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I did trust Lark. I trusted he believed this was the only way. I trusted he’d slit his own wrists if he believed it would do some good. And that was the problem. By Dallin, both Lark and Draven were testing my loyalty and my patience.
A commotion broke out at the front of the line, stirring the troops. So far, we’d met no resistance from Pain, no soldiers, no people. But I wasn’t as naïve as to think Razak would let War march into his city unchallenged.
I kicked my horse forward. The ground beneath its hooves had turned to sloppy mud. War’s warriors looked up at my passing, falling quiet. Ogden’s huge outline dominated the large, lumbering kareel he rode. He’d stopped at the bridge, at the center of the commotion.
There were no soldiers on the bridge, and the checkpoints had been abandoned. However, across the other side, blocking our entry into the city, stood lines of what appeared to be unarmed civilians.
I trotted my horse alongside Ogden’s kareel. “What’s the issue?”
“Children,” the king said.
“What?” I stood in the saddle and peered across the mirky bridge, through the rain.
Hoods hid their small faces. They stood defiantly, each one clasping the hand of the next. “By Dallin… they’re children?!”
They’d been dressed in red and black, to make it clear whose children they were. War’s rejects, given to the sands and taken by Pain. Pain’sbenefits. And leverage against War’s warriors, against its king.
The message was obvious. To get to Razak, Ogden’s warriors had to cut down their own kin.
Fucking Razak, he had a counter to our every move.
“Children,” the king fumed. “He has children fight his battles! He is no warrior, no king! He’s a coward!”
My horse shied at the king’s gusto. “Your mistake is assuming he’d fight fair,” I replied, trying to calm my flighty steed. “Send a messenger, ask him to meet us on the bridge. Make it clear I’ll be there. He’ll come.”
“I’ll go,” Noemi offered, geeing her horse up alongside us. Draven rode in behind her. Rain soaked Noemi’s red bangs, gluing them to her face, and turned her blue gown almost black. But her expression was as fierce as ever. “They won’t strike down a member of Justice.”
Draven grumbled his dissent. “You don’t know that,” he said. “Razak does not care for any court but his own. And you’ve already wounded him once. He’ll likely kill you on sight.”
“I’ll go,” she repeated. “I can do this. It’s why I’m here. Justice is balance. I will mediate.”
Ogden huffed. Wearing only his gleaming circlet around his neck, rain streamed down his barrel chest. He had amor but had opted not to wear it. Lark would have laughed at him and made some quip about a king without armor. But Ogden still lacked his crown, and all of this was an act, a performance of his own. He didn’t need armor; no arrow or lance could pierce his skin. “My warriors will not cut down children,” he said.
“Why not?” I snapped. “You threw them out!”
“How dare you?! Those reprobates are nothing to do with us.”
“Can’t you see? Look at them! They wear your colors. They are the sons and daughters of War—”
Ogden muscled his kareel against my mount. “Silence, Arin!”
“Silence me, Ogden, if you wish, but your ugly truth is just across the water and Razak is using it against you now.”
“Enough!” Noemi scolded. “By Dallin’s sake, those children are waiting for us to save them. Stop bickering. Ogden, arrange an escort to accompany me over there.”
I nodded at Noemi. She dipped her chin in return. I owed her much, not least for saving me from making the mistake of killing Draven in a rage. But she’d also saved Lark in telling me his truth. If anyone could save those children, it was her.
Ogden harrumphed and grumbled, then gee’d his wet, shaggy kareel alongside Noemi’s horse. “Come then, Justice Noemi, let’s get this done.”
I tore my glare from them as they went in search of a guard and peered across the bridge to the lines of children. There were so many—of all ages it seemed. Draven had said something about the endless winds coming back around as punishment. This was surely War’s reckoning.
“He’s a blustering fool,” Draven drawled.
“Yes, he is.” He was more than that; he was a coward. He’d found every excuse not to challenge Pain, until there was no other option. “He’ll get the warriors and those children killed.”
Draven peered across the water too. “Lark is our best hope. He will come through.”
“Come through with what exactly?” I asked, not for the first time during our march. And every time I’d asked, Draven had claimed he did not know. Exactly as he would now.
