Page 22

T hey’re a blur of deafening roars as they plummet down crushed rocks either side of us and into the fray.

The battle is brief, and brutal. Blue cloaks scatter, whipping behind Wyrds as they flee before the onslaught of boils.

Finally, a bellow from the Wyrd commander forces his men into a harried retreat.

Amidst the chaos, Commander Kjartan and Prince Nicostratus press on, chasing the last of the invaders across the bridge.

I haul Quin over the rocks, his limp heavy on my side.

Each step is another battle for him, but his eyes glitter, like perhaps there is something desirable about this pain.

Like it’s a reminder he’s alive. We’re alive.

We made it. My pulse pounds steadily. I want to feel the same relief.

We’re no longer surrounded by the enemy.

All night and all day I’ve begged the heavens for this.

For Nicostratus’s arrival. And now that he’s here, that hope has been answered, but. ..

I’m still glancing over our shoulders.

I’m still shivering .

“We’re free,” Quin murmurs.

From the Wyrd . . .

“What do you think happens next?” I ask, and grimace at my voice.

“The Wyrd commander is aware of Lumin magic, Lumin-Skeldar support. He’ll take that information home and it will keep them there.”

“What else do you think will happen?”

“King Yngvarr will hand his reign to his son. Prins Lief will want to establish mutually beneficial relations with Lumin. He’ll get that only by supporting me as king.”

I look at him. I’m quieter this time. “What else will happen?”

“My mother will leave with him.”

“What else?”

“I’ll take what is mine.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. The firm certainty of his words sinks into me, heavier than the battle we’ve braved. I breathe in deep, cool air, and on shivers, I continue moving him into camp, to the top of the hill.

“You’ll have to head back to Ragn to take off the jarl mask,” I say.

“I hope I’m right in hearing you won’t follow me.”

“I’ll only anger the king.” After a pause, I add, “If you see Prins Lief, my aunt...”

“I’ll let her know you’re safe. You’re headed home.”

Home.

“If Prins Lief tries to give you any trouble,” I say, “remind him I have more scriptions to transcribe. ”

A light laugh. “You really know how to hold royals hostage.”

I swallow and palm my nape. “Meditate. You’ll need your magic.”

He seats himself on the crest of the hill and closes his eyes. “Magic is powerful, but it’s finite. It’s fragile.”

It can’t be relied on. I’ve seen as much.

“I’ll be a week behind you,” Quin murmurs. “Leave for Lumin with the protection of my men.”

On instinct, I glance towards the pass. Towards his brother.

When I look back, it’s to Quin watching me. “You faced death .”

I throw my hands up. “Fine. I promise.”

He shakes his head, lips twisting.

I hurry back through camp, asking for news of Florentius and Akilah, finally finding them in a small tent at the edge. I fling open the door only to drop it again, flushing.

They just survived war too. Of course they might be... embracing.

I slam my eyes shut until a wake of air has me peeking out to Akilah opening the door. Her cheeks brighten and she gestures me inside. With a hesitating step, I follow her in.

The tent has two mats, blankets, and little else but shadow. Shadow I’m glad for as I kneel on the ground, Florentius on one mat, Akilah dropping to the other.

I look from one sombre face to the other and bow until my head hits the grass. I address Akilah first. “ Other aklas only had to worry about visits to dance houses. You were right to worry about what trouble I’d get you into.”

“Trouble? You no longer call it adventure?”

“I always thought I could do the right thing. Make the right choices.” I shake my head. “It got too hard. My trouble got you hurt. I hurt you. I am sorry.”

She shuts her eyes, her throat working with a swallow. When she doesn’t respond, my shoulders sag and I bow again. To Florentius, I speak, my voice pinched. “Florentius—”

He holds up a hand, halting me, and then a soft glow of magic stretches over me. My voice—my real voice—returns. “I need to hear you say it,” he says.

I look at him, and he looks right back into me. His pain is visceral, I feel it in the growing lump in my throat and the sting at my eye.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are simply too small. But I don’t think there will ever be words big enough to properly express...

He breathes in deeply and out again. “I’m blaming you more than I should.”

“I deserve that blame.”

“Then, equally, you deserve my most sincere gratitude.” His eyes grow shiny and he looks away from me to Akilah. “Only a man with love in his heart would face an army so his friends could escape.”

“An act I borrowed from someone better.”

