikolai mumbled through their limbs.

Gerarda leaned against the door with her arms crossed, so silent I hadn’t realized she was there. She rolled her eyes at the two still wrapped in each other’s arms. “So dramatic.”

“You could tell me.” Gerarda’s voice sounded out from the burl she shared with Elaran. “I can just act surprised when we get there.”

Elaran smiled down at where Gerarda sat in the chair in front of her. She had transformed Gerarda’s stoic room into something warm and soft despite the countless blades scattered across the walls and tables. She reached for a leather strap to tie off Gerarda’s braid, noticing me in the doorway. She smirked as Gerarda crossed her arms, her back to me.

“My lips are sealed, my love.”

Elaran’s amber eyes flashed to mine, but Gerarda didn’t notice. Instead, she grabbed Elaran by the waist of her trousers and pulled her between her knees. “I have a dozen tricks that could part those lips in a minute, loqva .”

I cleared my throat.

Gerarda spun around, her face half shocked, half horrified.

I ran my tongue across my teeth like I had been presented with something sweet. “My guiding star ?” I raised a brow. “I never considered you a romantic, Gerrie.”

Gerarda’s lips were as thin as her blades. “I’m not.”

“Liar,” Elaran said, wrapping her arms around Gerarda and pulling her back against her chest. “You should hear the poems she writes me,” she cooed over Gerarda’s shoulder.

I laughed. This was better than cake. “A poet too?”

“That was one time.” Gerarda shoved herself free of Elaran’s arms.

“Dozens,” El mouthed, though she covered it with a smile when the tiny Fae whipped around on her.

“If this is how tonight is going to be, I’d rather Keera hit me over the head.” Gerarda tied her weapons belt around her waist and readjusted her chest piece. “I gave you the courtesy of being unconscious when I abducted you.”

“My captives would never dare run.” I grinned. “No need for extra work.”

Gerarda answered me with a deadpan stare.

I waved them out the door. “Hurry, we’re going to be late.” I looked out to the skyline.

Gerarda clocked it immediately. “We’re traveling by portal then.”

I dug a vial of dried blue flowers from my pocket and handed it to her. “Just one.”

Her eyes narrowed at the flower. There was only one portal nearby that preferred blooms to berries. We made our way through the Dark Wood in silence, though Gerarda watched everything Elaran and I did for some unspoken clue.

We made it to the gardens of Sil’abar when Elaran started recounting a line from one of Gerarda’s poems.

“I will go back home and burn every letter if you utter another word.” Gerarda’s short, sharp ears were flushed the same color as her cheeks.

Elaran spun around and tapped Gerarda on the nose. “I have them memorized, aamozhi .”

“Honey tap?” I snorted and collapsed at the middle, holding my stomach.

Gerarda shoved me onto the grass and stalked into the giant tree without looking back.

Elaran stretched out her hand for me to take. “You will pay for that later,” I mused. “Ger is not one to forget.”

Her amber eyes glowed and for a moment the ends of her hair turned black. “I like her a little feisty. Keeps things fun.” She looped her arm around mine and walked me into the palace. “Not that she will remember any of that once she realizes what’s about to happen.”

“I don’t think I’ll forget honey tap even if we live a thousand years.”

Elaran elbowed me in the side. “The story is better than the name, I assure you.” Her playful smile fell as we stepped into the palace and the live grain split to reveal a staircase sinking into the ground.

My heart hammered with anticipation. I had barely been able to contain myself since Syrra brought the idea forward.

Gerarda eyed our joined arms suspiciously. “If this is just some ploy to make me—”

“Jealous?” Elaran finished for her with a slow tilt of her head. She even raked one of her fingernails down my arm.

Gerarda almost looked bored. “Keera doesn’t have sophisticated enough taste to be enamored with you, my sweet.”

“True.”

I dropped El’s arm. “I don’t know if I should be offended or relieved.”

“Both,” Gerarda answered, lacing her fingers through Elaran’s with a smug smile.

I shook my head and nodded at the stairs. Gerarda’s nose wrinkled at the scent of cedar smoke and took the first step. I followed her to a landing that widened to a hallway and then to the room at the end of it. There were no windows, only a small hole along the ceiling for the smoke from burning leaves to escape through.

Syrra turned, her golden sword stowed along her back. Her jaw was hard as she spoke to me. “Did you bring it?”

