Page 47

Fenrir grinned, wishing it didn’t feel so forced. “So, troops have been rallied, the fleet mobilized?”

Red chewed over her answer before snapping, “Bastion, beat it.”

Bastion jerked to attention, looking between him and Red for a moment before sagging in defeat. “Of course. I will remain nearby if you need me.”

Red waited to meet his eyes until they were alone, her silence making Fenrir feel even more unbalanced than he already was. Red’s expression didn’t help. Brows furrowed, lips pursed, she stared at him like he was a specimen to study, hands clutching compulsively at her sides while she turned over whatever she struggled to say.

So, Fenrir helpfully changed the subject. “What’s the Empire’s current state?”

Red relaxed. “Death toll hit four-hundred and fifty-two this morning. Some seven hundred remain injured to varying severity. Triage completed its move here to the Labs and Bastion is providing additional medical support. As for what’s left?” Red pursed her lips. “Everyone’s fighting. The nobility withdrew to the palace and everyone who came up from the south are too scared to travel in fear of encountering our new neighbors. Last message from the Stacks was two hours ago and they continue to confirm no suspicious activity in the immediate area, but it’s not enough to say there isn’t another attack on the horizon considering this one came without warning.”

Logistics took the place of his anxiety, plans and resources filling in the chart he kept inside his head. Fenrir swung his legs over the bed to stand. “How are we on resources? Food? Clean water? That’s a lot of people the region isn’t ready to care for.”

“Fine on water. We’ve got enough food for another month before we have to start rationing. ‘Fraid to do it now lest we create more panic.”

“We need to get people back home and into some semblance of normalcy or the systems we have in place will start collapsing. Don’t want to come back to complete chaos before I even have a chance to create it myself.”

Red said nothing. When Fenrir looked up, her eyes were locked onto him.

“Fenrir…” Red’s voice sounded like it had when he’d first woken up: careful, navigating a wound that might split back open. “You know you can’t go after Sparks yourself, right?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Of course he was going after Orpheus—who else would?

“It’s what heroes do when their damsels need saving,” sounded incredibly pathetic in the stagnant quiet.

“Fenrir…” Red repeated, skin taking on a sickly cast while she searched his eyes. “You have an empire of people to look out for now. You understand that right?”

A ringing built inside Fenrir’s head, like another bomb had gone off and sent the world crumbling. “No. Yes. I mean—”

“This is what you signed up for when you accepted the position—”

“—I can do both.” It was like he didn’t even hear her, reality unraveling like a bad dream, a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. “I have to do both. You think I’m going to stay behind while Orpheus—”

“Fenrir, you lost your arm, you’re—”

“—Don’t say it!” He begged, heart pounding through his ribs. “I’m not broken, Red. I’m not!” A wave of vertigo crashed over him, rocking him where he stood, the whole world sliding out from under him. Red caught his elbow before he could collapse to the floor, knees shaking with a weight they had successfully carried for years—but now, could not.

Against him, Red remained still, throat bobbing while she swallowed whatever she wanted to say. Fenrir didn’t need to hear her to know. Red didn’t pull her punches. She landed them as squarely as any good soldier could.

Including now.

“You’re hurt, Fenrir, still healing. The Empire can’t risk losing both of you. I can’t risk it. We promised to see this thing through to the end together, remember? Before Sparks was ever in the picture.”

And that meant it was okay to leave Orpheus out of that equation now?

No. No. He wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t.

Fenrir forced a smile. “I’ll heal on the way, Red. You know me, nothing can take me down, we’ve tested that enough over the years, haven’t we?”

“Fenrir…you almost died.” A hand returned to his arm—his bad arm—a warmth and a pressure that revealed the way his whole body shook, his breath too shallow, his mouth dry, his eyes tired—his stump an aching phantom. “What would Sparks say if he was here?”

Fenrir closed his eyes. “That I’m being an idiot. That I need to heal.”

“Yeah? And what would he say if I didn’t protect you right now?”

He’d say she needed to, because Fenrir wouldn’t protect himself. He never did. He’d never had to. He’d always protected others, until now. And that was the thing, Red wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t healed, he was lucky to be alive. How was he supposed to go after Orpheus when he couldn’t even swing a sword? But by that logic, how was he supposed to protect a whole Empire from a foe he couldn’t face head on? How was he supposed to save anyone when he’d been unable to save his own arm?