Florentius nods and nods, his lips wobbling with Lucius’s name. Akilah throws her arms around him and holds tight.

He looks at me over her shoulder, and in his eyes, I see forgiveness.

I see hope for our friendship. I bow low again and give them space.

I’m a dozen feet from their tent when I’m grabbed by the arm and yanked into a hug.

Akilah’s grip on me is unfathomably strong.

Her face burrows against my shoulder and I feel the splash of a tear roll down my neck.

I wrap my arms around her and squeeze back fiercely.

Later, I return to my tent, wash up and change my clothes, then take a turn around the darkening camp.

There’s the swell of celebration and relief in the air, and I feel echoes of it too.

Akilah will head back to the capital with Florentius, she said.

They want their home back. They’ll stand alongside the true king to make it happen.

Soldiers wave me to join them but I decline, smiling, and continue walking.

A week behind me. I’ll take what’s mine.

Will he succeed?

A distant moving shadow has me narrowing my eyes through the dark. I recognise the figure, the long stride. He’s moving towards the hill, and his gait is tense.

My stomach crunches .

I trip over my feet as I chase him and scramble upright, until I’m halfway up the hill and see them, short bursts of magic sparking from them as they trade fierce blows.

I freeze, pulse pounding shrilly in my ears.

My mind spirals in indecision. Leaking his magic might give them away, a reveal Quin wanted only once safely in front of King Yngvarr. Not here amongst an army of Lumin-hating stormblades. But stepping between them, speaking... this may blaze out of control.

A group of singing men halt suddenly beside me, staring at the crown of the hill. Suddenly, they’re calling for their comrades, and a hissing crowd begins to gather. Some storm up the hill and I race to cut them off.

“Are you also one of them?” they hurl.

“One of them? One of the people who fought by your side?”

They scowl and try to pass.

“Attacking a fellow soldier without permission of a superior will have you whipped fifty times!”

They halt.

Others declare they’ll get permission.

When Kjartan charges onto the scene, I meet him with urgency. “Please calm your men.”

Commander Kjartan spies the truth revealing itself atop the hill and his eyes narrow. “They’re Lumins?” He grabs his weapon and I step closer, shaking my head vehemently.

“Do you really think your king doesn’t suspect?

He needs Lumins to keep Wyrds out of Iskaldir.

He played along with the jarl act to keep his inner peace—and perhaps the peace between our soldiers.

” I eye his hand, tight on his hilt, while clashing light bursts behind me.

Big enough now for all the camp to see. “Your prins also knows. Knows and understands the importance. Keep your men at bay.”

“You might be lying to me.”

“Let your men attack, and all those Lumin soldiers will fight back. You’ve won a war. You want a skirmish now?”

He throws his sword back into its sheath. “Stop this. I’ll take the jarl leader back to our king.”

“Thank you.”

Commander Kjartan calls for his men to back down, and reluctantly, they listen.

I do what I promised. Spells flare as they hurl them at one another, and shields pound with light absorbing each attack. As the distance between us falls away, I hear their voices.

“You should’ve come.”

“I did.”

“Sooner.”

Quin attacks this time, and Nicostratus blocks, a clash of magic that fountains like spurting blood. We’ve seen enough blood already. I don’t want to see more, and I certainly don’t want any spilled between brothers.

“Quin,” I cry, stumbling up the hill towards them. “Nicostratus. Stop.”

Nicostratus jerks at my voice and his furious, hurt gaze halts me a step from him. He tugs at his belt and casts the dromveske to my feet. “I saw it all. Before we ever met, he dangled off a cliff for you!”

“He dangled off one for you, too,” I cry back. “While being flogged by the enemy!” Listen, please listen . “Your brother loves you.”

His nose and clenched teeth dive towards mine. “Not enough.”

The words hit Quin with noticeable force. He rocks back on his feet like I do. There’s a growing rift between us, and no matter who volunteers to dangle over it, they’re still left with a choice who to save.

From the clashing of magic to dark and silence.

Nicostratus stares at me, stares at his brother. Then he turns his back, his last words left to cleave deeply into Quin’s chest.

It’s cutting more deeply than a sword, and I need to stop it or nothing will heal the wound. Even though it means leaving Quin without a goodbye, even though it means breaking my promise to leave under the protection of his army, I have to do it.

I have to bring back what’s his.