Her eyes narrowed. “What about your parents? Didn’t you love them?”
Christoff appreciated the logic of her question. “I was very fond of them, yes, but I didn’t love them.”
Her eyes pierced him. “And what about me?” There was a challenge in her tone.
“I—I am very fond of you, too, but in a different way.”
“What way, Christoff?”
“I—” He was a liar. For whatever reason—logic and science or something else—he’d denied himself these feelings for a long time. For if he didn’t love his brother, Jordo, then losing him, failing him, wouldn’t hurt as much. But hide as he might, he could still feel the loss, the pain, like an ever-present dart in his chest. “I—”
“Choose your next words carefully, Sir, or you might never taste”—she kissed him—“these”—another kiss, her tongue flashing—“lips again.”
“I love you,” he said.
To his surprise, he meant it.
She kissed him again.
Thirty-Four
The Western Kingdom, Bethany
Lisbeth Lorne
“I can’t stop them.” The moment the words left Lisbeth’s lips, she sank to her knees, the high grass tickling her skin.
The Sleeping Knights roamed ahead, swarming over the western castle of Bethany, moonslit on the eastern shore of the Bay of Bounty. Men shouted. Women screamed. Babies cried.
Some of them might not be innocent, but most were.
A cry had gone up an hour earlier as they’d approached, but the defenders seemed too few by half.
They’ve all gone south, marching on the Southron Gates, and beyond to Phanes. They never expected an attack from the north.
Sir Dietrich said, “You can. Your power…it is greater than anything I have experienced in my life.” His turquoise soul brightened as he spoke.
Though she couldn’t bear to trust his words, she was grateful to have the kind knight with her. The first few days he hadn’t spoken much, looking dejected. When they’d passed through Raider’s Pass he’d looked downright glum. But ever since they veered westward his mood had shifted, like a great weight had left him. She didn’t need her soulmark to read into it: He’s lived his entire life in the north; and he has few happy memories.
“They are many and I am one. Their souls stretch to depths I cannot reach.” These were truths. And, she knew, her purpose was war. For a while she’d hoped it was to stop one. Not anymore. I am the warbringer. I cannot stop them, but I will bear witness to their acts. That is my fate.
A portion of Dietrich’s soul reached out to touch her—his hand, she knew—but Lisbeth shied away. Even now, her soulmark was beginning to pulse, lightly at first, but then stronger and stronger. To touch the knight now would kill him.
I am a weapon.
His soul darted back and he said, “Stop them. You can. They are yours. The world is yours if you want it.”
Something about the last part made her uncomfortable, but it strengthened her will just the same. She felt them—the souls of many—some fluttered with fear, others with adrenaline and battle, and still others with a strange excitement. Many, however, had already gone dark, dead stars crashing from the heavens.
Surrounding them all were larger souls, fiery red, consuming the others. Ancient death released. She pushed her soul into one of them, only it wasn’t only one, for, inexplicably, they were all connected. You could not face one without the others, and that pit of darkness spiraled down, down, down into nothingness, the depth of the sea perhaps, or the very core of the earth itself.
And yet I must go there.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Sir Dietrich continuing to speak to her, to offer words of encouragement, of comfort, the abyss surrounding her, voices roaring through her like crashing waves—laughter, death cries, the clank of sword on shield, and the sickening thook of steel entering flesh, penetrating, ending.
Still she fell, her descent uncontrolled now. Join us, they said. Yes. You can be one with us. Do you feel our joy? Do you feel our purpose? Yes. For it is your joy, your purpose, too.
“No!” Lisbeth screamed, yanking back her soul with every ounce of strength she had, wrenching it from the depths of the never-ending pit until it shot back from the castle and into her forehead—that All-Seeing Eye—with the force of a hurled rock.
She fell back, the soft grass cushioning her.
Everything felt fuzzy. Murky, like she was sinking into fetid waters.
A voice swam through the fog. “Lisbeth? Lisbeth? Are you all right?” A soul—bluer than a summer sky—touched her cheek.
She couldn’t help herself—she needed comfort, escape from the darkness that continued to hang heavy in her mind. She gripped that soul, that kind and generous soul, the only one who hadn’t abandoned her.
Memories assaulted her, crystal images flashing one after another, fleeting glimpses into a life of pain, of regret, of loss, and, finally, of joy. What she knew to be her own face vanished in an explosion of fragmented light, and then all went dark.
Lisbeth felt like she was floating. The sharp but not unpleasant scent of burning wood hung in the air. The souls of stars winked at her from above. And the best man she had known in her short time on this earth lay beside—
Sir Dietrich!
Lisbeth sat up quickly, preparing to enter his soul again, to jolt him with what she hoped would revive him, but…
Wait.
She sighed. His soul grew and shrunk, grew and shrunk, stirring slightly.
He’s only sleeping.
But still, she had to be more careful. That was twice now that she’d taken advantage of him. She remembered what she’d done to the Garzi back in the Hinterlands.
She stood, staring at the castle. While resting and regrouping in Castle Hill, Lisbeth had spent her time pouring over books, learning as much of northern history as possible. Because she was blind, she could not read the words on each page. However, each book had a soul, and she learned their stories as if she’d been there herself.
