Page 41 of Fate of Echoes and Embers (Heirs of Elydor #3)

ISSA

Embracing Adren, after the shock of seeing my newfound relative here, I asked the obvious question.

“What are you doing here?”

“Pardon me.” The Aetherian he was speaking to excused himself as Lyra, Marek, and I sat, Adren doing the same. On the table in front of us, a map of Hawthorne Manor.

“The day you left,” Adren said, a question in his eyes since he wouldn’t know it was safe to discuss the Crystal in front of Lyra, “Ilyas returned to Grimharbor, asking for you. An interesting one,” he said sardonically to Marek, who shrugged.

“When he realized my connection to you, he admitted that he’d been acquiring information on your behalf.

It was through him I learned of Draven’s declaration. I left immediately for Hawthorne.”

“When he arrived,” Lyra said. “Before Adren knew I was at camp and could vouch for him, he was nearly killed.”

“A risky move,” I agreed. “Coming into an Aetherian camp alone. Or did you bring others?”

“I am alone. There are men of Kael’s I trust but also knew from Ilyas about the Aetherian encampment and thought it best I come myself.”

“Wise,” Lyra agreed. “And likely what saved you.”

“You risked yourself to be here?” I asked.

“Hawthorne Manor is yours, my lady, not Draven’s. If circumstances were different, if Kael still led his men, I’d have taken them, and Hawthorne, back already.”

“But Kael is in Aetheria, as unlikely as that seems, and us here.” Lyra turned to me. “Did you not sense the Crystal there?”

Raising his hand, Marek gathered moisture from the air, creating a silencing mist. Then standing, he reached into the pouch on his belt. Taking the Crystal carefully from it, he opened his hand, revealing its contents to Lyra and Adren.

Their reaction would have been amusing if our situation were not so dire. He put it back, the mist intact, and recounted as quickly as possible our experience in the Maelstrom Depths. He overstated my role, clearly proud. “I would not have retrieved it without her,” he finished.

“You’d be at the bottom of the sea without her,” Adren said.

With a swipe of his hand, Marek evaporated the mist.

The four of us stared at each other, the full importance of what we’d accomplished finally settling.

“And now we turn our sights to Hawthorne,” Lyra said. “From what we’ve gathered…” she began, and then hesitated.

That’s when I knew.

I knew with the certainty of my ancestor’s senses, even though I wasn’t using them.

“No,” I said, willing it not to be.

“I’m told from the few who got out before Draven fortified the outer defenses, Sir Warren Calder was not only your commander but a friend.”

Was.

“I am so very sorry, Issa. Draven had him killed, using your commander’s death as leverage to bring the others in line. There was an uprising?—”

“No.” I could not breathe. Could not listen to this. I pushed back the tent flap, inhaling the night air. Except it didn’t help.

Marek’s arms were around me from the back before I was even aware he’d joined me. Spinning me around, he held me as I allowed myself to fall apart in his arms.

“He loved me,” I managed. “He loved my father. My mother. Hawthorne. His family.”

Marek said nothing for there was nothing to say. So much death, and by the hand of a man I’d defended. “I should have?—”

“Stop.” Marek took me by the shoulders. “This was not your doing. It was Draven’s. And there are more inside those walls who need you now. This isn’t over yet.”

He was saying, without uttering the words, that I could not fall apart. Not yet. My people needed me.

Wiping my eyes, I took two more deep breaths.

“I’m ready,” I said, lying but wishing it were true.

He leaned forward, kissed me, and led me back into the tent.

“You were saying?” I sat back down, not wanting Lyra’s and Adren’s pity. My face flushed with a sudden vision of driving a knife into Draven’s treacherous heart.

“There were others,” Lyra said softly, “though I do not know their names. By one account, three are dead. By another, up to seven. Some managed to escape. The others are now taking orders from Draven, who is secured inside with the Gyorian mercenaries. They’ve not yet struck our camp, perhaps realizing the war they will incite. We’ve been debating our next move?—”

“If we take it back with force,” I interrupted, “Hawthorne will be decimated.”

None disagreed with me. It was well-known, when a battle broke out in Elydor, little of consequence remained in the aftermath. With all three clans, not counting the humans, involved? Elydor had almost not survived the War of the Abyss, so named afterward for what had nearly become of it.

I began to pace back and forth in the small space afforded to me in the tent. “My father often said the tree cover to the west which runs from the outer defenses all the way to the keep should be removed, though he never did it.”

“We could attack from above,” Lyra correctly guessed.

“As could we,” Marek argued, to which Lyra burst into laughter.

“Can a Thalassari climb a tree?”

“I’ve never seen it,” Adren agreed.

“I can climb a tree,” Marek grumbled, making even me smile.

“As I was saying,” I continued. “It is well known the Aetherians are accustomed to striking from high above and could seek such an advantage. The silencing mist you used,” I asked Marek. “Do all of your men have such a skill?”

“More than half do, aye.”

“They can silence your movements,” I said to Lyra. “And when Draven appears, you can strike. Without him, my men will revolt.”

“No.”

That, from Marek.

“They are my people. This is my home.”

“I’ve missed an important piece of information, it seems.” Adren adjusted himself in his chair.

“I will draw him out. Insist he speak with me. When I do, you can strike,” I finished, although now even Lyra was shaking her head.

“It could work…” Adren said.

Marek glared at me. “You forget about the Gyorian mercenaries.”

I ignored him. “Adren, will they listen to you, if Draven is incapacitated?”

“Dead,” Marek clarified.

“Dead,” I agreed. There was little chance of him walking away from this alive after what he had done.

“They may,” he said, thoughtful. “I can claim to have the king’s authority. But if they don’t, I am happy to engage with them.”

“We will support you from above,” Lyra said.

“As will the remainder of you and your men,” I said to Marek. “It should be easy enough for you to gain entry with the others occupied.”

“No,” he repeated. “You will not put yourself in such danger. Too much can go wrong.”

I stopped pacing. Crossed my arms.

“This. Is. My. Home.”

“I understand, but?—”

“Marek. I took an oath. And will not be denied a confrontation with the man who betrayed me, betrayed my father’s memory, and killed someone I considered like family.”

He looked to Lyra and Adren, but neither said another word against the plan.

“I will not be waylaid. Resistance is futile.”

Lyra chuckled.

As Marek and I stared at one another, an understanding seemed to pass between us. A mutual respect. It was what began as an interest that grew into an attraction. One which had built to a crescendo on that beach and settled into what it was. Still uncertain. With more questions than answers.

Love. It was love that passed between us, an unspoken one but love, nonetheless.

“I am coming with you,” Marek said finally.

“Very well.”

“We would do well to move before they’ve realized you’ve joined us,” Lyra said. “We can get into position before dawn.”

“Which means there’s much to discuss before then.” Adren pulled the map toward him. “First, we should?—”

The tent flap opened.

Adren fell silent as Commander Eirion stepped inside.

“We have visitors.”