After a breath of hesitation, Kade followed him. Sev’s next step brought him to the exterior wall of the cave, the stone cold and slightly damp against his back.
Kade filled the space between them, filled it with his rich brown skin and gemstone eyes and those wide, impossibly broad shoulders. Sev was trembling, the pressure against his palm making him want to both push Kade away and pull him nearer, nearer, until all was obliterated except for them.
The sunlight was gone from Kade’s face, but the warmth remained. His eyes became hooded, his lips parted ever so slightly, and Sev’s fingers clenched against the muscle of his chest. Slowly, as if not to spook him, Kade raised his arms, one on either side of Sev, and placed his hands against the stone, caging them in.
They stayed frozen in that shining golden moment for what felt like ages—or maybe it was several heavy, weighted heartbeats. Just when Sev had mustered the courage to close his eyes and lean in, the roll call sounded.
As if pulling his head out of water, Sev returned to their surroundings. He had to check in with Ott, his squad leader. After that Trix’s plans would begin.
Sev’s hand went to the back of his neck again, and Kade’s arms dropped.
“You know the names?” Kade asked, his voice as slow and smooth as honey. Sev became lost in it, and it took time for his brain to understand what Kade was asking. The perimeter guard roster for that night—the packs he was meant to poison.
Sev cleared his throat. “I’ll get them now.” The duty roster was usually drawn up in the morning, but with the impending attack, all their schedules had been shifted.
Kade dipped his head in response. “I’ll leave you to it.”
As the sun disappeared over Pyrmont’s distant peaks, the cooks began preparing the evening meal. Pots were hung over cook fires, kettles began to boil, and poison was sprinkled in.
Sev pressed a hand against his pocket, where a lump indicated the small supply he’d already been given. Two pinches of the poison per waterskin and three for any barley cakes or dried meat. The powdered petals of the Fire Blossom would dissolve best in the liquid, but even a dusting of it atop other supplies, once rewrapped in cloth or pouch, would begin to emit noxious fumes that would penetrate the food. The watch shift changed at sundown, and Sev knew he had no more than ten minutes to attend to the packs.
The names from the duty roster were like midges, buzzing around his head. He’d seen death before, but he had dealt it only by accident. He’d yet to engage in any real battle as a soldier, and Sev found he was having difficulty with the idea of killing in such a cold, calculated way. He didn’t know any of the targets particularly well—did that make it right? It made it easier, but Sev couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not. These soldiers might have children, parents, brothers, and sisters—entire lives tethered to them. In comparison, he felt like some kind of wraith—tied to nothing and no one.
Not anymore, Sev insisted, forcing his mind to remain on the task and not on the soldiers. Sev wasn’t killing for pleasure or personal gain; he was doing this for the Phoenix Riders, the only protectors his people had. He was part of Trix’s re-formed rebellion, part of an “us” at long last.
As the noise of the campsite faded into the background, Sev made his way over to the pack animals. They had ten lookouts tonight—not because they were camped in a particularly vulnerable position, but rather, because they were so close to the Phoenix Rider lair.
Sev looked up into the sky, scraps of it visible between the trees and rocky caves, and gathered his courage. He thought of his parents, sacrificing themselves for him and for other animages. He thought of Kade and Trix, of Junior and Tilla and Corem—of all the bondservants—who deserved freedom.
He could do this.
Sev identified eight out of the ten packs with ease. Their personal effects were an extension of their very lives, and Sev imagined himself cutting the threads that connected the object to the person as he carefully poisoned their stores. The crumpled petals stuck to his fingers and left a dark, reddish smear the color of blood. It was one of the reasons Trix had wanted to poison the evening meal and not breakfast. In the darkness, the traces of the poison would be far more difficult to see.
Once the eighth pack was tended to, Sev considered the ninth name, the one he couldn’t match. He was one of several soldiers who traveled without any personal items and only the most meager of supplies. There were around a dozen packs like that, and Sev didn’t have enough to poison them all.
Time was ticking on. The soldiers would come for their packs at any moment to relieve the current perimeter guards. He had to make a decision.
The steady rumble of the distant campsite was interrupted by a sudden piercing whistle.
Sev froze; this wasn’t a part of the plan.
Another whistle answered the first. Sev craned his neck to see the cooks and attendants pause in their work while the soldiers stood, heads turned toward the east.
Then a stream of armed soldiers poured through the trees, descending upon their camp.
We’re under attack, Sev thought wildly, the fear so sudden and true that his insides turned to water and cold sweat scraped across his forehead.
But the newcomers weren’t challenged or rebuffed—they were welcomed as friends with smiles and clasped hands. Captain Belden stood outside his tent, ready to greet the arriving party’s leader.
The truth crashed down on Sev like a thousand tons of rock: They weren’t the only empire soldiers heading up the mountain.
His mind reeled. They didn’t have enough poison for all these soldiers, and even if they did, the new arrivals likely brought provisions and servants of their own.
Trix had been reading some of the captain’s letters, but not all of them. Clearly this was information she had missed. All this time, they’d assumed they were a small strike force meant to deal the Phoenix Riders a stealthy—but still fatal—blow. But now, with twice their original numbers, maybe even more, they were a significantly larger threat. They couldn’t march directly to the top of the mountain together—two hundred was a difficult enough number to conceal—so they’d had to travel separately to the same meeting point, ensuring they were both ready to attack at the same time.