Page 63 of Wild Reverence

XLV

Return to Me

VINCENT

I did not know if the eithral had followed me, or if I had followed the eithral.

She sensed me, perhaps, even as night forced her to rest and I continued to ride, hidden beneath the shelter of Matilda’s cloak, my pace slower in the darkness.

But by dawn, the beast was flying again, and she caught up to me on the road.

Our paths were a strange reflection—one on the ground, the other in the sky.

When I crested the last hill for home and saw Wyndrift in the distance with smoke rising and the flash of battle on the eastern bridge…

my heart went cold. The dread only speared me deeper when the eithral pulled ahead, drawn to the silver fray of battle.

Hugh and his warriors were still kilometers behind me; their support was not something I would be able to rely on for hours, and I urged my horse to gallop the remaining stretch of road, watching as the eithral began to swoop down near Fury Tower.

My blood became ice as I cantered across the western bridge, whose gates were completely gone, leaving the fortress vulnerable.

Each portcullis had vanished, and its corresponding wooden gate had fallen.

I passed through each western tower unhindered, my hands shaking by the time I dismounted in the courtyard.

It felt abandoned here.

Only shadows moved over the moss and stones, cast by drifting clouds overhead, and I followed the shouts, the clash of steel, the eithral’s roar to the eastern bridge. Again, Rye Gate was dismantled, just like all the ones before it, but I found a cluster of my warriors gathered around Edric.

Let me be seen, I breathed to the cloak. It heeded me, as if my own bones brimmed with magic and power. The wool transformed into a bright vermillion.

Instantly, I was spotted.

“ Vincent! ” Edric cried, ruddy-faced and tense. My title crumbled beneath his desperation. “We’ve been waiting for your return.”

“Tell me what’s happened,” I asked as I hurried through Rye Tower’s passage, heading for Maiden.

Edric fell into stride beside me and quickly detailed the morning events, his voice hoarse, as if he had been shouting for hours. “I don’t think we can hold them off for much longer, lord. The gates—”

“Yes, I saw them.”

“And we— Wait, lord. We should dress you in armor. You’re still in your travel—”

“Where is Nathaniel?”

Edric grimaced. “He was at Fury Tower, with your wife. I don’t know—”

I broke into a run, my hand grasping the hilt of the sword sheathed at my side.

I tried to swallow but my mouth was parched; I could taste the grit of the road on my teeth.

My voice felt like it would splinter if I dared to speak.

My pulse was hammering as I darted through the shadows of Maiden Tower, as I reached the open air of its bridge.

It was only when I saw the eithral again, swooping low with her shining wings, picking up knights only to fling them into the water, that I came to a sliding halt.

I stared up at the monster, rooted by fear and disbelief. How powerless I was in that moment.

My eyes remained upon her, watching as she continued to dive, wings flaring wide, translucent in the light. She was only targeting the baron’s men, feeding them to the river. I had not seen her attack one of my warriors yet.

“Lord!” Hyacinthe had caught sight of me. Her voice seemed to echo through the din around us as if we stood in a nightmare; her armor gleamed in the dull light as she moved toward me. “What order should I give?”

I opened my mouth to respond, my eyes still transfixed by the eithral. I did not move as the creature soared over us, turning around Maiden Tower to double back for Fury. There was a flash of red, up by the crenellation, like long hair tangling in the wind.

Matilda.

“Hold the line,” I said to Hyacinthe, my feet leading me back to Maiden. But my words were drowned out by the eithral’s sudden scream. The sound rent the air; it brought us all to our knees, the warriors of Wyndrift and the baron’s forces, as if we had forgotten ourselves, united in a new foe.

The spell only lasted a moment.

I winced, but my eyes had never left the creature; I watched as she collided with the battlements of Fury Tower.

The bridge quaked from the impact. Stones rained down. Dust and smoke continued their steady rise, turning the world into a golden haze. Men were screaming.

I forced myself to stand.

The eithral was taking a second pass at the tower, as if determined to bring it down. A shiver coursed through me. I could taste copper and salt on my tongue and realized I had bitten through my lip.

“Hold the line,” I commanded again, swallowing my blood as I turned away from Hyacinthe.

Around me, I could feel the battle shifting.

The baron’s men were beginning to run, desperate to return to the bank before the collapse of Fury Tower trapped them on the bridge. I could hear knights shouting, and then came the retreat horn, a note that wailed through the air like a wounded creature.

Alone, I sprinted up the curling stairwell of Maiden, my calves burning with effort by the time I reached the top. I did not know what I was expecting, but I stepped into the vast sky and ruthless wind of the tower’s rooftop, and there she was.

I came to a stop, gazing at Matilda.

Her back was angled to me; she was on her knees. Her hair was loose, tangling like crimson threads in the gust. Her chainmail glimmered with a smudge of gold. Her blood, I realized, which made my heart pound.

She was not alone. The god of war stood beside her, his presence like a stark mountain compared to her quiet beauty. His cloak was flapping in the gale; his blood-marked face was furrowed with something that looked like agony as he shook her shoulder.