In the last hundred years, this very castle, Bethany, had marched numerous armies through the pass, attacking the north. They’d been a thorn in the side of the city of Gearhärt.
Does that make it right what these Knights have done on this night? Does that make it just? Does an eye for an eye solve the problems of the world?
She was nudged from her reverie when Dietrich said, “Lisbeth?” His voice was raspy and he rubbed at his eyes as if he’d slept for days rather than a few moments.
“I’m—I’m sorr—”
“Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize for who you are. I offered you my soul willingly, for yours needed a respite from the ancient ones.”
It was true. She did need it. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you for everything.”
They sat in silence for a moment, side by side, nearly touching but not quite. Watching a proud city burn. Where Sir Dietrich saw smoke and fire, Lisbeth watched souls darkening, flashing across the night sky.
The massacre was one of the most beautiful sights her soul had ever borne witness too.
It was also one of the saddest.
As tears dripped from her chin, she said, “I need your help, Sir.”
Sir Dietrich’s soul shifted, its edges purpling. “Anything. I will do anything.”
Thirty-Five
The Western Kingdom, the Forbidden Plains
Rhea Loren
Gaia’s man was a barrel-chested brute with a broad smile that belied his size and strength. After escaping the encampment, he’d led them through the night, a harried flight across the Forbidden Plains—We must get as far away before morning light, Gaia had said.
“Stop,” Rhea eventually said, nearly tumbling over from sheer exhaustion.
Gaia caught her arm, her eyes wide with concern. “What is it, cousin? Daylight approaches, and we must be off these Wrathforsaken plains.”
Rhea wanted to rid herself of the plains, too. He
r fine boots had been stabbed through a dozen times by the prickly plants that seemed to grab her as she ran. But she couldn’t take another step, her ripe belly weighing her down like a sack of potatoes strapped to her waist.
She sucked in a breath, her chest heaving.
“I can carry her,” the large man said.
“One moment, Nod,” Gaia said, rubbing Rhea’s back. “Let her breathe.”
Rhea did, swallowing thickly to moisten her dry throat. “Please. Water.”
Gaia nodded, extracting a skin from her satchel. She pushed its mouth to Rhea’s lips. She drank too fast, gasped, and then drank some more. Better. That was better.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe. Sai and Wheaton will hunt you. All they speak of is revenge.”
“Do I not deserve their wrath?”
Gaia pursed her lips. This was a hard decision for her, helping me. She is torn between her desire to see me punished and her true kind and forgiving heart. Slowly, the tension eased from her cousin’s expression. “I believe you were wronged by my”—she lost breath and was forced to pause—“brother, and sought to defend yourself. Perhaps you were carried away by the power, the control. I don’t know. But you are seeking a second chance, are you not?”
“I…yes. I planned this march on Phanes to find Ennis. To bring him back.”
Gaia nodded, as if having already guessed it. “You have to think about your child now. We can find safe refuge in Restor, or perhaps a smaller town along the Western Road. We will assume false names, hide for a time until you can bring forth your heir.”
This all felt…wrong. “You said it yourself, Sai will hunt me. He will find me in Restor or anywhere else within the bounds of the kingdom.”
“Then we go east. You’ve struck a treaty with King Ironclad, no? You can explain the situation, ask for his mercy.”
“I imprisoned him. Tried to ransom him. He owes me nothing.”
“He still signed a treaty with you. It will be void if another assumes your throne.”
It was a fair point, but— “I will not abandon Ennis to the Phanecians, not if there is a chance I can sacrifice myself for his freedom.”
“But your child.”
Rhea knew it was insanity, continuing south in her condition. Then again, she was no stranger to madness. It seemed her only companion these days. And being bold was a part of who she was now; only she wanted to channel that nerve in a new direction. I must set an example for the life growing inside of me. “I’m doing this for my child. My daughter or son must know the kind of man Ennis is. I can’t bear the thought of anything else.”
Gaia looked at Nod, who only shrugged.
Rhea said, “I can make the journey myself, if I may be so bold as to request some of your provisions.”
“No,” Gaia said, and Rhea flinched. It’s what I deserve.
“I understand. Thank you, for everything. May Wrath smile upon you and your—”
“You misunderstand me, cousin. If you insist on continuing this fool-brained plan…we are coming with you.”
For the first time since Grey left her standing on the streets of Knight’s End, Rhea didn’t feel alone.
Surprisingly, riding on Nod’s back was more comfortable than horseback. His gait was steady and gentle, and he avoided the occasional rodent burrows hidden between tufts of brittle scrubgrass.
The air had grown steadily warmer as they traveled, the clouds thinner and sparser, the ground harder and cracked. Tall plants bristling with spikes began to replace the scrubgrass.
They all agreed that a southeasterly bearing was the most prudent course. That would draw them further away from Sai and the western army, which, they knew, planned to make for Cleo, the western border town closest to the second of the Gates melted down by Fire Sandes before she was killed in battle. From there, the army would march upon their Phanecian counterpart, the war city of Hemptown, seizing it before cutting through the Bloody Canyons and into the heart of the empire, Phanea, where a massive slave army was rumored to be controlled by the last living Hoza emperor, Falcon.
