That many people came from Fisa? “How did they get past Lycheron and his minions?”
Kato chuckles. “Apparently, the Ipotane round them all up, bring them to Lycheron every few days, and then he does a sniff check, one by one. He reads their worth right from their scents, they say.”
Huh. He sniffed me pretty hard. He sniffed Ianthe even harder. “That’s disturbing.”
“And useful,” Flynn says. “They’re good people, those Fisans. Brave.”
“They’d have to be to face Lycheron,” I murmur. “Have any of them seen Ianthe?”
Flynn nods, squinting and shading his eyes from the sun as he scans the sprawling encampment with an assessing but satisfied gaze. “She’s fine, they’ve told us. Or she at least looks that way. But Lycheron doesn’t let her out of his sight. She’s on his back at all times, and they see that as a sign—a Fisan princess joining the fight. She’s encouraging them to come to us, rallying people to your side.”
“Some turn back,” Kato says with a shrug. “They take one look at the Ipotane and then head back into Fisa.”
Griffin grunts. “Good. If they’re scared of being sniffed, the Gods only know how they’d react on the battlefield.”
I nod. I’ve been in plenty of battles but not on an actual battlefield, with armies involved. I don’t have to have been, though, to know he’s right.
After greeting Kato and Flynn and gathering the most essential news, we all move toward the Fisans. Carver and Bellanca are apparently among them, and since we arrived without fanfare on the opposite side of the camp, they still don’t know we’re back. As we progress in their direction, I see Tarvans and Sintans mixing together in one big, spread-out group. They soon realize who we are, though, and stop what they’re doing to watch us pass, seeming awestruck.
Griffin takes the sudden attention in stride, surveying his soldiers, his warlord face firmly in place. I do my best to shake off my nerves when I see the way people are looking at me—like I’m not even human, but something more. I manage a small smile. It’s probably more of a toothy grimace, but it’s better than nothing, and I turn it on all sides, not wanting to exclude anyone.
On the south side of the camp, Carver is deep in training with a new recruit, his focus undivided, even when everything in the Fisan area starts grinding to a halt.
“Zeus’s bollocks! How many times do I have to tell you not to drop your guard?” Carver pulls up short, inches away from skewering the man he was just sparring with.
Stepping back, his opponent nods to us. Carver swings around, and the tip of his weapon drops to the ground. His whole body seems to relax. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and then sheathes his sword as he strides toward us.
“Took you long enough.” There’s a layer of tension in his voice, his words both teasing and not. “Bellanca was threatening to go after you.”
That doesn’t surprise me in the least. And from the way Carver just said it, I think he was planning on leaving with her.
Carver’s Fisan trainee stands there staring at us with eyes so wide I get the insane urge to look behind us, just in case there’s something there. But no, he’s watching me. He’s probably in his mid-to late-twenties. He’s broad-shouldered, good-looking, and lean, with unusually close-cropped sandy hair. I very much doubt he’s used to holding a weapon because he lets his sword drop to the ground, unheeded.
“Kneel!” he suddenly calls out to his compatriots—maybe even to the whole army. “Kneel before the Queen and King of Thalyria!”
Hearing our intended titles ring out like that is a shock to my system, and my pulse leaps into action.
He kneels and then bows so low that his forehead touches the ground. The whole encampment goes incredibly silent. It’s a big space with a lot of people, and yet there’s not a whisper of sound.
And then every last soldier—Fisan, Tarvan, and Sintan—drops with a creaking of leather and the thud of knees on dirt.
Good Gods. Fire and ice shoot through me at the same time, and my poor heart just stops. It doesn’t know how to react any more than I do.
Only Beta Team is still standing. I see Bellanca now that everyone else is down, still fire-bright, one hand on her hip, and packing enough attitude to make Olympus shudder.
Griffin looks to me to speak. I clear my throat.
“Rise!” I say, because this is just too weird. Um… “And continue!”
All these people are showing us deference. I’m pretty sure I need to add something good, something motivating.
Damn it! Nothing comes to mind.
The army slowly rises. No one dares disobey me, but nobody really moves, either.
“Good work here. We’re impressed.” Griffin nods all around. I nod, too, feeling wholly inadequate with my awkward smile and bobbing head.
“Carry on, soldiers!” Griffin’s simple order in his commanding, brook-no-argument, I-conquered-realms voice fills the hole left by my silence and my utter lack of leadership skills. Thank the Gods we’re a team.
It’s like a spell breaks, and everyone breathes again, including me. No one really goes back to what they were doing before, though. They mostly keep watching us like we’re riding a rainbow from inside a sparkling golden chariot drawn by Pegasus. Gods, the pressure. Griffin seems fine with it, but I feel like ants are crawling up and down the back of my neck.
Smiling, Griffin claps his brother on the back. “Carver.”
Carver claps Griffin back, flashing us both a genuine smile—the first I’ve seen in what feels like months. His face is even leaner than before, like he’s been training too hard and not eating enough, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot. He hasn’t shaved in days, and his hair looks like it could use a thorough wash, but he still looks better than he did when we left.
Caught by impulse, I rock up on my toes and plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek.
Carver’s eyebrows fly up, his gray eyes lighting in surprise. “I knew you’d wise up and choose the better brother one of these days.”
I laugh. “You want to be the King?”
Grimacing, he scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm… Forget that. Griffin can have you.”
Griffin snorts. Kato and Flynn chuckle, and it feels so good to have the group back together again that my cheeks start to hurt from smiling.
After catching up with Carver about the almost daily influx of Fisan volunteers, I’m ready to get out of the sun and rest, but I can’t help noticing that the man Carver was sparring with is still looking at me. And not just looking. Staring. He’s close enough to start making me uncomfortable. Not because I feel threatened—far from it—but because he gazes at me like I’m the sun, the stars, and the moon—maybe the whole damn sky. And that’s even worse.
“My Queen.” He addresses me directly when I really look back at him, his voice a rasping whisper. His hand trembles as he drags the sorriest-looking bunch of dried flowers I’ve ever seen out of his breast pocket and then holds them out to me.
Okaaaaay…