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Fyia offered Sensis her forearm, and her general clasped it, her grip brutal. Fyia pulled Sensis in until their bodies collided, Fyia's head reaching just above her friend's shoulder, and Sensis slapped her on the back.
'You can get a five-pointed crown now,' Sensis said, her voice pitched low so none of the others could hear. 'Maybe with a gem from each kingdom … it would set off your pretty blue witch eyes.'
'Piss off,' said Fyia. 'Actually, don't … do something useful and get a celebration going.'
'It is my greatest honor to serve you in any way you desire,' she said. She stepped back and bowed low.
'Don't make me punch you in the face.'
'If you're going to threaten violence, at least make it realistic.' Fyia's wolves growled. 'See, now I'm scared.'
'Good. I'm …' Fyia trailed off, her gaze finding the woods beyond her general's shoulder.
'Go,' said Sensis. 'I'll hold down the fort until you return.' Sensis surveyed the curious commanders. They were still on their knees, most chancing glances at their Queen. 'King Perdes is dead,' she said, in a voice that carried … a voice used to being obeyed. 'Long live Fyia Orlightus, Queen of the Five Kingdoms of the East.'
Fyia acknowledged the cheers of her army, a thrill travelling up her spine at what she'd accomplished. What they'd all accomplished.
Fyia took off into the woods, her army still chanting her name, Sensis issuing orders, quieting them down.
Fyia's shoeless feet ate up the ground, each pace renewing her connection with the forest. She drew on the power it offered, letting it fill her, pushing out the terror that lingered from the battlements. Her wolves chased her, pushing her faster, others joining them, snarling as they ran. Fyia pumped her arms, sprinting, flying, letting the forest show her the way.
She broke through the tree line, heading for the sheer drop over a cliff not fifty paces away. The wolves fell back, snarling as she ran for the edge, their discomfort peppering the bond between them. Fyia didn't falter, didn't miss a step as she threw herself into the void, her arms outstretched.
The wolves howled, and Fyia gasped, relishing the rush of wind that bit her skin.
She fell and fell and laughed, knowing it would kill her. At this speed, if she hit the river, the impact would be fatal, but the rush … the rush chased all the things she needed it to away. It left freedom … euphoria.
An eagle screamed below, and Fyia closed her eyes, connecting with her Cruaxee, watching through the eagle's eyes as the enormous bird swooped under her, caught her, slowed her fall, then reversed it.
The pump of the eagle's wings made Fyia's stomach drop, and she laughed again. They climbed, and she shivered with anticipation, excitement flooding her when she felt the downward tip, the beginning of a dive. Only when they were hurtling towards the ground once more did it finally begin to sink in: she was Queen of the Five Kingdoms.
She'd done it; what everyone had said she could never do … that sheshouldnot do … that the magic would not tolerate. They'd been wrong; the magic had wanted her to win, had aided her at every turn. Of course it had. She had a Cruaxee, was magic-touched, and fire-touched—even if only a little. She had more magic than most could ever dream of.
And finally, it was done … she'd slain the old Kings and united five kingdoms. She ruled them all.
Adigos stalked through the camp, past fire after fire, group after group of drunken soldiers. They didn't care who'd won the war, not really. They only cared it was over, that they could go back to their children, wives, and lovers. They drank, not because Fyia had united their five bickering kingdoms, but because they hoped to never dig latrines again. To never march day and night to outsmart their enemy. To never face another battlefield, nor lose friends to an enemy blade. They rejoiced, for they would eat slops no more—at least if their purses could afford it.
They were drunk and spirited, and it was contagious.
Adigos walked and walked, careful to keep to the shadows. He passed brawls, card games, bodies passed out on the floor, bodies writhing against each other, all manner of sounds escaping into the night. He was jealous of their carefree existence, if only for this one night. He'd had that once, and he wanted it again.
He finally reached the barn near the castle's walls. The invading forces had commandeered it for their officers' mess, and the sounds of a party blared from inside. But outside, the mood was tense.
The Queen's bodyguard stood watch, guarding a twenty-pace perimeter around the building, and those at the campfires were subdued, brooding, the air heavy with some unspoken threat.
Adigos paused at a fire close to the perimeter where an old man warmed himself. The man watched the barn intently, not seeming to notice Adigos.
'May I sit?' Adigos asked.
The man's head turned, his features cast in shadow. 'If you must.'
'Not celebrating?' said Adigos, lowering himself onto a tree stump. This far south, it was warm most of the year, but the nights were cool, and Adigos held out his hands to the fire, the familiar habit comforting.
'What is there to celebrate? My King is dead, and now we have awitchqueen.' He practically spat the words.
'You liked King Perdes?' asked Adigos, picking up a stick and poking at the embers.
'Served him my whole life.'
