Page 276 of The Edge of Darkness

“Okay, when did everyone decide I was incapable? I’m stronger than all of you put together.” She jabbed her fingers into Roirdan’s and Silas’s chests.

“That you are, darling.” I took her by the shoulders and pulled her to me. “You’ll be saving all of us, come the end of tomorrow.”

The moment the words left my mouth, the lightheartedness sobered right up, and everyone snapped back into the reality we were facing. We were on the precipice of war, and time was ticking.

I cleared my throat and turned to Weston. “Will you be joining us too, then?”

“I serve the queen, as I am her Dionach. Wherever she goes, I go.”

The queen, who had clung to the corner of the tent to witness the entirety of this rough reunion, stepped forward and joined the conversation. “We must return to the castle to settle some things. Now that we know what we know . . .” She glanced at Auren. “I need to be sure no one else is compromised before this war begins.”

Auren nodded. “I’m so sorry for what has happened.”

“As am I,” she replied. “I will have my men retrieve my husband’s body, and your brother’s. If you want to have him buried⁠—”

“Yes,” Auren said without letting the queen finish. “I want to bury him myself. On our land. Next to my parents.”

She lifted her eyes to me, but I knew it wasn’t permission she was searching for. She was considering the timing, the war, the possibility of what might happen before we’re able to make it back to the human realm for a burial.

“When this war is over, it will be the first thing we do,” I said to both Auren and the queen.

“I’ll make the necessary preparations and do what I can until then,” Corrine replied.

“Thank you.”

The queen offered us a solemn smile, then turned and nodded to Folquin, who took to her side. She dipped her head toward me as she and my spy linked arms. “You haven’t seen the last of us yet, High Lord.”

The two of them vanished, and Weston stepped in front of Auren. “It’s a bit easier to leave this time, knowing you’re in good hands,” he said.

She tried to smile. “I hoped you would be staying . . .”

“You’ll see me again soon enough,” he assured her. And with one last nod to all of us, he disappeared.

“Time to meet with the rest of the Dionachs,” Roirdan announced.

Breck’s brows shot up. “There’s more?”

Roirdan chuckled. “A whole host of them.” He looked Breck over from head to toe. “Now, come on. Let’s find you a shirt.”

A good portion of the eastern section of the camp was solely devoted to the surprisingly large regiment of Dionachs that Torin had sent.

We were ever grateful for their numbers. Every guardian was invaluable. Their near-immortal nature would lend us a great advantage on the battlefield—both in saving lives and taking those of our enemy.

I’d been sifting through the camp since before dawn, unable to sleep. The days before a battle were always full of strategy and planning. It was the time to foster strength and hope and determination. But the nights . . . the nights were for worrying and doubts.

When darkness fell upon the land, a soldier’s morale shifted with it. No matter how strong one might believe themselves to be, or how sure they were that they would emerge victorious, there was no avoiding the sulking shame that came in the night, and the feeling that maybe everything they had done to prepare wasn’t enough.

Whether the Dionachs experienced the same process of emotions when it came to facing the possibility of death, they didn’t let on. I couldn’t even recall the last time, if ever, that Remic spoke of what it was like to constantly risk his life for one of ours. It had to weigh on him somehow, someway.

Looking at the throng of winged beings moving in and out of their tents and sharpening their weapons, I would never have thought they had any inkling of worry—aside from the occasional long gaze northward, toward The Wastelands. Some of them casually conversed with one another, while others remained quiet and inspected their leather and armor, polishing their pauldrons and vambraces like the impending war was more of a fashion statement than a battle between good and evil.

Neutral expressions, relaxed demeanors . . .

I half-laughed to myself. We would see how much those things changed after this meeting took place and Niall and I made it known exactly what was about to happen on the battlefield.

“They’re late,” Maeson’s voice sounded from somewhere behind me. “They’re never late.”

“Must be important, then.” I turned, instantly feeling lighter when I saw her face.