He had not seen me yet.

“Matilda!” Bade cried, his voice desperate, as if she were in a dream, a trance that he needed to rouse her from. “ Matilda! ”

I did not know what had happened, what had come over her. Why she was unresponsive to him, and why she remained on her knees, her face tilted to the sky. I did not know, but as my thoughts cascaded through me, gleaming and sharp, I exhaled and felt the tower tremble again beneath my feet.

She was directing the eithral.

I could feel this mystery in my bones like a winter ache, and I stepped closer, snagging Bade’s attention.

Instantly, his guard came up. His fear was exchanged for dark-eyed suspicion. His nostrils flared as he stared at me, measuring how much of a threat I was. But he did not draw his sword or challenge me. Not yet, at least. While my stomach churned, I continued to close the gap between us.

“Let me,” I said.

He had tried and failed to bring her back.

And while I knew he was sworn to Matilda—he was her ally—he did not know what I was to her.

He did not know that once, she and I had lain beneath the sway of bracken, holding on to the other as if we were so entwined that nothing—not even a creature from the under realm—could tear us apart.

Once, we had wandered through dreams, side by side.

She was not mine by spoken vow but something deeper. Something that felt older, stronger, darker, like a language that had been sung centuries ago but had now been forgotten. Something that simmered in the blood, calling to me, calling to her.

How I had resisted that pull, as if it were something to fear. A weakness that would doom me should I let myself surrender to it.

I did not want to fight it any longer.

Bade hesitated, his hand flexing at his side. He was eager for his sword. But he must have seen the way I looked at her. Only then did he concede to me. He stepped back, allowing me to fully come forward.

I dropped to my knees behind her. We were not touching. Not yet, although the space between us seemed to hum with the longing. Gently, I whispered her name.

“Matilda.”

If she heard me, she made no reaction. The eithral soared above us, the draft from her wings stealing the air from my lungs, tangling hair into my eyes.

I needed to be closer.

I moved until there was no more space between our bodies.

Matilda’s spine aligned with my chest. My legs bracketed hers.

With one hand, I traced her waist. The other, I laid over her heart.

I could feel her trembling, as if her magic was under tremendous strain.

As if she had lost herself and did not know the way back.

My throat welled.

For a moment, I could not speak. I set my face beside hers, cheek against cheek, so that I could see what she saw—sky and clouds and muted sunshine, men in flashing armor, blood and smoke and fire, a tower that was crumbling beneath her power.

I pulled her tight against me, the chainmail biting into my palms. I would have torn it away from her body, if only to feel her skin against my own. To peel back the armor between us.

“Matilda,” I said again. “Come back to me.”

The eithral continued to circle and swoop, emitting another screech. But there was a hesitation now. A delay as she hovered, wings churning a maelstrom of wind.

I pressed my lips to Matilda’s neck; I breathed against her chilled skin. She tasted like rain. I whispered into her hair, words only she could hear.

“Return to me, Red.”

She leaned her head back onto my shoulder.

I could tell she was aware of me now, how my body was aligned with hers.

How we drew breath together, our chests heaving in tandem, the feel of my hands and the cadence of my voice, how they both held her tethered to me.

It was greater than any prayer I could have uttered, any words I could have written down in ink.

The tension began to unspool from her body.

“If it takes you,” I said, “then let it also take me. Don’t leave me behind like this, Red.”

She shivered.

I knew the moment her awareness returned, when she blinked away the world she had been captive to, a place I could only yearn to see alongside her.

Matilda gasped a broken sound, the beginning of a sob.

Her hands rose to rest over mine, colder than ice.

At first, I thought she was about to pull my touch away.

But she only pressed my hands harder into her, as if she needed me to remind her of what was real.

As if she, too, wanted to tear away the scales, the steel links of her chainmail.

“Vincent,” she said, and her voice was worn, cracked at the edges.

“Yes. I am here with you.”

She was quiet for a beat, as was I. She was staring at the sky as the eithral soared away.

Whatever bond had been between them had broken; I knew it must have been my voice, cutting through it like a sword.

But I did not watch the creature melt into the clouds; my attention was on Matilda alone, and I measured her breaths, the drum of her heart.

The sound of her struggling against her own tears, how she was trying to tamp them down.

It tore the deepest part of me.

“It’s all right,” I said. The words rumbled through my chest. “Let it go.”

“No,” she whispered, her voice smoky, hoarse. “I… I cannot.”

When she pushed herself up, my hands reluctantly slid away from her.

I remained on my knees as she leaned against the crenellation, bowing her head so her hair draped like a curtain.

I knew she was dashing the tears from her cheeks.

She did not want me to know it, though. When she finished, she refused to meet my gaze.

She watched the eithral fly into the blue of the eastern horizon, but I watched her.

And I could only wonder what the cost would be. What this victory would demand of her. The price of this triumph she had just given for the river, for Wyndrift.

For me.