A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

“Abarrane’s welcoming one right now.” Elisaf chuckles at his own joke.

I roll my eyes. “You cannot blame them for being apprehensive, Radomir. They don’t trust your kind and you’ve given them no reason to yet. But they did not fire upon you, so I would say that’s progress.”

He studies the camp ahead. “Even so, I think we will return to Soldor for the night. I would not want to be this close to freedom only to die before we have the chance to feel it.”

“Suit yourself.” Perhaps that is not the worst idea. Everyone is already on edge. “We will see you tomorrow as soon as the sun drops?”

“And it shall be the last time we must wait for that.” He salutes and turns his horse, his companions following suit.

But an earsplitting roar in the night draws everyone’s attention toward the gaping chasm, where a wyvern dives for a cluster of soldiers on horses. Screams sound as its claws rake across bodies, sending them sprawling. Other soldiers fire arrows at it that bounce off its orange scales like matchsticks.

My pulse races. “I’ll bet that’s the one that killed Bragvam.” Back for seconds.

“Look at the damage just one can cause.” Imagine ten of them, a hundred, Elisaf doesn’t have to say.

I draw my sword from my scabbard. “This is the last thing we needed tonight.”

“As one!” Radomir bellows, all hints of his previous humor gone. The group of saplings changes course, charging toward the rift, their horses’ hooves a pounding thunder.

Elisaf and I follow a beat after, my affinity grasping for nearby flames.

The wyvern is circling for another attack. Gaellar races in with her men, shouting commands for the rift soldiers ahead to spread out. It’s smart—grouping together will only ensure more die with each pass.

The wyvern must spot the gleaming Ulysede helms and shields approaching because it banks hard, swerving to meet the group head-on.

Radomir climbs until he is crouching in his saddle, a rapier in his free hand.

“What is he doing?” Elisaf shouts. “He is mad!”

“I do not know, but they have lived with these beasts for centuries so perhaps we should trust that they know something we do not.”

With a roar, the wyvern dives.

And I hold my breath, both with dread and fascination, watching as the beast opens its giant maw, intent on serving as many casualties as it can. But at the last moment, it seems to change its mind, pulling up, almost as if repelled. Radomir uses that opportunity to leap and stab the slender blade into its leathery wing.

The beast’s roar rings of pain before it hits the ground, throwing Radomir off. The blade is still embedded deep within its left side, only the hilt protruding. It tries to take off again, but its injured wing drags.

Arrows rain down, pelting its body. It rears, facing off against its opponents from ground level. Even lame, it can still cause untold damage. We can’t afford this.

I hurl a considerable fireball at its head, and then another. And another.

With a screech, the wyvern turns and runs for the chasm, diving over it without hesitation, vanishing from sight.

My body slumps with relief. Elisaf and I pivot toward where Radomir lies sprawled on the ground, but we aren’t the only ones. Both his men and Gaellar rush in from different angles. We all reach him at the same time.

I dismount and run to his side, expecting a gravely injured sapling.

Instead, I find him laughing. “I told you they do not have a taste for our kind. They usually realize it at the last possible moment.”

“Usually?” He raced in, hoping they would repel it before it delivered a devastating blow? I shake my head, though I find a new respect rising for the sapling leader. He did not have to put himself in harm’s way, especially when he’s so close to achieving his goals with or without us, but he did it without hesitation.

Maybe I have misjudged the sapling and this alliance after all.

Radomir pulls himself off the ground and peers at his bloodied hands. He must have cut them on the wyvern’s scales. “There is a spot on the beast’s wing that, if you penetrate it just so, you will immobilize it from flight.”

“Where did you learn this?” Gaellar asks, her discomfort from earlier temporarily absent.

“You may defend the rift against these creatures, Commander, but we have learned how to survive with them for many years. It has not been easy.”

She nods, and I see her mind churning.

What I see is an opportunity. “Perhaps you would be willing to spend time sharing knowledge with the soldiers here, so we are all better prepared.” I imagine that is along the lines of where her thoughts are. I could order him to stay, but he might rebel. This way, he has a choice to help us and prove the saplings’ worth.

Black eyes shift from me to Gaellar. “I have nothing better to do.”

Gaellar dips her head. “It would be much appreciated by all.”

The camp is unnerved after another attack by a wyvern, a dozen bodies—soldiers and horses—strewn like debris across the rugged dirt. And yet a cheer sounds in the night, followed moments later by more. Soon, an entire chorus erupts, the energy swelling.

I smile.

This is how we fight against the Nulling and Malachi.

United.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX




AGATHA


The sun is rising when our caravan of wagons reaches the caster pavilion, the trek through the thousands of Ybarisans slow and tedious.

I ease myself down the steps, my limbs aching in protest. Aside from a few short breaks when we watered the horses and relieved ourselves, the wagons have rolled night and day, their occupants sleeping where they sat. If Queen Neilina were wise, she would have had us leave days earlier, but she has no interest in prolonged travel, and her jeweled carriage has all the comforts.

I look up into the clear blue sky. “Not much time to spare is there.” Even now, one can see the faint outline of Hudem’s moon. It will intensify with each passing hour until it hangs so low and shines so bright, nothing can hide, the shadows non-existent.

“I have never seen so many people.” Baedriya, the soft-spoken messenger who lent her support, says, her dark gaze raking over the sea of tents housing the poor souls who prepare to die for their treacherous queen. “I did not think there were this many in all of Ybaris.”

“I fear there will be far fewer when the sun rises at dawn.” Queen Neilina has promised them easy passage behind Mordain. Many of them likely believe they will walk across the rift’s pass and be handed land.

I lean down to test the patch of new grass sprouting beneath my feet. There are countless more poking through the dirt. Trampled beneath feet, but unmistakable. Nothing has grown here for two millennia and yet now there are hints of new life?

Would this have anything to do with the changes I fear are coming?