Page 13 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“Likely not powerful enough for that.” I nod toward his thigh. The wound still oozes blood. The dagger Father gifted me has proven as lethal as he warned.

“I have heard rumor of a powerful caster traveling with the exiled king and Ybarisan princess,” Captain Aron says, veering the conversation back to Islor. “In the Venhorn Mountains, which is only a few days’ travel from Northmost.”

“Yes, I know of Caster Gesine,” Tyree says, his humor from a moment ago evaporating. “Even if I could find her, I imagine she’d kill me faster than my future wife will.”

“I like her already,” I quip, earning Tyree’s eye roll. How Zander joined forces with such a caster is another answer I’d like, but my eldest brother has been carrying many secrets.

“That might be a more graceful death than the one the sea promises us if we cannot avoid this folly.” Captain Aron sets his sights on the northern horizon.

5

Romeria

The stench of death curls my nostrils as we ride through camp toward the bridge. Few soldiers are idle, working as teams to heave carcasses toward the rift. Those too big to move are surrounded by kindling, awaiting flames at nightfall. According to Radomir, once a sapling who survived in these mountains among the Nulling beasts, the combination of burning beast flesh and fire is a compelling deterrent.

“There!” I spot Kienen and Solange near our gates, where Elisaf said they would be. They look as battle-worn as the rest of us—streaked in blood, their bodies weighed down with exhaustion. With them are a handful of Ybarisan soldiers and Agatha, the tiny old Master of Scribes, hidden within a cloak.

Jarek, Elisaf, and I slide out of our saddles and stride to greet our allies, the smile on my face unbidden and wide, despite my troubled thoughts.

“Your Highness.” Solange offers a militant bow. Her face and lengthy chestnut-brown braids are relatively clean, thanks to the black mask and helm of her uniform, now tucked under her arm. “I did not expect to see glee from you.” Her expression remains stony. No one would ever accuse the Shadow leader and Mordain’s Second in the hierarchy of the Casters’ Guild of being warm and fuzzy.

“I’m relieved to see you all in one piece.” And invigorated, knowing I trusted right. “Thank you for bringing the healers. Elisaf was on his way to ask for them.”

Kienen dips his head. His youthful face has been wiped clean, but all around his hairline is proof that he battled hard. “We assumed your night was as eventful as ours, and that you could use the aid.”

“Good assumption.” I could kiss him right now. “How bad is it over there?” I jut my chin toward Ybaris.

“Most civilians made it a safe distance away before the flood of beasts emerged. There were unavoidable deaths, but not nearly as many as we anticipated.” Kienen peers up at Caindra, a silent acknowledgment of the vital part she played in the battle, sending the wyverns away. “Everyone is fatigued.”

“The casters are resting to recoup their affinities, as I plan to shortly.” Solange peers at the carnage around us. “It would be wise for you and your soldiers to find a tent and gather your strength.”

“My people are quite happy to feel the sun on their faces, in case this is the last chance to do so,” a deep voice announces from behind us.

I’m momentarily stupefied by Radomir’s new—or rather old—face as he joins us, even though I’d already seen it within the safety of Ulysede. Once a hideous creature of the night, the nymphs’ return has given the saplings a second chance at life, returning them to their former elven versions.

Still, I struggle to accept that this is the same person who strapped Annika to a boulder and tossed her over the bridge my first night here. They are two different people in every way. “But they are sleeping in shifts. Your Highness.” He bows to me and nods at Kienen, who matches it immediately. The two of them were our sworn enemies upon first meeting. Zander was prepared to kill them both and struggled with trusting them. They seem to have bonded over that similarity.

“And how many of your people have fucked off to the mountains already?” Jarek, ever the cynical one, asks.

Radomir pauses as if weighing his answer. “One that I know of,” he admits. “And I promise Your Highness that when this battle is over, I will personally hunt him down and deliver his punishment with my blade.”

“Don’t waste energy worrying about a few deserters. We have reinforcements on their way in.” I tell them about the two armies that just arrived. But that is not at the forefront of my mind. “Did you see the red wyvern that came out?”

“It was rather hard to miss,” Kienen says.

“Right. But did you see what was in its grasp? Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

“We noticed.” Solange’s shrewd gaze darts to Agatha, who worries her thin lips. “And we cannot tell you that unless you wish to invite lies, Your Highness.”

Beside me, Jarek curses.

“So, you’re saying it’s possible that Neilina survived the fall into the rift.” Forget for a moment the token blade I drove through her throat.

“The queen did not survive the fall.” Solange nods toward her elder—a clear sign that this is her explanation to deliver.

“There are only two ways to remove a gold collar from the elementals’ necks. Either by Queen Neilina’s touch or by her death.” From within her satchel, Agatha produces a shimmering ring. “They all opened last evening.”

“You are telling us that the elementals are no longer collared.” Panic fills Jarek’s voice. “They can all summon the fates at any time.”

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