“You’re a gruesome sight,” I said, my voice thick.
His skin was filthy with soot, the tracks from his tears leaving streaks down his grizzly face. His dark-blue aketon was torn and singed on the bottom hem. His stump was red and raw, but he grinned as if welcoming me to work at The Crane’s Nest back in Verald.
“I’m glad to see you’re al’right.” He glanced at Tyrrik and added, “Both of you.”
My eyes welled again, and I pulled tight for another hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
I couldn’t lose him. Not ever.
King Zakai appeared in the shadowed entrance of a doorway I hadn’t noticed until that moment. A closer look showed me how the heavy stone door seemed to meld with the mountainside.
Zakai’s complexion was wane, his thick brows drawn over shadow-rimmed eyes. But when his gaze met mine, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes sparked.
“Most Powerful Drae,” he said, the corners of his lips softening from their frown. “Welcome back to Gemond. We’re immensely relieved to see you.”
I felt Tyrrik’s pride through our bond and was grateful he had the decency to not say told-you-so.
There are some things too sacred to make light of.
Zakai gestured us inside, and as Dyter and I neared the threshold into the mountain, I noticed the numerous archers lining the wall, backs to the mountain, scanning the outside landscape, bows and filled quivers nearby. More gold-plated guards stood at attention, their bodies pressed to the wall as they gazed through tiny murder holes.
Dyter wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned over and asked, “Were they going to shoot us?”
My old friend grunted. “They’re like the young pups in Seven. At least they have a few wise, old men who can count and tell the difference between blue, black, and green.”
Right. Good thing that.
Zakai led us farther into the mountain, but we were angling upward instead of returning to the areas I was familiar with. I didn’t want to ask, but for some morbid reason, I had to know . . . “Did Gemond lose many?”
Zakai stopped. In two weeks, he’d healed a lot; his once sunken features weren’t plump, but he no longer danced on the verge of death. His wiry gray hair was shorn close to his scalp and his beard trimmed tight to his square jaw. His clothing no longer hung on an emaciated frame although he was still thin. But right now, his haunted and ravaged features reminded me of when we’d first arrived. He pressed his lips together as if contemplating his words.
He stepped toward me, and Dyter’s grip tightened around my shoulders.
The king said, “Each person we lost was one too many. But you are no more to blame for the evil of your father than Zarad is for my stupidity.” He offered a small smile. “After Tyrrik left and we knew we were vulnerable, we offered shelter to as many as we could. Criers warned those in the outskirts to flee into the hills. I hope many heeded the warning and the damage was limited.”
My eyes burned, knowing what he did not. I’d seen the damage as we flew in and knew his hopes would not be met.
“Hesitation will not win battles or wars,” Tyrrik stated. “But Ryn and I deliver you hope. The Phaetyn are marching to join your force on the border of Azule and Gemond. How many men are under the mountain?”
Zakai straightened and tilted his head toward the long hallway leading farther into the fortress. “Let us confer with Zarad and Gairome. My son and his first have been strategizing with me. We will want to discuss our next step with them.”
We traveled farther into the caves, and I stared at the evidence of hurried departures scattered throughout: a dropped doll, a harried and dirty mother scolding her child in a shrill voice, a disgruntled man complaining about not enough to drink.
We passed one couple deep in conversation, and as I walked by, I heard her say, “I’m just so tired of pumpkin everything. Why couldn’t she grow strawberries or cherries or something sweet?”
I’d make time to visit the gardens as soon as we were done talking about the army.
Make sure you replenish the soil, too, so their crops will continue to thrive after we’re gone. Whatever you grow won’t keep forever.
My pumpkin is holding up pretty well.
Tyrrik snorted. I never liked pumpkin.
I gasped and turned, Dyter’s arm falling from my shoulders as I faced my mate, mouth opened and ready to deliver a scathing reply.
I froze when I saw Tyrrik’s wide grin.
His black aketon was dusty with ash, his face sported a couple days of growth, and his dark eyes were smoldering heat—for me.
My irritation evaporated, and an answering heat rushed in to take its place in my chest. His well-timed quip effectively distracted me from my wallowing. I tried to suppress the smile and likely looked like I was having a seizure. You better love my pumpkins and potatoes and cherries and anything else I decide to grow.
I promise I will love anything you grow, mate.
Desire sparked low in my belly with the low rumbling embers of his voice as he claimed me as his.
Dyter tugged my sleeve and said, “Come on, Rynnie. Zakai is waiting.” He slung his arm back over my shoulder and whispered, “You two better spend some time alone before we leave —”
Mistress Moons, Dyter was not telling me to have sex.
“—talk a little or play cards together so you’re not distracted as we march. Focus is important in battle, both yours and his.”
My relief about Dyter’s meaning was so heartfelt that Tyrrik, feeling it also, let out a strangled laugh behind me. I blushed. I’d been caught staring like a love-sick pup, but my head was totally in the gutter.
Tyrrik and I had been dancing around our intimacy for too long. I was going to play cards with him.
“We’ve amassed what supplies we could since your arrival. But I’m afraid almost no one harvested their Phaetyn blood crops before we raced into the stronghold.” Gairome was taller than Zakai and built like an ox.
I stared at his muscular build, wondering how he’d grown so big on a meager diet, and noticed he was missing his hand and the lower portion of his arm, almost all the way up to his elbow—like Dyter.
Fifteen people, a mixture of female and male Gemondians as well as Dyter, Tyrrik, and me, stood around a table. It wasn’t just any table but shaped to mimic Draeconia. A map was carved into the surface, showing the three kingdoms, the southern desert, and the empire. Mountains, forests, and rivers were detailed on the Drae-shaped table. The intricate table was a treasure. I loved it. I wanted it.
You shall have one, Tyrrik promised me.
Do you think I’m spoiled? I asked him.
He didn’t reply.
“If we don’t have enough food—” Gairome started.
“Food won’t be a problem,” I said, cutting him off. “If you have seeds, we’ll be fine.” I faced Zakai. “The Phaetyn have started their march; they’ll be at Azule in less than two weeks. According to Dyter, it’ll take you ten days to get to Azule, and that’s if nothing goes wrong.”
“Something always goes wrong,” Dyter muttered.
I tipped my head at the old coot but kept my gaze on Zakai. “Like he said, you’d better plan on something going wrong, which means you need to be out of here tomorrow, day after at the latest.”
“Someone needs to alert King Caltevyn,” Dyter added.
“Already done,” Tyrrik said, his low voice causing several of the men to cast sideways glances at the Drae. “Lani sent her elderly and children with a guard of fifty to Verald. They’re carrying a message to your king.”
Zakai looked at his son and the other Gemondian leaders. “Then circulate the notice: we leave at daybreak.”
Several of the men and women filed out, and I glanced at Tyrrik. The Drae was listening to Dyter and Zakai—or at least looking at them intently.
Are you coming? I asked.
Go do your . . . mojo in the garden; you’ll feel better after it’s done, and I should fill Zakai and Dyter in on everything that happened in Phaetynville.