Page 100 of The War of Four Winters

The determination in his voice kindled something in my chest—not quite hope, but something adjacent to it. A belief that perhaps, with this man beside me and the allies we had gathered, victory might yet be possible.

"Rest now," I told him, pulling the blankets over our cooling bodies. "We'll have time for strategy once we've recovered."

He settled against me with a sigh, his head finding its familiar place on my shoulder. Within moments, his breathing deepened as exhaustion claimed him. I remained awake a while longer, holding him close while my mind processed everything that had happened.

Beyond our chambers, D'thallanar trembled on the precipice of civil war. My armies gathered at the gates, the Yeutish forces approached from the north, and Tarathiel undoubtedly plotted retribution for my escape. Michail's genocidal campaign continued unchecked, a threat to everything we had built and everyone we protected.

Yet despite everything, I found myself centered in this moment. Grateful for the warm weight of Elindir against me, for the second chance we had been granted against all odds. Whatever challenges awaited us beyond these walls, we would face them together.

I pressed one final kiss to his copper hair before sleep claimed me as well, my last conscious thought a silent vow to the universe: we would return to the boys waiting for us, to the future we were building. No power in this realm would prevent that—not my father, not Michail, not even the gods themselves.

DawnbrokeovertheCraiggybottom district of D'thallanar, painting the clan house's ancient stone walls with golden light. Only hours had passed since our escape from the Assembly's dungeons, but already the guild compound had transformed into our temporary headquarters. Maps covered the long table in the war room, their surfaces marked with troop movements, supply lines, and the ever-shifting territories controlled by loyalists or rebels.

I stood at the window, watching as new contingents arrived by the hour, slipping through the city streets in small groups to avoid detection. Stoneriver archers in their distinctive blue-gray, Wolfheart infantry with their ceremonial spears, Northfire battle mages, and scattered groups of freed slaves who'd taken up arms for our cause. The night's rush of activity hadn't slowed with the dawn.

What had begun as a desperate rebellion was swiftly consolidating into an army that could challenge even Tarathiel's forces right within the capital's walls.

"The Wolfheart scouts report no sign of pursuit from the Assembly quadrant," Niro said, entering with a stack of dispatches. Despite only a few hours' rest, the general moved with purpose, though exhaustion still shadowed his eyes. "Tarathiel appears to be consolidating his position rather than actively hunting us through the city districts."

"A defensive strategy," I observed, returning to the table. "He controls the Assembly island and expects us to act rashly. He's preparing for us to attack."

"The question is whether we give him what he expects," Katyr leaned over the maps. "D'thallanar's Assembly island has never fallen to direct assault in its history. Even with our combined forces, a frontal attack would cost thousands of lives."

"And Tarathiel would sacrifice every civilian in the city before surrendering," I added, the knowledge bitter but certain. My father's ruthlessness was perhaps the only thing about him I could predict with absolute confidence.

"What of Lord Wolfheart?" I asked, the question that had been gnawing at me since our escape. "Did any of his men make it out of the tunnels?"

Aryn's expression tightened. "Three of his warriors survived. They report that Lord Wolfheart held the battle mages back, allowing us time to escape. He... did not survive."

My chest constricted painfully. "His body?"

"Still in the tunnels, according to the survivors. The battle mages withdrew after the fighting, apparently unwilling to linger with the spirits Daraith had unleashed."

"We need to recover him," I said firmly, any thought of strategy momentarily suspended. "I want him to receive proper rites and be honored as a hero."

Aryn nodded. "I've already dispatched a small team. If his body can be recovered, they will do so."

I nodded, throat tight with unexpected grief. Klaus Wolfheart had stood with me when it mattered most, had publicly broken with Tarathiel despite decades of alliance. His sacrifice had purchased our freedom at the highest cost.

"He died a hero," I said quietly. "When we win this war, his name will be honored above all others who stood with us."

Elindir entered, his copper hair still damp from washing. The sight of him, here and safe despite everything, sent a familiar warmth through me.

"Any word from Ieduin?" he asked, taking his place beside me at the table.

"Scouts report the Yeutish forces have cleared the northern checkpoint," Katyr replied, indicating the position on the map. "They should reach the outer gates within the hour."

A commotion in the corridor interrupted our planning. The doors burst open to reveal a figure I hadn't seen in months, though his flamboyant entrance remained unmistakable.

Ieduin stood framed in the doorway, red hair gleaming like fresh blood in the morning light. Multiple piercings adorned their ears and eyebrows, the metal catching the light with each animated movement. Their practical leathers had been replaced with an elaborate combination of traditional Yeutish furs and a deep blue tunic embroidered with gold thread, paired with a fur-lined cloak fastened with ornate clasps.

"Miss me, brother?" Their grin was sharp as a blade as they sauntered into the room.

Before I could respond, an enormous figure appeared behind him. Khulan Batai, prince of the Yeutish territories, ducked to clear the doorframe, his massive form dominating the space. Standing nearly seven feet tall, with shoulders broad as a cart, he made even the largest elves appear delicate by comparison.

"My King," Ieduin bowed with exaggerated formality, the gesture so unlike their usual irreverence that I immediately grew suspicious. "May I present Prince Khulan Batai of the Yeutish territories, my betrothed."

The word hung in the air for a moment before its meaning registered fully.

---