I nodded and tossed her the contents of my trouser pocket.

“What is going on?” Gerarda’s eyes widened as Syrra opened her palm to reveal the thin, gold tube I’d given her. “Is that …” Gerarda’s voice cracked then trailed off.

Rheih added more Elder birch leaves to her bowl. “A mage pen.”

Gerarda’s lip quirked to the side. “I’ve always wanted to see the ceremony done.” She turned to Rheih. “Do you pick where to cut or does she?”

Everyone in the room fell silent. Elaran squeezed Gerarda’s hand. “Dearest, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

“I have earned enough branches.” Syrra lifted her chin. “Today it is you who shall receive their markings.”

Gerarda’s mouth clamped shut.

Rheih snickered. “The little one finally has nothing to say.”

Gerarda ignored her comment and turned to me. “Was this your idea?”

“Not at all.” My lips stretched into a wide smile, sincere and proud. “Though I will be the one to imbue it.”

Tears welled at the corners of Gerarda’s eyes. “How do we begin?”

Rheih waved her hand over Gerarda’s torso as she mulched thick purple leaves in a wooden bowl. “Take off the vest and your shirt too.”

Gerarda’s hands froze.

“Rheih and I can leave until the end if that’s more comfortable for you,” I interjected, ignoring the old Mage’s grumbling.

Gerarda’s amber eyes raked over my arms and then Syrra’s, our scars proudly showing. She shook her head and started unlacing the ties down the side of her vest. “No need.”

She handed the chest plate to Elaran and then her tunic too. Gerarda was well-muscled for her small stature, her round shoulders pressed against the wrap she wore across her chest. She swallowed as she looked at Syrra. “Is this enough or should I remove this too?”

Syrra shook her head. “That is fine, child.” She grabbed a pillow from the trunk along the wall and placed it on the ground for Gerarda to sit on. “Rheih will wash your skin with water then with smoke and then we shall begin.”

Elaran and I stood shoulder to shoulder as we watched the Mage work over Gerarda’s back and shoulders. I winced seeing the thin scar under Gerarda’s left bicep knowing I had caused it. A rage-filled day training together at the Order.

“This ceremony is usually done at Niikir’na but this will have to do. It is important that this ritual is passed on and not another loss for Aemon’s line to claim.”

My stomach clenched at those words, wondering what Syrra meant by them, but she didn’t look at me. All I could see was the light reflecting from her shorn head as Syrra grabbed the mage pen. She cleansed the sharp blade in the smoke from Rheih’s bowl. “Are you ready?”

Gerarda held the second pillow across her stomach. Her arms tightened, denting the cushion, but she nodded.

“Every warrior is marked with the branch of an Elder birch along their right shoulder. It is what brands us as protectors of our people.” Syrra dabbed a damped cloth over Gerarda’s shoulder. I looked at the long branch with thin, wilting bark and jagged oval leaves cut into Syrra’s shoulder in the same place.

“Usually, this mark is given when you graduate from Niikir’na , but I think your time training at the Order is sufficient.”

Gerarda didn’t flinch as Syrra made the first cut. Her breaths remained slow and even while my own skin itched along my scars. I knew exactly how the slice of the mage pen was piercing at first but then became smooth like a slow pour of water on a hot summer’s day. Rheih exchanged Syrra’s cloth for a clean one as the first filled with Gerarda’s auric-amber blood. I took the muddled leaves from Rheih’s bowl. The thick paste carried a heavy scent of birch and cedar root.

“Just like we practiced,” Syrra told me with a small nod.

I rubbed the paste over the fresh cut and said the first phrase Syrra had taught me and Vrail had helped me perfect. “ Niikir maashith’kazii roq waabathir. ”

May this warrior’s strength never waver .

Gerarda gritted her teeth as Rheih wafted the smoke over the paste and it began to bubble.

“Is something wrong?” Elaran asked, dropping to her knees in front of Gerarda.

“The marking has set.” Syrra wiped away the paste and Gerarda’s skin had completely healed. Her scar was more iridescent than the unmarked flesh, but it was barely raised at all.

Syrra assessed our work and smiled. “This marking will increase your stamina in times of battle. I do not know if it will affect your powers, but you will be able to fight for a full day without dropping your weapon if you must.”

Gerarda looked down to inspect her own skin. Her smile grew as her fingers trailed over the curving branch. “Excellent.”

