He doesn't answer for a moment, his head still tilted, but as he slows Nightspark to walk the path before us, it gradually widens. The moment it’s big enough, I move Northern Star to walk alongside Nightspark and find a makeshift path cut perilously down into the valley that makes my gut clench. Heights in the chaos of battle are one thing, but this is something else entirely.
My unease is interrupted by Soren finally answering me. “My uncle’s guards are here scouting. They’ve found a band of goblin soldiers, at least two dozen. It's hard to count a large group, especially with goblins in their numbers. They’re in the valley. No one has drawn weapons yet, but the goblins aren’t backing down. The high fae don’t tolerate that sort of contention.”
His comment about counting the fae throws me before I realize he can hear their heartbeats, and one major physiological difference that separates goblins from other fae folk is the extra chambers their hearts. As a healer, it’s common knowledge for me, and it must be for high fae as well.
A frown tugs at Soren’s lips as he clicks his tongue and directs our horses towards the descending path, another jolt of dread striking my gut even as I watch him closely. Something else has caught his attention, and whether it’s the conversation in the valley or some other danger approaching, I can’t say, and I’m frustrated at my disadvantage. Halfway down the path, our field of vision finally drops below the canopy of the trees only to find least a hundred soldiers in a standoff, no weapons drawn but clearly ready to shed blood.
From this distance I don't recognize any of the high fae, but Soren clearly does, cursing under his breath. Surprise flares in my gut when I note Prince Gage riding at the helm of the goblin soldiers. The supply wagons will be beginning their journey back from the Western Fyres now and, while he’s not bound to escort them to Yregar, he’s been vehement about checking in with me and ensuring my safety. His willingness to begin conflict with the high fae when such a tenuous beginning of an alliance has formed between the Briarfrost and the true Celestial heir concerns me. It feels reckless, and I’ve never suspected him to be that.
“Fates fucking ashes,” Soren mutters under his breath, and a ripple of irritation works itself down my spine that I can't hear what’s being said.
Soren watches the exchange rabidly, the cold demeanor he usually wears now gone. I force myself to study the soldiers, though there’s only so much I can assess without hearing them.
Gage calls out something, and ripple of outrage works through the high fae soldiers, their hands slipping to rest more openly on their swords. My breathing slows instinctively. I take a headcount and find sixty high fae to forty goblin soldiers, and I know where my bets lie on this conflict, no bias skewing my answer. The goblin soldiers haven't moved a single muscle,poised in their saddles as they stare down the high-fae riding party before them.
Soren casts me a chagrined look. “How long have you known that the goblin soldier speaks the common tongue?”
I send him a wry smile back. “As long as I've known him, so only a few months.”
He nods slowly, jaw moving as though he’s chewing on his words before he spits them out. “And how long have you known that he’s King Galen’s son?”
Inclining my head in a mirror of his actions. “From the moment I saw the badge on his uniform that declared him a Briarfrost heir. His name is Gage, though until he introduces himself to you properly, I’d suggest adding a ‘prince’ before that.”
When silence greets my answer, I turn to see how angry he really is, but it's only frustration tightening his lips. “He’s the first Briarfrost to enter the gates of Yregar since the war broke out.”
I shrug. “His father trusted you enough to send him to Yregar, then again with Thea. The path to peace is paved with sacrifices and strong allies, and there’s no greater loyalty than one you’ve fought an entire kingdom to claim.”
Soren looks at me, probably hearing the thread of emotion in my words, the vehemence of my beliefs, before something in the clearing below catches his attention again and his head inclines as he listens intently.
After another minute of silence, my patience wears thin. “What are they saying?”
He blows out a breath as though he'd forgotten my limitations. “Prince Gage is leading his soldiers to Yris and demanding an audience with the regent. My uncle has been desperate to have the Goblin King on his side for years, and hisguards know better than to deny the prince, but they don't want his soldiers going along as well.”
My gaze tugs back to Gage. Nothing about his stance suggests he’s eager to interact with the high fae beyond spilling their blood. “I’d be very surprised to find out the Briarfrost were going behind your back to the regent.”
Soren stares down at the male for another heartbeat, his scar pulling at his lip as he scowls. “Drop your magic.”
I hesitate, but his gaze back at me is steady. “I don't believe he would either. King Galen allowed the supply wagons because of you, he sent his son to Yregar to ensure your safety, and I’m keenly aware that their loyalties hinge on you. It’s what initially drove me to begin to learn the goblin tongue—allies who will protect you from the Unseelie Court without question are far more valuable to me than those who bend to whichever king strokes their ego. Something else has happened.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer, moving Nightspark forward, and I drop my magic with a curse as I ride after him, trying not to look at the tenuous state of the path we ride on. The moment my magic disappears, the high-fae soldiers all look up as one, calls of surprise ringing out.
Gage moves only to hold up a fist, a silent command to his soliders to hold their positions as he watches the high fae before him. He doesn’t look at us until Soren and I reach the clearing, his gaze swinging to meet mine first as he lifts a hand to press over his heart in respect and bows to me as we approach. The high-fae soldiers mutter curses and vitriol at his defiance, but Gage ignores them and turns to bow to Soren afterwards, drawing clear lines of his allegiance.
Gage meets my eyes without faltering, switching to the goblin tongue. “I know how this must look, Rooke, but I swear to you, my loyalty lies with the Favored Child now as it always has.”
I bow back to him, the same as I always have, and though there’s some relief in his eyes, it lasts only a second before he turns back to the high fae, a vicious look appearing on his face when he finds them sneering at us both.
Any last traces of the warmth Soren showed me this morning are long gone as he faces the high-fae soldiers, maneuvering until I’m positioned between him and Gage. Carved from ice, he sits glowering on Nightspark and stares down the soldiers. More than a few shift nervously under his contemptuous glare. No matter how they might look down on him in their arrogant games, being faced with the Savage Prince and his ire is not a fate any wish to endure.
“Norok, I find you skulking around once again. Strange that you’re never forced to draw your sword against those laying waste to the kingdom, even without hearing the warnings of the trees. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect treason.”
Hiding my surprise, I realize the high-fae soldier smirking at Soren is the one who stumbled across us during the fateful journey from Port Asmyr to Yregar. “If anyone is guilty of treason, it’s you, Savage Prince. Rolling around in the mud with a witch. I suppose you’re ready to bend for Kharl and the rest of his stinking cunts.”
“With all my respects to you and the accords, Prince Soren, but if he speaks another word like that about your Fates-blessed mate, I'm going to commit war crimes. If the lieutenant at his side doesn’t take his eyes off the Ravenswyrd Mother, I’ll bleed him out and let the forest feast on whatever paltry power his blood can offer it,” Gage says before switching to the goblin tongue to address me.
“I have no choice but to go to the regent, Rooke. Only the Fates themselves could drag me before that male.”
The writhing of the Fates beneath my own scars isn’t necessary; he’s chosen his words carefully but wisely, and I nod.“Threads are moving, and the war grows before us. My feet are unfaltering on my own path. Soren and I will aid you however we can.”
