Bane didn’t know what to say, and he couldn’t speak anyway, his throat tight, his eyes filled with…what in the world? Tears fell like raindrops.
They fell and fell and fell until his deathmark flared and he disappeared, alone again.
Ninety
The Southern Empire, Phanea
Roan Loren
It had felt right, healing Bane, and yet Roan couldn’t be certain it was smart. Bane was unpredictable and at times felt like one of the Oracle’s most grievous mistakes, but he couldn’t deny the results. The Four Kingdoms were united for the first time in over a century. Though Roan had been resting, his body recovering after healing so many, he’d heard much around him. He heard whisperings about a council and a plan and an alliance.
All good things.
He’d heard Gwen and Gareth talk about him, too. He could’ve awoken then, but he didn’t know what to say to either of them. Not yet. So he waited.
And when Bane had appeared, he knew that was the right moment.
But now Bane was gone and he was alone again. He longed to get out of bed and stretch his legs and talk to the people he loved. He needed to find Windy and Yela, who had also visited him at some point. He needed to thank them.
He needed to tell Gwen he forgave her, that he was proud of her. He needed to tell Gareth he was the best king the east had ever seen.
He needed to formally meet those who had helped him in the Bloody Canyons, the three fatemarked. Their combined knowledge and power could save thousands of lives. Tens of thousands even.
He needed to speak to Rhea, too, to make sure she was all right. She was a monster, once, but he knew those days were long past her.
He gritted his teeth and came to a decision, swinging his feet over the bed just as his door opened.
To his surprise, it was none of the people he needed to see who stepped into his room.
He recognized the young man immediately, from the canyons. He’d begged Roan to help heal the child inside Rhea. Our baby, he’d said. By all outward appearances, he looked like a seaman, but even more rugged. Like a pirate. He even had a blade for a hand, something that didn’t even strike Roan as strange, the weapon feeling like such a part of the man it was no different than a hand or a foot. Nothing in his expression, however, appeared dangerous.
“I am Grey Arris,” the man said. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked nervous. Flustered even. “I didn’t expect you to be awake. I was just wandering the halls and thought I’d check on you. Couldn’t sleep.”
“I recognize you.”
Grey nodded. “Thank you. For saving my child. Rhea, too.”
Roan chose his next words carefully. “No one stood for Rhea. Only for the child.”
“I should have,” Grey said. “I was just surprised.”
“By what?”
“We’ve been apart for a long time. From before…”
Roan finally understood. This was the lover Rhea had taken. The mistake that had led to the scars she now bore. Perhaps not a mistake, he thought. Not if it brings a child into the world. “You still care about her?”
“I—I don’t know. But I think I might.”
Roan had grown so accustomed to deceit that the naked honesty felt like a breath of fresh air. “She needs someone. For what it’s worth, I hope it’s you.”
The corner of Grey’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. “It’s complicated.”
Roan laughed. “Life always is, isn’t it?”
Grey smiled now. “I suppose so. But does it have to be?”
Roan had no doubt as to the answer. “Yes. Yes, it does. But that doesn’t mean things won’t get better. I should rest a little more before morning.”
Grey said, “Thank you. For listening.” He departed the way he’d come.
Peace should be simple, Roan thought. And then: But would it be worth as much if it was?
He closed his eyes, dreaming of the tomorrow he wanted—hoped—knew—would come.
Ninety-One
The Southern Empire, Phanea
Grey Arris
Grey hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since they arrived in Phanea. He hadn’t had a meaningful conversation with anyone either. Not his sister. Not Erric. Not Kyla. He hadn’t even spoken to Rhea.
His talk with Roan was the closest thing, but even that had felt empty, like he was living in a hollowed-out log.
So he paced the halls at night. He would have to make a choice soon; the pirates were getting antsy spending so much time on land. Kyla was getting antsy.
After he left Roan’s room, he wandered for a while, his feet subconsciously steering him toward where he knew Shae would be. Outside, in the open air, staring at the stars in the most beautiful of a dozen exquisite courtyards contained within the palace grounds, each separated by flowing white marble staircases.
For some reason, neither of the halfmarked seemed able to sleep inside anymore.
Erric was lying in the grass beside Shae, asleep, a buzzing snore rising from his nostrils. Shae was not asleep, her eyes staring at Grey rather than the stars.
“You sleep less than I do, brother,” she said, sitting up, drawing her legs beneath her dress.
“These are restless times,” he said, flopping down beside her.
“The child is yours,” Shae said, and he flinched. He shouldn’t have been surprised; these days she had an unparalleled knack for cutting to the quick. More than that, her age felt twice what it really was, at least in terms of maturity.
“I believe so,” Grey said.
“You haven’t asked?”
“Not exactly. I haven’t even spoken to her.”
“And Kyla?”
He shook his head. “In passing only. She is anxious to leave.”
“Speak with her. She deserves nothing less.”
