When I look up, Eogan is watching me with one of his heart-clenching almost-smiles.
We remount and continue to climb at an even steeper incline, and immediately the air is colder. I shiver and clasp my cloak tighter, thankful for Haven’s body heat. Snow appears in patches, then thicker banks, until we’ve gone far enough that our surroundings are covered and starting to look like my first home in the Fendres. My real home.
My chest aches with the familiarity of the trees and winter-white. Except this area has something wrong with it. Something off. When I ask Eogan, he simply points to a flat spot higher up and reminds us to drink more water.
It’s another two hours before we reach the place he pointed out, and by then I’m gasping from the smoke and thin air, and practically falling off Haven in exhaustion. But when we amble to the center of the plateau, everything—tiredness, burning lungs, weary legs—fades.
Because it’s my first view of the Sea of Elisedd in months.
My body reacts to the taste of salt in the air, some of which is frozen into the snow around our feet, and my blood is pulsing hot and alive like it’s homesick for something bigger, wilder, more powerful than me. Something dangerous and beautiful and terrifying.
And then Eogan’s pointing at the base of the cliffs below us. At first I can’t understand because a dense fog is in the way. I create a low breeze to push it apart, except it’s not fog at all. It’s smoke. Drifting up from the charred remains of towns and people burned along the entire coastline.
And then I see the boats. Hundreds of metal-plated Bron warboats with black stripes painted down their sides, surrounding the waters off the southernmost point of Faelen.
CHAPTER 18
WE RELEASE THE HORSES TO REST AND FEED while we make camp beneath the cold afternoon sky. Colin clears snow from the ground and I tug a breeze up to evict smoke from the air so we can sleep a few hours.
When we wake, the warboats are still in line of sight, ignited in burnished reds and oranges from the day’s dying sun.
What are they holding back for? Why haven’t they finished the assault with their airships?
It’s a strange feeling—seeing them and their smoldering horrors on one side, while the land I’ve slaved in for my whole life is on the other. And as much as I hate my former masters, I know it’s their servants and peasants who will suffer most when the bare cliffs two mountains away are breached. Looking out at the vessels, I give us a week, maybe less. And according to Adora, we have nothing to stop them except for Colin and me.
I wrap my cloak closer against the frigid air and look at Eogan.
Or maybe not.
“What about the other assassins?”
He glances up from the fire he’s building. “Who?”
“The other assassins you trained for Adora. What happened? Where are they?”
His eyes tighten as he bends to blow on the sparks, and Colin jogs up, arms full of branches. Warm breath puffs from his mouth.
“They’ve served their purpose,” Eogan says without looking up. “Some are dead. Some still around.”
“What do you mean ‘served their purpose’? Like they’re just done and wandering around now, and you have no interest in them anymore?” Is that what Colin and I will become to him? He’ll train us and then move us on?
“Don’t, Nym. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Colin drops the wood. “What are we talkin’ about?”
“The other Uathúils he’s trained,” I say, watching Eogan. “Where are they, then?”
“Around. They don’t announce themselves, as you both should know.”
Colin plants himself near Eogan. “Wait a second. Yer answerin’ her? Do you know ’ow many times I’ve asked and you said nothin’?”
I ignore him. “Were any female?”
Eogan frowns and tips his head as if wondering why I’m asking. “One,” he answers slowly.
“Where is she?”
“She grew too cocky and got herself killed. She was a Terrene as well.”
Got herself killed by Adora? I almost ask.
Colin nods as if he, in fact, was aware of this. “So ’ow many other Uathúils are there?”
“In all five kingdoms? I’ve no idea. Your people revere Terrenes but rarely associate beyond Tulla’s borders, so it’s hard to say how many there are. Cashlin’s Luminescents rule their country, but their genetic line is sparse. The visiting Princess Rasha is one of only a few. However, they have other Uathúils, and they welcome all peace-seeking ones—as long as doing so doesn’t put them at odds with anyone. There are also hereditary anomalies every so often, and those are mostly the ones Adora finds. And Elementals, well . . .”
“Being Uathúil is hereditary?”
“Usually.” He glances at me, and I’m pretty certain we’re all thinking: Except for Nym, who’s a cursed fluke.
“So ’ow many are still alive?” Colin says. “Of the ones you’ve trained?”
“For Adora? Four. But there were more before I got involved.”