There’s no mistaking the respect in his tone, and as warmth spills into my stomach I raise my eyebrows at him with a small shrug of my own. “I have great pride in my coven, and Ravenswyrd is the name I most often speak of, but there are other bloodlines I have that aren’t so virtuous. The coven my father was born into was torn in half when
Kharl Balzog came to the Southern Lands. Witches my father loved dearly chose to answer his call and take part in his war. They fell into his lies to take over the kingdom
through magic and blood and chose the Betrayer over their own blood; their witch marks won’t burn black. The same children my father once told me tales of are now destined to die at my hand for the evil they’ve wrought… and I’m glad for it. No matter how much pain it brings me, I can’t hide from that truth or else it will consume us all.”
Though I know Roan and Tyton can both understand our words and are surely listening whether they want to or not, they keep their reactions to our conversation minimal. Tyton rides at Soren’s side but with a serene look to him that is a sure-fire sign he’s lost in his own mind, listening to the song of the forests. The shift in the formation was a calculated move to keep him within his cousin’s protections, but whatever danger they fear he’s in, Roan and Soren leave him alone.
Roan rides before us all and keeps the soldiers in line as he stares at the horizon before us, his family only half a day away even at this slowed pace. He breaks the pretense of privacy only when Soren continues his questioning about the Briarfrost, something about his interest rattling the Snowsong prince.
“You spoke to King Galen as if you knew of his family—you said his wife was a healer. Do you know her name?”
Roan looks back at Soren with wide eyes, making it clear he’s hasn’t just been privy to our words but listening to them intently. Soren ignores him, nothing about his stern demeanor changing, and I take my cue from him.
“Queen Khya is a renowned healer, known in all the kingdoms for her knowledge and abilities.”
He nods firmly. “And if I wanted to greet her, how would I do so respectfully in the goblin tongue?”
Roan shifts in his saddle uncomfortably, but Soren continues to pointedly ignore him as he copies each of the sentences I recite to him.
We spend the rest of the slower journey working through more of the goblin language. I’m forced to admit that Soren is a good student, capable and competent even when faced with my rigorous tutelage. He accepts my critiques of his pronunciation, listening intently when I explain how to make the harsh sounds of the goblin tongue best.
Greeting King Galen and his wife with such respect will win more favor than any Celestial king has secured in many centuries. The Fates have never been wrong, even if the path before us is ruthless and full of pain. Hope blooms in my chest, a fragile and precious thing, and I’m strengthened in my belief that the kingdom will finally be saved.
After arriving backto Yregar after nightfall and a fitful night of sleep, I wake to a maid knocking at my door and the sounds of the goblin soldiers marching through the gates as they escort the supply wagons from the Western Fyres. Calls from the sentries manning the walls announce their arrival, the castle quickly coming alive with hurried preparations, and even my witch ears pick up the commotion clearly enough to take notice.
Scrambling out of the small bunk as I call out to Tyra to acknowledge Soren’s summons, I swipe a hand down myself to shift into my robes and shove my feet into my leather boots before I walk out briskly to meet them. The soldiers standing guard by the wall and milling around their quarters are no longer concerned that I'm attempting to escape Yregar, and no one sounds the alarm as I stride past them all.
Soren and his household are already waiting on the front steps of the castle, watching as the wagons and accompanying soldiers enter the inner wall. My Fates-blessed mate looks well rested and assured as he scowls at the wagons. As I join the high fae there, he bows his head slightly to me in respect, and dozens of the others do the same as though on command.
Airlie smiles warmly and waves me over to stand at her side. Set back a little from her husband and cousins, her position is clearly one of protection not superiority, and Soren gives her an approving look as she ushers me into her side. The soldiers guarding her close around me without a command, each bowing their heads to me respectfully before turning their attention back to the gates ahead.
Though Firna stands at Airlie’s shoulder, Raidyn isn’t with them her, presumably still upstairs under the watchful eye of one of the maids. I’d wager that Reed is guarding the Snowsong heir as well, the only high fae of Soren’s trusted circle missing from the crowd.
Yregar’s keeper wrings her hands as she prepares to direct the intake of the provisions. She seems more nervous than last time, the only one in the household to still stare at the oncoming wagons with apprehension.
When I shoot her a thoughtful look, she carefully eyes the princes surrounding us before murmuring back to me, "A lot more supplies were ordered this time, with a lot more at stake if they didn’t arrive, and the journey was more difficult after the attack."
My eyebrows rise a little, and she nods her head towards one of the messengers. "My son has told me how much the kingdom has changed since Yregar's victory."
I glance at the messenger, and upon closer inspection, I see the familial resemblance between the two of them, the shape of their chins and the slight hood to their eyes. There's also a great pride that emanates from Firna anytime her gaze lands on the messenger, and I'm not sure how I missed their relation before.
The gates of the inner wall open before us, and a hush falls over the household as we stand in silence and watch the wagons roll through. The thirty high-fae soldiers who surround the provisions on horseback are each in various states of exhaustion, some even clutching at wounds.
I scowl as I run my eye over the entire group, carefully ensuring none of them need immediate care, but they're all holding themselves in their saddles well enough for now. Bodies continue to stream in behind them, fae folk all in haggard condition but none seem concern by the goblin soldiersescorting them. Prince Gage rides at the rear of the escort, his focus on the lone carriage rolling in under heavy guard.
Its design is starkly different to the others, closer to a carriage than a supply cart, and it draws attention from the household crowded around the courtyard. My stomach clenches at the sight of the carefully covered windows, my gaze flicking to Soren’s form, but the ferocity of his focus is on the soldiers for now.
One of the males dismounts and hands his reins off to a stable boy before stepping before Soren and bowing deeply, a hand clasped over his heart.
When the prince inclines his head, the soldier’s words ring out loudly for all the household to hear. "The supplies are all here, Your Highness, and everything is accounted for. We were attacked three times by Balzog’s forces between the Goblin Lands and Yregar, but we were able to defeat them without losing any of the supplies or soldiers."
Soren nods, his eyes shifting toward the haggard group of fae folk, and the soldier continues, "We found these fae making their way from Yrell and offered them safe passage to Yregar. Hundreds have left the city and travel to Yregar to seek refuge. Word of your protection and great mercies has spread; there’s no question of their loyalty to the true Celestial heir."
Those three words have been thrown around a dozen times in the last few days but the small gasps and murmurs amongst the crowd speak volumes. Loyalties and allegiances are being drawn, the language of those who back Soren changing now that his Fates-blessed union draws near. The high fae who once danced around the issue are now stating proudly who they intend on following. With the Fates writhing under my scars in pleasure at his close proximity, it’s another thread pulling toward the prince I’ve been tied to.
When Soren dismisses the male, stern acknowledgments of his good work slip easily from the prince, and the entire courtyard murmur their own agreements. These wagons are the difference between survival and starvation for all of Yregar, and the soldiers have completed the most vital task as well as saving more fae folk along the way.
At their prince’s command, the servants and maids of the castle descend on the wagons to begin unpacking them with rigorous efficiency. Firna takes the lead, directing her staff with a shrewd eye, and she shoots Soren a quick glance before directing her staff away from the carriage still guarded by the goblin soldiers.
