Born and bred for this war, I was hardened by my parents' deaths and spurred on at every defeat we’ve suffered under my uncle’s crippling rule. His tightened grip on the Unseelie Court and its soldiers has forced me to navigate this conflict with nothing more than the resources of the castle that I call my home, thousands of losses over the centuries, and a vicious hatred for the witches that blinded me to reason.
I want to curse the Fates all over again for their blighted ways.
My voice is harsh with frustration as I snap, “We need to get moving, or the witches will beat us to Yrell and this journey is all for nothing.”
Tyton and Roan both nod decisively and swing back into their saddles, and Rooke finishes her murmuring before doing the same, obedient and speedy under my command. She’s already a far better soldier than most outside my employ. Even knowing her hesitancy to follow my command, she defaults to it now as the battle looms.
The horses’ hoofbeats echo around the lake as we skirt the edges of it for hours, nothing but a long expanse of water guiding us. When we finally get the first glimpse of Lancon Village, I’m relieved to see the walls there still standing and no smoke on the horizon.
The fae folk manning the watchtowers are ready to defend against any witch who might come calling, shouts ringing out at our advance but not alarms. All my soldiers wear the Celestial gray of our formal uniforms, and Alwyn holds up my banner, lifting it well before we arrive to send reassurances of who comes calling.
The regent’s guards wouldn’t receive such a warm welcome.
Stopping before the gate, I hold out a hand to stop them opening it and call out, “We're riding through to Yrell. The witches descend in great armies to take the city after we held them off at Yregar.”
Rooke’s eyebrows twitch where she sits, her horse flanking mine but respectfully a step back. I can tell that she’s surprised I'm sharing this information, but the lives of the fae folk within are at risk. If Yrell is taken, this is the next large concentration of fae folk.
“Any who wish to seek safety at Yregar should prepare for the journey there. The women, children, and vulnerable mustconsider leaving immediately, especially if there aren’t enough horses to carry them all.”
The males at the watchtower murmur amongst themselves before they call down their gratitude and offers of assistance to us, dozens talking over each other in their excitement.
I dismiss them. “Make your own preparations here and keep your watch sharp. We'll ride back through when the battle is done. If Yrell falls, we’ll escort who we can back to Yregar, but you need to be prepared.”
There’s apprehension at my words, both at the watchtower and within my own ranks, though my own soldiers are trained well enough that I'm confident I’m the only one who can feel it so glaringly.
This village was once a thriving concentration of fae folk, dozens of high fae choosing to live here to enjoy the outlook over the lake and the close proximity to Yrell. It boasted a thriving marketplace filled with artisans and traders from across the kingdom, renowned and highly sought-after. I haven't been within the walls in centuries, but many have fled or been lost to the war. If the entire village should need to evacuate, the fifty soldiers we travel with may very well be outnumbered five-to-one, a strategic nightmare but one we’ll navigate.
As we leave, directing the horses around the outer wall, I'm careful to check the perimeter to ensure there are no signs of breach or decay in the stone. There's no doubt the witches would take it next and leave the Blood Valley for later. Kharl always attacks where the loss of life and despair is felt the most keenly. The witches of the Blood Valley left the Southern Lands long ago, and to take that forest would be as simple as enveloping the boundaries into their own, but the blood-sport isn’t there to push Kharl’s armies into action.
When we reach Elms Walk, the horses naturally falter as the ground changes condition beneath them, slowing their pace aswe weave through the winding path. I'm forced to hold myself differently in the saddle, and the aches of the long ride begin to make themselves felt. I push them aside as anticipation creeps down my limbs.
The Fates have promised an end to this war, and I won’t falter, not any longer.
The treesin Elms Walk might not speak to Tyton, but it becomes glaringly obvious that Rooke hears them. Her eyes, once sharp as she took in the sights of the ravaged kingdom, now have a soft quality as she looks at the sleeping forest.
Sleepingis the only way I can describe it.
It's not dead and decayed like the rest of the lands, but there are no true signs of a thriving ecosystem here either. It's as though everything got up and walked away when the trees decided to take a nap.
We saw signs of fleeing fae folk but none of a struggle, just footprints here and there and a lost item of clothing snagged on branches, small enough that a child in someone's arms must have lost it.
As the sun begins its descent, the day creeping into later afternoon, my Fates-blessed mate murmurs quietly in the old language to me, observant enough to know that it's the way to communicate without my soldiers understanding.
“If the witches take Yrell, they'll have Elms Walk as well.”
I give her a decisive nod, my focus on my balance in the saddle as Nightspark moves swiftly over some fallen logs. We’re riding slow enough now that conversation isn't impossible, butwith the terrain as rough as it is, a single slip of concentration could find you unseated and trampled underfoot.
Rooke doesn't wait for questions or more information, murmuring in the old language but not to me. Instead, she speaks to the trees.
“I offer you a great sacrifice, as I have offered to the Ravenswyrd, the Lore River, and every other great entity I find within the kingdom. I offer you my loyalty and my care, my magic and my life. Protect the fae folk who seek refuge here. Protect those who are driven out of their homes and into your boundaries. Do not let the witches pass freely, the ones with death’s violent poison rotting within their hearts. They have abandoned their true calling—the earth and our nurturing ways. They have betrayed the Favored Children."
Something stirs.
There’s a rumble within the forest that defies explanation, and I know the trees heed her call. No words form to describe the eerie feeling that floods me except that my heart races, the thirst for battle and blood filling my limbs until I’m desperate to draw my sword and ride out to hunt Kharl’s advancing armies before they make it to the forest to begin with. The magic in the air spooks the horses, several of the soldiers grunting and cursing as they fight to rein them back in before chaos ensues.
I glance at Roan, but his eyes are on Rooke and, when I look past him to Tyton, my cousin’s eyes have begun to glow.
“The Favored Child has returned to us," he murmurs in the common tongue, and I mutter my own curse.