It felt strange getting advice from his younger sister, but he’d come to trust her wisdom. And, of course, she was right. “I know, I just don’t have the words.”
“Because you don’t know your own heart or because you’re afraid?”
“Both?” No. That was a lie, he knew. He did know his own heart. And it yearned for Rhea. It had always yearned for Rhea.
“Talk to them,” Shae said. “Talk to them both.”
“What will you do?”
“We will attend the council and help decide the fate of the Four Kingdoms,” she said, motioning to the man slumbering beside her. Gods, Grey thought. She sounds like a queen herself. I am surrounded by them.
“I will see you there then,” Grey said.
She nodded and laid back down, her gaze returning to the night sky.
Grey found Kyla asleep.
It would’ve been so easy to close the door, to turn away, to save the conversation for another time. A time that would never come.
He steeled his nerve and stepped into the dark room, easing the door closed behind him.
Standing there, he felt a fool. He should’ve knocked—he didn’t want to startle her.
“I heard your footsteps as you approached,” she said, startling him instead.
His heart pounded and he clutched his chest with one hand. “Does no one sleep in this city?” he asked.
“It’s hard to sleep when the world is crumbling around us.” She sat up, scrabbling for a stone and flint, using it to generate enough of a spark to light the oil lantern on the table beside her. “Sit down,” she said. It sounded more like a command than a suggestion.
He sat.
“Speak.”
“I promised your father I would keep you safe.”
“I don’t need protecting. Maybe once I did, but not anymore.” Her hand gripped the pillow tightly.
“That’s what I told him.”
She pulled the pillow in front of her, hugging it. “Continue.”
“I—” As usual, his mouth dried up on the first word.
“You don’t want to hurt me—I get that. But our…relationship…was no casual thing. At least not
to me.”
Even the suggestion that it had meant less to him unblocked his lips. “Nor to me. Gods, Kyla, it was the best, most meaningful relationship I’ve ever had.”
It begged the obvious question. Then why? She didn’t ask it, just nodded. He was grateful for that, because sometimes there were no reasons for why the heart wanted what the heart wanted. It just was. She said, “I will miss you, Grey Arris. The high seas won’t be the same without ol’ Grease Jolly.”
I was a fool to think she would be bitter. She is a better woman than I am a man. Always will be. “I will miss you. I will always miss you. Be safe. And if this world survives what is to come, you should go to Talis. Find the man who will love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
“I will. Now get out so I can cry in peace.”
Again, he obeyed, the tears spilling down his own cheeks before the door was fully closed.
Grey wiped away the last of the tears. He feared speaking to Rhea would be the hardest conversation of all. He’d abandoned her, twice. The first time had caused her to do a terrible thing, a decision that had cost him his hand and almost his sister, but he’d forgiven her for that. Too much had come to pass since then for it to matter.
No, he would be the one apologizing again.
He started down the corridor leading to the room he knew she was in, but stopped suddenly when a scream shattered the silence.
The scream had almost certainly been Rhea.
Ninety-Two
The Southern Empire, Phanea
Rhea Loren
Rhea awoke to a gush of water soaking through her dress and bedlinens.
She called for help, and the narrow-eyed Phanecian midwives were there in an instant, bringing towels and a pail of water, stoking the coals in the hearth. Grey Arris arrived in a rush next, his hair ruffled and achingly beautiful. “I heard you scream,” he said. They hadn’t spoken in three days, but knowing he had been so close brought comfort.
“The baby is coming,” Rhea said.
He stood there, frozen like a statue, his mouth gaping open. “What do I do?”
“Nothing,” Rhea said. “It will take time.” She felt a swell of pressure in her nether region and breathed out with a hiss. “Go!”
He didn’t need further urging, scampering away and shutting the door behind him.
The labor took hours, the pain immense. Rhea breathed and cursed and threatened the midwives with all manner of vile things, but then, with a final scream and push, she was free of the burden she’d carried for the better part of a year.
As she struggled to get her breath, she said, “Is it…”
“A girl,” one of the women said, holding up a tiny blob of pink flesh covered in blood and afterbirth. One of the other midwives expertly snipped the cord connecting the baby to Rhea, while the third cleaned it up, pinching its cheek.
The baby had yet to cry, even when pinched.
“Please. Why is she silent?” Rhea asked. She could hear the desperation in her own voice. The baby’s eyes were open, but it was so still and quiet she couldn’t be certain of anything.
“I don’t know, mum, but her heart beats with thunder.”
Rhea released her breath in a gasp and reached for the child. The woman handed the baby to her in a blanket. Her scalp was covered in a thick nest of dark hair. Like Grey’s, she thought.
Just then, the child’s eyes, as blue and clear as a summer sky, looked up at her. There was so much awareness in those eyes. More than felt entirely natural.
Some sixth sense rang in her mind, like a warning bell. Rhea breathed in and out. In and out. “Bring me a torch,” she said.
“What?” Confusion laced the woman’s expression.
