“I didn’t think I would see you again,” she said, her face a brittle mask, her voice strained. “Did you come to say goodbye?” she whispered, the word catching in her throat.
“No,” Kjell clipped, and her mask wobbled and cracked. He looked away, searching the horizon and finding his strength. “I’m coming with you,” he said.
The mask shattered and her eyes shone. For a moment neither of them breathed, the pain was so sharp and sweet. Then she reached for his hand. He took it, unable to bear her gaze for more than a heartbeat, but she didn’t make him wait that long.
“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered, transporting them both to the outskirts of Solemn, to the moment he turned and went back for her. But this time, he would follow.
She didn’t linger or say more, but released his hand and moved away, not giving either of them more than that moment. A member of his guard escorted her to the stable master, who held the reins of a grey Kjell had chosen himself, a horse he’d watched grow from a foal, a mount that had never nipped or spooked and had never thrown a rider. But Padrig held back, his eyes on Kjell, his expression bleak.
“Captain,” Padrig warned softly. “You will only cause her more pain.”
“The pain she feels is not my doing, Spinner,” Kjell shot back.
“Will you tell King Aren that you are in love with her?” Padrig pressed, his voice pitched low, his eyes lower.
“I betrayed no one, Spinner. She betrayed no one. You and your king betrayed her. And if King Aren sits on his throne waiting for his queen to return to him after all this time, that is what I will tell him,” Kjell answered.
Lucian whinnied and tossed his head, agreeing, and Kjell found Jerick who had mounted his horse and signaled to the trumpeters on the wall. Kjell had only one more thing to say to the man.
“You do not get to make decisions for her anymore, Spinner. She will not be at your mercy. You will be at mine. Do you understand?”
Kjell waited until Padrig lifted his gaze, signaling he had heard. Then he urged Lucian to the front of the caravan, his eyes touching briefly on the green flags of Jeru, on her gleaming black walls, on her peaks and vales. He would miss her. But he would rather miss Jeru than long for Sasha, though he knew he would do both. Neither belonged to him, and he doubted either would ever let him go.
He found his brother standing on the ramparts, Lark beside him, and Kjell raised his sword in fealty and farewell as the horns began to wail, dancing from pitch to pitch and ending on a prolonged cry that echoed in his chest. Tiras raised a hand, keeping it lifted as if he would call him back, and Lark sent him a prayer across the distance, her words soft and sweet in his mind.
“Jeru needs Kjell,” Tiras repeated, standing in the northernmost rampart with Lark, watching the caravan leave for Corvyn, and beyond that, for a destination no one was certain still existed.
“Jeru has you. And me. Maybe . . . Dendar needs Kjell,” Lark said.
“It will end badly,” Tiras worried.
“Be careful with your words, husband,” Lark warned. “Maybe it will not end at all.”
“You are speaking in riddles, Lark.”
“He can’t remain here. The moment he saved Saoirse’s life, his path was set. Just as mine was set the moment I saved yours.”
“He deserves happiness,” Tiras said.
“Then those are the words we will say.”
Tiras could not watch as the wagons, loaded with supplies, disappeared. He couldn’t bear it. With uncharacteristic impatience he changed, leaving his clothes in a pool where he’d stood, becoming an instantaneous extension of wings and flight, taking to the sky to follow his brother for just a little longer.
Lark watched him go and spoke a prayer into the breeze, asking the Creator for his blessing.
In the lands we cannot see,
In the hearts we do not know,
In the kingdom of the trees,
Where my brother now must go.
Give him hope amid the pain,
Love amid the hate.
May safety guide his footsteps.
May mercy be his fate.
Northern Degn was temperate and grassy, with endless grazing and plenty of open space, but Corvyn was mountainous and cool with towering pines and winding ascents and descents. They wouldn’t go to the lord’s keep in Corvyn, but would cut across Degn and enter Corvyn where the Nehru River clipped the border. From there they would follow the river along the Corvar Mountains which extended into the southwest corner of Kilmorda. At the northern tip of the Corvars they would veer east to the Bay of Brisson which was shared by the two provinces.
It was the shortest course, a route with easy access to water and plenty of vegetation for the animals, but water meant the possibility of pockets of Volgar. Volgar mated, but they didn’t reproduce. It was an instinctual exercise that bore no fruit. They built nests that never sheltered eggs, and they’d lost their Creator. They had no way to regenerate, a dwindling food supply, and continual decimation had winnowed their numbers drastically. But Kjell knew it would be foolish to think the threat had been completely extinguished.
The women that had been brought on the journey to assist Sasha were put to work attending other things. The queen kept her own company and had no desire or need to be waited on. That much had not changed. She rode the plodding grey with gentle eyes and steady feet, and Kjell checked the horse’s saddle, his bindings, and his hooves continually, determined to avoid calamity. He would have felt better if Sasha was riding with him on Lucian. But that was not possible.
Sasha was different, her back straighter, like she stood guard over a past that demanded her protection. Or maybe her memories carried with them walls that she was forced to erect. She was more subdued, more introspective, as if consumed by the images of her old life, and Kjell wished he could see her memories too, just to feel close to her again.
His men seemed to understand that she was not the same Sasha anymore, not the girl who slept at his feet and followed him wherever he went. It was odd really. Sasha had discovered she was a queen instead of a slave, and it seemed a weight instead of a buoy, a burden instead of a blessing. She kept to herself when she slept, staring up at the firmament like her star was still embedded there, winking down at her. Padrig stayed at her side, but Kjell could not trust the man, nor could he imagine he would be much protection against the night. So Kjell stationed a guard to watch the camp and one to watch the queen, and though it hurt to be near her, Kjell was never very far.
One night she woke him, her hand on his shoulder, and he forgot for a moment that they were not on the Jandarian plain. Freed by sleep, he sat up instantly and pulled her into his arms. She let him hold her for a heartbeat, her body soft against him, her lips on his temple before she withdrew. Her eyes bore the echoes of premonition, and he smoothed back her hair, meeting her gaze, trying to tighten his thoughts and narrow his focus.
“We need to break camp, Captain,” she urged.
“What did you see?”
“The rocks are falling,” she said numbly, as if they were at that very moment, tumbling all around them. But the night was silent, the precipices peaceful.
She closed her eyes, and he waited for her to sort through the pieces of her dream. When she opened her eyes again, her face inches from his own, her gaze was clearer, her voice strong.
“I don’t know when. The moon is lower when they fall.” She looked up and tracked the distance across the sky before staring back at the looming wall of quiet stone. “I think there is time. But those are the rocks I saw.” She pointed at the crags that rose directly above them, overlooking the quiet clearing ringed with trees and the rushing sounds of the Nehru River beyond.