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“More and more, I see Islor as that shaky house of cards that has reached the point of collapse we knew would come.”
“You sound as though you are accepting defeat.”
“Far from it. I simply see more clearly now. The Islor of yesterday is no more, and the Islor of tomorrow will only exist with help from Romeria and the nymphs, regardless of what new challenges come with it.” Some, I have not been willing to admit to yet.
The group of twenty on horseback is closing in. A female rides at the center of the entourage, Lyndel’s crest across her breastplate, the rift commander’s stripe of feathers in her helm. Her golden arms are slender but ripple with muscle. “That is not Bragvam.” A beast of a man who rivaled Horik’s size and the commanding officer of the rift army as far as we knew.
“No, it is not. That is Gaellar.” Telor purses his lips. “Which does not bode well for Bragvam.”
The legionaries move into position, forming a perimeter around me as the soldiers reach us, their attention darting between us and the winged iridescent beast above.
“Lord Telor.” Gaellar drops from her horse and bows. “We were not expecting you, and certainly not from that direction.” Hazel eyes that match the color of her lengthy hair flash to me, noting the emblem on my breastplate. No one here has likely seen the mark of Ulysede yet, but an unfamiliar crest on a soldier’s armor is always cause for concern. If she recognizes who I am, she says nothing.
“What happened to Bragvam?” Telor asks.
A solemn look fills her face. “We lost him to a wyvern three days ago. The second one we’ve seen in a week. This one was big. Sixty soldiers died before it flew away.”
Beside me, Elisaf curses, and I can read his thoughts. “What color was it?”
“Orange.”
Not the beast outside Ulysede’s gates, then. Though, no one would mistake that as a simple wyvern.
Still, sixty soldiers dead. What will happen when there are dozens of similar beasts attacking? “Have there been any cases of poisoning here?” I ask.
“None yet.”
Good, though that doesn’t mean there aren’t vials lurking. Soldiers are better at following orders than frightened mortals. “You must order them to refrain from taking a vein until after Hudem.” At which point, they will no longer need it.
She studies me again, then the legionaries, and then the long line of soldiers behind us.
“What news to report?” Telor asks.
“The Ybarisan army has been steadily growing each day. Bragvam sent more than one messenger to Cirilea, but we have not received word from His Highness.”
“His Highness has been busy securing his stolen throne and condemning allies,” I throw back. Though it sounds like he is facing a viable threat now.
Gaellar’s eyebrow spikes. If she hadn’t figured out who I was before, I’d say she has strong suspicions now.
I sigh. We don’t have time for mocking and surely it won’t win me support. “Queen Neilina plans to cross the rift on Hudem with a sizable army and all her elementals. Atticus has sent an army north. I imagine we will see their banner by midday tomorrow, if they ride hard. Bellcross has been summoned. When they arrive, I cannot say.” I was hoping to see Rengard’s purple banner flying, though I knew it would be an impossibility this early. If he makes it at all, it will be on Hudem’s heels.
Gaellar shifts her attention to Telor. “If I may ask, my lord, who fights alongside us?” She won’t be able to smell Kienen’s Ybarisan blood from there, but she will soon enough.
Telor arches his brow with a “Do you want to tell her or should I?” look.
It’s best to have this conversation now rather than in the center of camp, surrounded by peeled ears. “The true king of Islor with his legionaries, as well as soldiers granted by Queen Romeria of Ulysede, to help stop this attack.” The sooner Romeria’s new title spreads, the better.
The nervous glances swapped between the company of rift soldiers say enough.
Gaellar’s eyes dash to Telor. “Ybarisans, my lord?”
“We are all allies in what is to come, which I fear very much,” he answers somberly.
Her eyebrows pinch, but she nods. “At the rift, we do not burden ourselves with the battles of royal families, and we appreciate every blade that will join ours.” After a beat, she adds, “Your Highness.” She mounts herself with deft skill.
“I’m glad you feel that way.” I hope she still does once the sun goes down and the saplings come out. “Now, if you’ll show me somewhere I can pen an important message.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
AGATHA
I groan as the wagon jolts over a bump, the pain shooting through my back. The journey from Argon to the rift is a smooth one, with relatively flat ground, but we are moving so fast that even little divots in the road feel like driving through craters.
