Page 37

37

Strength

Anya

O n our final night on the road, we laid side by side, the nearby campfire keeping the frost at bay. Our bodies found each other in the dark, warming and wanting. Naked on my back in our private grove, I shuddered as Idris buried himself deep inside me. His face blocked the stars above, and yet I stared up in wonder, my heart aching with the uncertainty of my future and the unbearable pleasure of now .

Afterward, he nestled behind me under our blankets and pressed a constellation of kisses into my neck and shoulder. I allowed myself to believe him when he said I’d return to Waldron. I allowed myself to hope that when I asked him to return with me—to carry out his Oath nearby if he could—he’d say yes. After years of getting strung along by Remy, I would ask for what I wanted. And what I wanted—what I’d always wanted—was to feel like I belonged unconditionally.

In our short time on the road together, Idris had done that for me. He’d laughed at my sass and jokes, asked riveted questions when I told him long and meandering stories about Waldron, and never once made me feel like my worth to him was contingent upon my usefulness. While I loved to be helpful, it was freeing to feel like my helpfulness wasn’t the primary reason he cared about me. His affection—even after a mere three weeks—felt steadfast.

So—in spite of his pensive nervousness on our last night, no-doubt Order-related business he couldn’t tell me—I allowed myself to believe Idris’s words: You’ll return to Waldron-on-Wend .

Come morning, as the weak sun rose above the frost-covered hills, I donned my Fate Ceremony dress, wanting to appear presentable in case the Lord saw me immediately upon our arrival. We packed up camp, mounted Briar, and set out.

As the High Road unfurled through farmland and larger hamlets, Idris played happy songs on his flute to the beat of Briar’s steps. Soon, the road met up with the Wend, paralleling it toward the city. With Idris’s presence behind me in the saddle, I felt strong against the uncertainty ahead. Determined to follow the Wend’s current back to Waldron once my business was sorted.

After a few hours of travel, the Wend hooked west, skirting around the outside of the city walls and disappearing into the foothills of the Bone Mountains. We crossed the river via a wide, flat stone bridge, and then the sound of the water left my ears altogether, replaced by the commotion of denser civilization: voices, bells, squeaky wheels, livestock, footsteps, and so much more.

We’d reached the capital’s doorstep.

The High Road was congested here; we found ourselves in a long slow line leading toward the city’s gatehouse. Teams of city guards trotted by on tall, graceful war horses. Farmers drove wagons brimming with produce. There were single travelers on foot, some pulling small carts behind them, others leading oxen loaded up with goods. Idris and I became merely two of many seeking entry.

As the hubbub increased, so did my anxiety. By the time we reached the gatehouse, I was coiled as a spring. The curtain wall rose impossibly high above us, the pale stone much grimier up close. At the portcullis, a pair of guards were asking questions and ushering folks inside one by one. Seeming to sense my tension, Idris’s hand spread across my low belly, hugging me close against his breastplate.

I pulled back on Briar’s reins when we arrived at the front of the line.

“State your business,” one of the guards said gruffly, staring up at me with shrewd eyes.

I stammered, tongue tied.

Idris flashed his tattoo. “Order business.”

Without another word, the guard lifted his hand, gesturing for us to pass through.

Idris clicked his tongue, urging Briar forward. We rode through a short tunnel in the wall and into the city.

The drawings I’d seen of the capital didn’t do its scale justice. It had been built into the rocky skirts of Mount Shield in a series of five plateaus, all rising to eventually reach Castle Might at the city’s apex. The mountain’s snowy peak loomed high, high above, ringed with wispy clouds.

There were people everywhere , and I had to steer Briar carefully through the throngs by Idris’s instruction, following the main road’s zigzagging, uphill trajectory. Two- and three-story buildings edged the way, interrupted by the occasional tower topped with the orange and crimson flags of Fenrir. Poverty and splendor mingled confusingly, with well-kept shopfronts neighboring dirty alleyways, and well-dressed merchants rushing past beggars hunched on stoops.

The sounds of the city overwhelmed my ears with a constant assault, from the squeaks of rats racing underfoot to the cacophonous calls of hundreds—no, thousands —of voices bartering, arguing, laughing, shrieking. Hinges squealing, doors slamming, glass breaking, and the sharp clatter of metal against stone.

Gentle fingers brushed the side of my neck and were then replaced by Idris’s soft lips; he’d shaved this morning, and his skin was smooth against mine. His touch brought me back to the moment, to simpler sensations: Briar’s steady gait, the press of Idris’s hips against me, my own breathing.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

“ Mhmm ,” he breathed into my ear, the low register sending a shiver down my spine.

I leaned forward and patted Briar’s neck, his fur silky under my fingertips. I’d braided his ivory mane last night, and he looked rather gallant and celebratory. A horse fit for the streets of Fenrir City.

A pair of young boys rushed across our path, one shouting for the other to slow down, their clothes tattered and faces dirty. Briar tossed his head in surprise but kept walking as the kids scurried past. I wondered if that’s what Idris and Grinnick had looked like, two grimy urchins running through the streets, doing what they must.

“I can’t imagine you growing up here,” I said. “It’s so…”

“Loud and smelly?”

“Yes,” I said. “It must’ve been frightening.”

“Not with Grinnick around,” Idris said. “He always looked after me.”

I leaned my head back against his chest, the metal of his breastplate cold and hard. “You said you took your Oath because of him—to take his place. Why did he join your Order?”

I asked the question not fully expecting him to answer—to even be able to. But after a moment, his lips found the shell of my ear again, and he said, “Everything Grinnick did, he did for me. To look after me. To shelter me.”

“And then?”

“And then he died.”

I looked over my shoulder, finding Idris’s blue-green eyes. “You blame yourself?”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw, and he glanced away. “I blame myself.”

There was a deep pain in his tone, like a lake with no bottom, dark and wretched creatures slithering in its depths, threatening to drag him down. I wanted to buoy him, help to keep him from sinking.

I squinted up at the pale castle for which we were headed. “Well, I don’t.”

“You know nothing of what happened,” Idris said with an edge of disbelief.

“But I know you,” I said, “and I can’t imagine any scenario in which you’d willingly hurt someone you love.”

With his mouth so close to my ear, I didn’t need magic to hear his breath catch. But even so, I opened my hearing to him, just to listen to the beating of his heart. His good heart.

“Blame doesn’t care about good intentions, Anya,” Idris said.

“But I do.”

He grunted—not like he didn’t believe me, but like he didn’t want to.