Rhea squinted to the east, calculating distances from maps she’d studied in preparation for the march. Given their speed—slow, but faster now that Rhea was atop Nod’s shoulders—they should’ve been seeing the silver line of the Spear any moment now…
There!
Something sparkled on the horizon, a gossamer thread that seemed to move southward, drawing a line across the terrain. Rhea had only seen the Spear once before, and only for a fleeting few moments as she turned Darkspell’s potion against him, perhaps saving all of the Four Kingdoms.
Then again, it was I who had given him the mandate and resources to create the potion in the first place, she thought wryly. I am no hero.
The longest river in the southern part of the Four Kingdoms grew closer. “Wrath,” Gaia said, a hint of awe in her tone. “It is magnificent, isn’t it?”
It was, but for some reason Rhea could only see the mighty river as its namesake—a spear thrusting through the heart of the continent, separating the nations. Why do we hate each other so? she wondered. Because of history? Because our grandfathers hated each other? Our fathers? Because we are different? Must our children continue the cycle of hate and war?
“Roan,” she muttered, surprised by how much her thoughts sounded like the words of her older brother. She wondered where he was, whether he had found the truths he was looking for.
“What was that, cousin?” Gaia asked.
“Nothing.” She paused. On second thought… “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? You should hate me.”
Nod shifted uncomfortably beneath her, but didn’t stop. From below, Gaia looked up to meet her eyes. There it was again—that flash of anger, held back by the will of a woman Rhea had known her entire life, a woman who’d braided flowers into her hair, who’d helped her through the experience of her first bleeding time, who’d explained to her the goings on between adult men and women.
Gaia looked away, and Rhea could see the pain. Rhea knew that look—she’d seen it on her own face once, after her father had been killed. Loss.
And I am the source of that loss.
“I don’t want to hate you,” Gaia said. She sped ahead, toward that silver line, reaching it a hundred steps before Nod and Rhea.
Nod had kept watch while they’d bathed in the river, his back to them the entire time, never so much as sneaking a peek.
Gaia hadn’t spoken, and neither had Rhea. There was too much between them, the words that were left unspoken, a truth neither of them could quite come to terms with. Gaia didn’t want to hate Rhea. But she did.
Yet she’s helping me.
For Ennis.
No, she wanted to hide me away until the baby was born. She’s doing this for my child too.
But not for me.
Her inner argument continued as Rhea dressed, sat, and then broke bread and drank water. Nod pulled the pieces of a collapsible fishing pole from his satchel, snapping them together, fitting it with catgut line and hook. He added a thick, doughy bread ball to the end and tossed it in the river, humming while he waited.
Rhea almost laughed. With the river burbling, the sun shining, the wind pushing her hair away from her face, they might’ve been having a picnic. Not climbing into the mouth of their enemy.
Nod caught three fish, which he roasted over a small fire. Rhea wondered who this man was, how he came to be connected to Gaia, whether they were lovers. She hoped so. Because if two good people who cared about each other could be together, then perhaps there was still hope for the world.
And for me. She tried to push the next thought away before it manifested itself, but failed. For me and Grey.
She shook her head at her naivete. Grey could be dead, or a million miles away. She would never see him again, which was probably for the best. And yet…
I’m only sixteen. Wait, no, seventeen. The realization that she’d had a name day before
the season of Wrath’s Tears hit her squarely in the chest. She’d been too consumed with…everything…that she’d completely forgotten.
I am no longer a child, and I must cast off childish hopes that can never come to pass.
Like Grey Arris.
“Rhea,” Gaia said.
She shook her thoughts away and turned to face her cousin, waiting for the slap of harsh words against her ears. Words she deserved.
“I don’t want to hate you.”
Rhea was forced to blink away tears. Because though they were the same words her cousin had spoken earlier, this time she could tell Gaia meant them.
“Thank you,” Rhea said.
Half a day later, when the sun had nearly reached the horizon, they saw the Southron Gates, looming like a massive stone wave in the distance. A stone wave that, at any moment, might crash upon them.
“Will there be archers?” Rhea asked as Nod set her down.
Nod said, “The latest reports from Cleo stated the wall was largely undefended. Fire Sandes dealt a mighty blow to the empire.”
Yes, and she paid the ultimate price.
“We make for the first gate,” Rhea said.
Ennis. Are you behind this wall? Are you still alive?
Stubbornly, Rhea set her jaw forward and started off, determined to walk the rest of the way on her own.
The first arrow missed her by a hairsbreadth, punching through Nod’s throat.
Thirty-Six
Sir Dietrich
The Western Kingdom, Bethany
In an odd contradiction to their name, the Sleeping Knights didn’t sleep so much as pause, their white eyes open in a blind stare. They didn’t even bother to lie down, set in unbroken lines, like they could be ready for the next battle in an instant.
Sir Dietrich gripped his sword’s hilt tightly, gritting his teeth. Remembering what Lisbeth had asked of him.