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Emelin Thenessa of Agenor’s house, Onionbane.So many names no one had bothered to bestow upon me yet.
By the time the sky had gone a deep indigo, I was almost too tired to eat. I managed to choke down a single bowl of soup, then found myself leaning hazily against Creon’s shoulders as around me alves faded back and forth to report their utter lack of information, an empty sea here, an island dozing peacefully there … There was nothing I could do but sleep now, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to cross the few dozen feet to the tent we’d been assigned – not if each next alf to arrive might just be the one to bring the news we were all hoping not to hear.
Still nothing on Nuesh – the king has called for arms anyway …
They didn’t pass Cape Dread yet …
If Livosha is still quiet, they should be safe, right? The ships wouldn’t have taken that long to get there?
Ever so slowly, the jumble of voices blurred into dreams.
I woke up one last time, drowsy and disoriented, as Creon was tucking me into bed, the tent cloth around us dimly lit by a waxing moon and the glow of distant campfires. My attempt at protest came out groggy with exhaustion and died a swift death as he slid below the blankets beside me, silky skin and firm muscle soothing me into silence.
‘It’s alright, cactus,’ he muttered, arms wrapping around me. ‘They’ll wake us up if anything happens.’
If.
When.
But his body was warm against mine, and I was so very tired …
I sank into feverish dreams of burning towns and screaming children, waking at every rustle and creak for the rest of the night.
I woke for what felt like the hundredth time when the first sunrays came filtering through the tent cloth above our heads. By that time, I was more than ready to leave my blankets – not because I was feeling in any way rested, but rather because every inch of my back had become far too intimately acquainted with the rocky earth after hours of dozing off and jolting awake again.
Next to me, Creon was still fast asleep. I wormed myself into a fresh dress and slipped out of the tent as quietly as I could, determined not to deny him these precious moments of peace.
The camp was still eerily quiet, no one but a handful of sleepy alves tiptoeing between the tents as I made my way to the latrineand then to the blue-and-white command tent. After the feverish activity of last night, the silence was jarring now; I found only Tared in a chair in the most shadowy corner of the tent, a bundle of blankets in his lap from which only some plucky red curls were sticking out at the top. He sent me a tired smile as I snuck in, gesturing at me not to speak too loud.
‘Any news?’ I breathed.
He shook his head, a slight frown on his face, as though he was feeling the same mixture of relief and suspicion about that fact. No attack – not yet. But the shipshadgone on their way, and by this time, they should have arrived somewhere, unless the Mother was holding them back for some reason …
And that reason could hardly be a positive one.
‘Did Agenor and Rosalind show up yet?’ I whispered, because there was little sense in discussing the thousand-and-one unhappy possibilities around a sleeping Lyn, and either way, I doubted we would have anything new to say to each other.
Tared shook his head again.
‘Well.’ I suppressed a sigh, fighting the unsettling apprehension creeping up on me – the feeling that we were overlooking something, that danger was looming just out of sight, and that it might come up to devour us far, far too soon. ‘I'll go and see if I can drag them out of bed, in that case.’
He gave me a joyless grin. ‘You rather than me.’
He was lucky Lyn let out an adorable little snore in his lap at that moment. I might have thrown something at him otherwise.
I found Agenor’s red tent fastened shut, not a sound emerging from behind the sturdy waxed cloth. I threw a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening and said, voice hushed, ‘Good morning?’
No reply followed for five, ten, then fifteen seconds.
‘Hello?’ I added, a little louder now. ‘Anyone awake?’
This time a rustle and a groan-like sound emerged from inside the tent, followed by a dull thud that might have been a foot against the earth. Then, finally, Agenor’s drowsy voice – ‘Em? Is that you?’
‘Ten points for you,’ I said. ‘Can I come in? There have been developments, and I think it's about time we start asking for your opinions again.’
He was silent for a moment or two, then managed a rather groggy, ‘Right. If you could give us a moment …’
Us. A tiny knot of tension loosened itself in my stomach.
