Page 54 of Wild Reverence

XXXVII

The Daughter of Dusk

VINCENT

The first day of the evacuation had gone according to plan, although I was waiting for something to go awry.

The morning we departed for Drake Hall began crisp and cool but descended into a warm afternoon that saw us shedding our cloaks.

Autumn had coaxed her magic from even the most stubborn trees, turning them gold and crimson.

Leaves spun in the breeze, and goldenrod grew in thick clumps along the wayside.

We left the river behind, setting our eyes on the northern mountains before us, looming indigo against the sky.

I savored it as a man who had gone days without eating.

I drew the air deep into my lungs, holding the earth, the forests, the moss, the soil within me like it was sustenance.

So rarely did I leave the fortress on the river, I could not resist the temptation to dismount from my horse and walk, if only to feel the loam beneath me, steady and firm.

I could not resist bending down and taking the earth in my hand, watching it spill through my fingers.

I held more acres on the western side of the river than the east, and while most of it was floodplains and crop fields that my farmers tended, there were some quieter patches that never failed to draw my eyes.

Cottages that were tucked away between trees, and knolls that rose, undulating, into the mountains.

My land eventually gave way to Hugh’s—the border between our provinces was marked by a creek that obstinately flowed north—but even without the water to etch that divide, I would know when we passed into Delavoy land.

Hugh’s demesne was marked by rocky terrain in the foothills.

Ragstone, limestone, and basalt. All of which his people harvested and sent to the south and the west of Cambria and as far east as the king in the city of Oath, and to all the lords across the land who were keen to build castles and walls.

That was why Hugh needed my bridge; it was the fastest way for him to transport materials over the river.

The procession was moving at a steady pace; most walked on foot, but we had packed five wagons of provisions, and this is where the elderly and the youngest and those from the infirmary rode, amongst the sacks of grains and wheels of cheese and baskets of apples and other greens harvested from the garden.

We would reach Drake Hall by sunset tomorrow, and I was riddled with misgivings.

It had been years since I had last seen Hugh, and he had not answered my missive. He had always been friendly to me, was someone I had admired as a boy, but there was a chance that I would show up at his fortress with a trail of people seeking shelter only for him to send us away.

Soon, the sun set, and the shadows grew long and monstrous.

We were close to Hugh’s lands, and we chose a campsite for the night—a meadow shaped as a half-moon, bordered by thicket.

There was a dilapidated cottage amongst the trees, tucked away like a secret.

The last tenants had left years ago, and no one had claimed it since.

It was here the elderly and those who had traveled from the infirmary slept, protected by stone walls, while the rest of us made camp in the grass.

The wind had died down to a whisper, but the first inkling of stars invoked a chill that drove the knights to build small campfires.

I untacked my horse beneath a twisted hawthorn branch, watching as people gathered around the flames to eat their bread and to arrange their bedrolls. A few children chased each other through the circles of light, their laughter a sweet sound as the moon rose.

It will be a long, cold night, I thought, setting my saddle pack aside. That was when the commotion broke out.

I strode for the clearing, my hand straying to the hilt of my sword. If it was an eithral, we only needed to freeze until the last of the sunlight melted, and if it was—

I stopped up short.

There, walking through the center of our camp, was Matilda.

She wore a gown the color of the clouds, its fabric soft and pleated, flowing like water as she moved.

Her hair fell around her in gentle waves, a dark red in the dwindling light.

The children of Wyndrift, who were now sunburned, dust streaked, and weary from travel, danced around her with renewed joy.

Some of them even clung to her hands, desperate for her attention.

“Lady Matilda,” they chanted. “ Lady Matilda! ”

She paused in the thick of the camp, smiling at the children.

Her presence here was a surprise; she had told me we would reunite at the fortress, and I had been relieved at the thought—to know she would be there before I returned, to help Nathaniel should he need it.

Matilda finally sensed my stare. She glanced up and saw me, our gazes locking over the sway of meadow grass. She had an uncanny way of making one feel like he was the only one in the world, as if she saw the deeper layers of a soul that no one else could see.

I shivered—it was simply me and her and the encroaching night—until I looked away, remembering we had an audience.