Syrra moved to the second shoulder. She washed it and then Rheih cleansed the skin with smoke. Syrra bit her lip as she marked the starting and ending points of another design with the paste. Her sharp eyes flitted back and forth between Gerarda’s shoulders to ensure the two markings would be even. When she was satisfied, she let the mage pen blade rest atop the smoking bowl.

“The second cut is made on the opposite shoulder. It is always claimed by the warrior being marked, a sigil of their own making.” Syrra leaned over Gerarda’s shoulder to look at her. “What branch should mark your act of bravery for killing the waateyshirak ?”

Gerarda blinked. “I get to choose?”

“Yes, maashir .” Syrra’s throat tightened as she said the final word.

Gerarda’s face flushed. Strong one was a term of endearment only used between the warriors of Nikiir’na . Syrra hadn’t been able to call anyone that in centuries. Gerarda was the start of a new legacy. The pride in the room swelled until it was hard to breathe. Elaran gripped Gerarda’s hand tighter, a happy tear falling from her lashes.

Gerarda swallowed. “Then the branch of the minisabiq .”

“ Minisabiq ?” I had never heard of such a tree.

But Syrra smiled and uncapped the mage pen. “It is a tree that only grows on the smallest island of the Fractured Isles.”

Gerarda nodded. “That island was my home. If one shoulder should mark my devotion to the home I have today, then the other should represent the one I lost.”

“The tree bears small fruits, if I remember correctly?”

Gerarda nodded. “Round berries the color of the sea at dawn.”

Syrra picked up the mage pen and let the side of her hand rest on Gerarda’s skin, ready to cut. “Then I shall carve one branch holding three berries. One for each of the waateyshirak you vanquished.”

Syrra carved the mark into Gerarda’s skin with the decisive strokes of a painter. Within minutes the thick, bent branch and berries were realized so completely I was sure I could reach out and wrap my hand around it.

Gerarda moved to stand, but Rheih shoved her back down on the pillow. “Stay.”

“That hurt,” she snapped.

Rheih’s long, grayed brows shot beneath her frizzy mane. “Perhaps your second gift should be to whine less.” She shoved a new bowl of paste at me.

Gerarda turned to Syrra. “I didn’t think all markings received a gift.”

“Only the first is guaranteed.” Syrra stood, her job complete. “Any beyond that are at the discretion of the Fae who gives it.”

Gerarda’s eyes misted as she turned to me. “You asked for this?”

My throat was too tight to speak so I nodded. I knelt and started rubbing the paste into her skin. This time Gerarda didn’t even flinch. “Vrail and Syrra told me about the blessings Faelin bestowed on the three warriors she left to lead Niikir’na when she knew she was in the twilight of her years.” I massaged the thick purple grit into Gerarda’s skin, making sure every part of the new wound was covered. “She gave them each a singular gift to help them lead their people. The first was a gift of foresight, so all the student warriors would remain safe under their trainer’s care. The second was a gift of projection so all the warriors would hear their steward’s call.” I set the bowl next to Gerarda’s knee and flattened my palm across her shoulder. “And the last gift was given to the Elf who became their leader after Faelin passed.” I cleared my throat. “That is the gift I am giving you.”

Gerarda’s chin trembled. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came.

The pulsing light of my magic swelled in my chest and spread down my hands. I pressed the flat of my palm into the paste and I said the words that Vrail had taught me. “Babiimithir el aaniko’biithir niiwaaka’win.”

May the ancestors guide your wisdom.

Gerarda sucked in a breath as the paste burned and set.

I wiped her skin clean. Gerarda’s second scar was gold as if the molten metal had fused her flesh back together. Her hand shook as she touched the branches that represented both the homes that had raised her. A tear caught along the corner of her eye as she looked at me. “You claim no branches or gifts for yourself?”

I laughed. “I have more gifts and scars than I could ever need.” I cleared my throat so there was no taste of humor in my words as I said them. “You have always had the best interest of the Halflings stitched into your heart, and you have always used all your strength to fight for them. I can think of no one more deserving to receive this gift.”

I stood and Syrra stepped beside me.

“Rise, Warrior Vallaqar.” Syrra lifted her palm to her eyes and then her chest. “Elverinth il niikir Ganawiithir zaabi.”

May the world see you and call you Protector, forevermore.