“A torch.” Now. “Please.”
The woman stared at her for a moment longer and then turned away, plucking an unlit torch from a rack on the wall.
“Light it.”
She stuck one end in the hearth and it blazed to life.
“Bring it to me.”
“Mum, you should be rest—”
“Please.”
She approached, holding the torch in front of her, until the dancing flames cast light across Rhea’s face, across the baby…
Light bloomed from the babe’s skin, symbols forming in flashes of color that seemed to move and shift. Images of people of all races and backgrounds appeared, along with animals. They were connected by white cords of light, forming a spider-web across the baby’s skin.
The child did not fuss, only staring at the light, watching it.
The midwife backed away, her eyes wide, almost dropping the torch.
The light drifted away and the markings vanished.
The peacemarked… a great voice said from an indeterminable place. At long last, she has come.
Finally, the baby opened her mouth and released a wail.
Ninety-Three
The Northern Kingdom, Gearhärt
Tarin Sheary
“You should speak to Annise,” Fay said, squinting at him.
“No,” Tarin said. The trip down the river to Gearhärt had given him plenty of time to think, and he’d come to two conclusions. First, that he wanted the monster out of him, if such a thing was even possible. And second, that it could not be Annise who helped him.
Fay sighed, muttering something about always being caught in the middle of things.
“You’ll help me?” Tarin asked.
“Yes,” she said with a huff. “But I warn you: I will take pleasure in it, if only because you’re a big lug.”
Tarin laughed. “Do your worst.”
“Do you really think this will work? That the monster will be chased away by a bit of pain?”
“I don’t know. But it won’t be a bit of pain. It needs to be the most excruciating pain I have ever felt.”
“Ugh. Am I going to have to hear you scream like a child?”
“I shall bite on a stick.”
“Big lug,” she said again. She started sorting through her tools. Tarin had coaxed her here on the false pretense of discussing his new set of armor. Annise was off tending to…well, whatever sorts of things a queen attended to in a time of crisis.
He took a deep breath. The monster was screaming at him again, its hissing whispers rising into a crescendo. It had been doing this ever since he made the decision to remove it. Which was exactly why he thought it might work. He’d fought two battles without the help of the monster now, and he’d emerged victorious on both counts. The years had forged him into a great warrior, even without the thing inside him.
“I still think you should talk to Annise,” Fay said, choosing a sharp-looking instrument that he’d seen her use in the finer aspects of metal work. “Secrets have no place in relationships.”
“And you’re an expert?”
“More than you,” she fired back. “You’re the one who ran away from her in the first place.”
“You came with me! And I was trying to protect her!”
“Good. Be angry. It will make it easier to take when I—”
She shoved the spike into his knee, simultaneously jamming a wooden rod into his mouth. He bit down hard, cutting off a scream. The agony was complete, shooting up his leg, into his torso, his back, his neck…
She twisted.
“Arrrrr!” he thought he felt a tooth crack as he bit down harder, surprised the rod didn’t snap in half between his jaws.
He felt something else, like a part of him drifting away. A part of him he’d never wanted.
“Should I stop?” Fay said, raising her voice so she could be heard. He was growling now, a deep-throated groan.
“No,” he managed. “It’s working.”
Another twist and his vision started to blur, tears bullying their way from his eyes.
The monster spoke to him, its voice as clear as he’d ever heard it. If you do this, Annise will die.
He felt nothing, the pain obliterated by the statement. If you hurt her…
Not by me. By the Horde. They are too strong, too many.
I can fight on my own now. I don’t need you.
You are lying to yourself, Tarin. I am your only hope to protect her against what is to come.
Tarin’s teeth shaved splinters of wood from the rod clamped between them. Annise is a great warrior. She can protect herself. And so can I.
It is your choice. The monster sounded resigned to its fate now.
He didn’t know if it was right or not. But when it came to Annise, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. “Stop,” he said, his eyes shooting open and locking on Fay.
She withdrew the spike from his knee and he limped out, off to admit everything to Annise.
Before he’d gone five steps, the city warning bells began clanging.
Ninety-Four
The Northern Kingdom, Gearhärt
Annise Gäric
Annise was studying a detailed map of the north when the bells began to chime.
She frowned, trying to remember the day. On certain days and times the bells chimed, but never this long or loud. No, this was a warning.
She stood quickly. Perhaps the easterners had taken her request for assistance as a sign of weakness, and were now pouring through Raider’s Pass, hell-bent on conquering the north at long last. She refused to consider the alternative, because the Horde couldn’t have possibly crossed the Frozen Tundra so quickly, not even during this warmer part of the year. They still had a few days, maybe more.
She crossed the room, poking her head into the corridor, which was full of a stampede of people. She grabbed one by the arm and held tight. The woman looked at her with wide eyes. “Your Highness, I’m sorry, the bells mean we should go to a safe place. There is a walled in building. The soldiers will surround it. We are prepared for this, because of our proximity to the frontlines.”