Soren stares at my hand before his eyes shift toward the silver embossed lines where Yrell is marked. The Witch Ward is not marked permanently on this map, but a simple taped lineencircles Ymar and the forests to the northwest to signify where the boundary of Kharl's conquered territory currently lies.
"If we ride to Yrell to offer aid, can you shield the castle the same way you shielded Yregar?"
Tauron’s head snaps up to glare at me, but I ignore him to answer. "I can, but it would be more difficult using my own power and without anchor talismans. Not to mention, Kharl will probably be expecting me to journey there and could retaliate against Yregar while I'm gone.”
Tauron's lip curls, but Soren ignores his cousin's ire as he stares at the map, more thoughtful than ever. "Kharl's troops move slowly without horses, and we can make it to Yrell first if we ride out today. What aid would you be able to provide to the castle that would make it worthwhile for us to take you along?"
I'm not sure I want to go along, particularly with Tauron staring at me as though he's imagining my gory death at his own hands, but the melting of the ice around my heart has ignited my own sense of justice once more and reminded me of the promises I've made.
I glance between Roan and Soren before I cross my arms. "I can offer magic, but my power isn't infinite. Knowledge, of course, but you don't need help with planning out a defense. I know some of the offensive magic the armies could be using... I'm sure you all know about death curses and blood callings?"
I receive a lot of grimaces and curt nods in reply, smothering a cringe within myself at what horrors Kharl has subjected this kingdom to.
Looking down at the map again, I sigh and shake my head curtly. "The problem is, I don't know the area or the layout of the castle and its surroundings. I chose the anchor points for the shield of Yregar because I’d lived here long enough to know what would work best for this particular castle. I haven't seen much ofthe Southern Lands, and so my knowledge is limited. I could be more of a hindrance to you all than a help."
Roan's eyebrows slowly creep up his forehead, a small show of surprise at my ruthless honesty, but I've never claimed to be reckless with my life or any other.
Tyton stands and steps up to my side as he stares down at the map. "Why did you put the shield around the inner wall and not the outer one? Why protect just the castle when we all know that you probably prefer the villagers to the high fae?"
There's noprobablyabout it.
I shrug, unyielding even under their scrutiny. "I was restricted by my supplies. I had only enough talismans to cover the inner wall. I would need at least three times as many to cover the outer wall, and it was more important to me that the shield hold strong against whatever magic Kharl wielded."
Constructing another shield, or casting without an anchor, isn't an option for Yrell, not if the battle were to last more than a few hours. Though it sickens me to the depths of my stomach, there is another option I can offer them all.
I take a deep breath as I push my discomfort down. "How much witcheswane do you have access to? If you want to save Yrell, our best chance is to start there."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Soren
Without the fae door the journey to Yrell is long and arduous, and to beat the witches there, we can’t make camp along the way. This is the true test of Rooke and her time as a soldier, of how well she can stay on her horse riding at full pace for the entire journey, but from the moment I give my command, she doesn’t utter a word of complaint.
The path we take cuts through the farming plains and around Selkie Lake before we reach the forest at Elms Walk. The trees that grow within that forest aren't as fabled as the Ravenswyrd, but they still have a reputation. The fact that Mercer sent his people fleeing into them is enough proof for me that whether or not he sent for aid, the prince desperately needs it.
Many folk wander into the midst of those towering giants never to return.
Centuries ago, we assumed an infestation of feral banshee or wraiths attacked when the opportunity struck. After traveling within the Ravenswyrd, I have a different theory, one that is impossible to explain to the high fae or any who’ve forgottenmagic but impossible for me to ignore. Maybe the trees judged those lost as unworthy to journey through safely, the old magic unforgiving, and there’s only doubt left.
Tyton has never reacted to the trees in Elms Walk.
Perhaps they just don'tlikehim in the way the trees in the Ravenswyrd forest do. Whether that’s a blessing, I can’t decide, but for now I’m confident Rooke can move through any forest within the Southern Lands unimpeded, and us along with her.
The sun begins to peek over the horizon as we reach the edges of the desolate farming plains and travel through the small, abandoned villages that litter the threadbare road to Yrell. White clouds of my breath stream into the frigid early morning air before disappearing into the mist enveloping us.
When it’s clear some of the smaller horses are flagging, we make a short stop at the lake to let them rest and drink. Silence hangs heavy over the soldiers, only the sounds of the horses breaking through the desolation that surrounds us. While there are no signs of the witches passing through here or anything to suggest unwanted company now, the battle ahead is a sobering task.
What more can Kharl throw at us, what rage did the confrontation with Rooke inspire him to now, and how many fae folk must die because of it?
As she stretches her legs from the long ride, Rooke looks across the calm water with sharp eyes. By her own admission she's never been this far north, her experience of the Southern Lands concentrated within the Ravenswyrd Forest and now Yregar.
Gazing around, I try to see the lands through her eyes, but all I feel is a furious sort of sorrow. The land surrounding the lake is barren, a shadow of the lush and abundant life it once boasted. There are no water sprites playing in the shallows as they should be, no reeds or lilies growing at the edges, no birds singing in thenow dormant trees. There were once fish in the lake as well but, in their desperation, the people of Lancon, the large village along the lake’s northern side, gutted it when other sources of food ran out.
The lake itself is now barely more than wastewater. A dank, rotting smell that was never here before emanates from the stagnant liquid. Tyton wrinkles his nose, but his eyes are filled with sorrow rather than disgust, a mournful look we all share at the decay of the beauty that once was.
Rooke strokes a hand down Northern Star’s neck before she places her flask back in her pack and steps away. She glances at me carefully, and then the others, before she walks to the lake’s edge. Her boots sink into the mud and the edges of her robes graze the water there, dark patches climbing as the fabric grows heavy and wet, but she doesn’t seem concerned; the furrow in her brow is directed at the land. The prayer she murmurs in the old language is a promise of restoration, an apology for the time it has taken for her to come to its aid, and an oath to return the kingdom to greatness once more.
There's no way to fake the reverence in her tone and, for the first time, I see exactly what the witches have fallen away from, all the ways Kharl has changed them. For the first time, I feel some responsibility for that.
