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“I already got this speech from Avie. And Edmund earlier this morning.” Julien’s tone was light, but his grin didn’t reach his eyes. He was hiding whatever concern he had going into this battle behind his cavalier words. “Now stop lingering with me.”
She didn’t need his slight push in Farrendel’s direction. Both Averett and Weylind backed off, giving her and Farrendel space.
Essie wrapped her arms around Farrendel’s waist and rested her face against his warm chest. His arms came around her, and he leaned his face against the top of her head.
She didn’t want to let him go. She couldn’t let him walk into that battle, knowing she would have to watch him fight and possibly die right in front of her.
But, she had wanted to be strong enough to guard his back during battle. And that meant letting him go so that he could do his duty, no matter how much it shredded everything inside her.
He cradled her face, his gaze searching hers. “I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.” She leaned into his hands, staring up at his serious, silver-blue eyes.
“Promise that once the fight starts, you will not watch me.” His fingers tightened against her face, still gentle but enough to convey his urgency. His voice remained low so that only she could hear. “Instead, I need you to watch the trolls across the way. If I appear to be winning, the rebel trolls will not be happy, nor will they wish their defeat to be at my hands. Their hatred of me might be enough for them to be willing to violate the rules of the Dulraith.”
This whole morning, she had been worried about the Dulraith itself. But Farrendel could be in just as much danger—perhaps even more—from the rebel troll warriors observing the fight.
If it meant a chance at killing the infamous Laesornysh, a troll warrior might be willing to shoot Farrendel in the back while he was distracted with the fight and bound by the rules of the Dulraith not to use his magic to defend himself. The rebel troll warrior might even consider the honor of killing Laesornysh worth the death penalty it would incur. The trolls might not even bother to follow their own rules for the killer of Laesornysh.
Farrendel’s eyes searched her face. “If I were to use my magic to defend myself, I would then violate the rules and my life would be forfeit. But, if you use my magic to stop another from interfering, it will technically not be against the rules. And it would be better if you did it than Weylind. Escarland is neutral enough—more neutral than Tarenhiel—that both sides are more likely to respect Escarland’s position in this.”
More than his earnest expression, more than the length of his explanation, what worried Essie was that Farrendel then dumped even more of his magic into the heart bond, as if he feared the oceans of magic already crackling between them would not be enough for what he was asking of her.
Essie straightened her shoulders and met Farrendel’s gaze. “I promise. I will guard your back.”
He held her closer, still cradling her face, and gently tilted her face. Then, even though they stood before four armies, he leaned down and kissed her mouth.
She traced her fingers up his neck and into his shoulder-length hair. Even as she kissed him, a tear scalded down her cheek.
She was not brave enough for this. How could she let him go?
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t brave enough. She had no choice.
When he pulled away, she didn’t cling to him. When he drew his swords from the sheaths she held, her hands didn’t shake. And when he spun on his heels and walked toward the center of the cleared space, she didn’t reach to hold him back.
Rharreth was a stride ahead of Farrendel, a large, square shield in one hand, and his sword with its wide blade in the other. Julien marched after Farrendel, also carrying a shield, smaller than Rharreth’s, and his slim sword.
Essie forced her feet to move as she retreated to join the other observers on her side of the clearing.
As she returned to a spot standing between Weylind and Averett, she caught Melantha’s gaze where her elf sister-in-law stood alone in front of Rharreth’s troll army. Melantha’s face reflected the same pain Essie felt inside her own chest.
There was a strange kinship in that moment, an acknowledgment of what they both stood to lose if things went wrong. They both could lose a husband. They both could lose a brother.
For the first time, Essie was seeing the real Melantha, the person who hurt and loved and lived beneath that cold mask she used to wear all the time.
And, finally, even more than in that moment when Melantha cut her hair while kneeling in front of Farrendel, Essie forgave her.