I stifled a groan. The people of Wyndrift were watching, hands clasped and eyes bright with hope.

Even the children sensed the invisible current, relinquishing Matilda, stepping back when their parents called to them.

I hesitated, feeling like a bone had come out of socket.

This was a moment to reassure and bolster my people.

They were hungry, tired, and laden with worry.

I had asked them to leave their home, granting them one uncertainty after another.

The threat of a siege simmered in our blood; the assurance of battle bruised us.

But there was a goddess in our midst. A goddess who had chosen to fight for us, a goddess who my people believed was entwined with me, bound to me.

I had little faith, but in that moment, looking at her… I believed we would be victorious.

My blood warmed; I closed the distance between us, walking the path that the children had beaten down in the grass. The stars were beginning to burn; darkness bloomed across the sky. But I saw Matilda clearly, vividly.

The twilight suited her as she stood alone, waiting for me. But she was the daughter of dusk, wasn’t she?

And I let my hesitation fall away when I reached her.

I did not give myself time to second-guess or doubt. I let my body lead, not my mind. My hands framed her face and I kissed her on the mouth.

If Matilda was surprised, she hid it well.

She responded as if this had always been our plan, as if we had schemed this very moment days ago. Her hands trailed up my spine, taking hold of my tunic. Her lips parted beneath mine, languid yet attentive.

I reveled in the taste of her.

I pulled her closer, until I felt her body press against mine. There was only the wind, blowing through our hair, and the grass, whisking at our knees. There were only the stars, flickering above us, and our mouths, each exploring the other with a swelling hunger.

This is pretense.

The words were dull, clipping the back of my mind like a sword sparking over stone. And yet my blood was coursing through me, awakening an ache in my chest.

She broke our kiss first, but it was only to breathe as if I had stolen all her air.

Matilda’s eyes were dark and lucid when she looked at me.

Her cheeks were rosy, her lips reddened from mine.

The small moonstones that pierced her ears gleamed in the fading light.

And yet there was a slight arch of her brow, like she was asking me a silent question. One I did not know how to answer.

A few children cheered, followed by groans from a group of boys.

The sound was jarring, bringing me back into the present. Our kiss was more than enough when it came to performance, but still I took Matilda’s hand in my own, weaving our fingers together. I led her back to the trees.

One of the knights had finished tending to my horse, hobbling the gelding in the meadow so he could graze with the herd. My saddle packs rested on the ground beside my water flask and bedroll, and it was dark save for the lantern that hung from the bough above, spilling light over our faces.

“I thought we were to meet again at the fortress,” I said, sensing something was wrong. “Did you speak with Bade?”

Matilda glanced away from me. The confidence I had felt only moments ago began to wane.

“I was not able to,” she answered. “So I went above and spoke with Shale.”

“The god of wind?”

“Yes. He gave me no affirmation, but I believe he will come should I call upon him. His presence is powerful; it will be good to have his aid.”

I wanted to believe her, but her voice had hitched. She was troubled, and that made my knees feel weak.

“Is there anything to drink here?” Matilda asked.

“Yes. My water flask, there on the ground. And there is some food in the packs, if you are hungry.”

She knelt by the saddlebags, reaching for the flask first. I was quiet, drowning in my own questions and fears until my attention sharpened on her.

I watched as she tilted her head back and drank.

In her haste, the water spilled over the sides of her mouth, trailing down her neck like beads of rain.

She swallowed, content, and then reached into the leather pack, going unnaturally still.

“Matilda?” I said, frowning.

“ My cloak. ” Her voice was vibrant with surprise. She drew it from my pack, where I had folded it, carrying it with me. The fabric spilled over her knees, a scarlet so rich it seemed to breathe, and her gaze rose to mine. “I thought it was lost. Where did you find it?”

“The river.”

She held my gaze, expectant, almost mirthful.

“And yes,” I said. “I came after you.”

I followed you, but I could not reach you.

My thoughts spun darkly.

Matilda gazed down at the cloak, stroking it with her fingers. “Thank you.”

“I have a request,” I said, before I lost my courage.

“What is it?”