“Nothing to bury. Instead, we will bathe in the ash. Be baptized in it.” She drew the ash down Avoca’s forehead. “Rise from the ashes and burn this bitch to the ground with the flame of our vengeance.”
47
The Night Before
Ash covered the foreheads of nearly all of Cyrene’s troops by the time they left Fen the next morning. Word had gotten around about what she had said. Gwynora had even said that some were calling themselves Ash Doma.
Whatever had shaken them after the ambush had vanished. The devastation of Fen had done the opposite. Her resolve hadn’t faltered. And their resurrection had only brought them closer together.
They marched straight for Byern with long hours of endless walking and nights with little sleep. No one complained. Not while they had a mission. Not while they got one step closer to Byern every day and thus one step closer to Malysa.
She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. This was war after all. But she felt no dread, as she had imagined she would. She was ready. Ready for this to finally be ended.
It took a week longer than the last time she had made this trek, but with a full army, it was hardly surprising. Everything took longer. Even at their bruising pace, they were slower.
But finally, they came out of the mountains and saw the capital city on the horizon. And the sea of soldiers waiting for them.
“Holy Creator,” Ahlvie said at her side.
“Did they enlist everyone in Byern?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Cyrene said simply.
She had anticipated this.
“Look at the face of your enemy. It might look like your brother or sister. It might look like your mother or father. But rest assured, it is still your enemy. And we are not fighting for the city or country. We are fighting for the world as we know it.”
Aubron finished pitching his tent with Reeve along the high ground in the Taken Mountains. Byern spread out before them. Tomorrow would be the first battle.
“I’m glad that you’re good at this,” Reeve joked as he appeared before him.
“That’s what I’m here for, city boy.”
Reeve laughed. It was forced but still a laugh. More than Aubron had been able to accomplish since leaving his home behind. He ducked into the tent, and his boyfriend followed behind him.
“Aubs, we should talk,” Reeve said.
Aubron closed his eyes and sighed.
Reeve put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around. “Your village was burned. And you haven’t said a word about it since we left.”
“What’s there to say?” He lifted his chin and stared into those big blue eyes. Creator, he loved him.
“Anything. Yell, scream, cry.”
“I’m saving it for the battlefield. I’m saving it for her.”
“I don’t want you to go onto that battlefield with a death wish.”
His eyes snapped up to Reeve’s. “Is that what you think of me? That I am a coward?”
“Hardly. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
“I want Malysa dead. I want her to pay for her crimes. But I’m not stupid enough to think that I can end her. I will go into that battle with honor to avenge my family and the rest of Fen. Will you go with me?”
“Of course.”
Then Reeve stepped closer, until their heaving chests touched. He placed his hand on Aubron’s cheek and brought his lips to his.
Jenstad whirled in place, bringing his Hohl steel against Quidera’s. Alchia, Cambria, and Isabylle looked on, critiquing him brutally, as they tended to do.
“Stop announcing your next move, Jenstad,” Alchia bit out.
“Your left side is wide open. She’s going to gut you,” Cambria barked.
“Listen to them,” Isabylle said. “I’ve never seen you so sloppy.”
“Thanks, cousin,” Jenstad ground out as he came at Quidera again.
He turned, bringing his blade up to meet Quidera again. But then water was blasted in his face. He went flying back a half-dozen feet and landed on his rump. He spit out the water, something he never would have considered doing before coming to these wetlands.
“One more round,” he begged.
Quidera sheathed her sword. “That’s enough. You’re doing just fine.”
Alchia laughed. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
“He’s doing fine,” Quidera repeated. “You all need sleep. Tomorrow is a big day for everyone. Isa, run back to Ritanya and help her with the healing supplies.”
Isabylle sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
“We should keep working,” Jenstad said, following after Quidera.
“No. You need to rest and draw up your reserves as we have been training to do. There will be many battles. Save your energy, Jen.”
Jenstad watched Quidera disappear to talk with the rest of the army and huffed. He turned to Alchia and Cambria.
“What do you think? One more round?”
Alchia patted his arm. “You couldn’t take me.”
He scoffed and then looked to Cambria. “You?”
She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I have another idea.”
“You want to have this conversation again? Right now? On the cusp of battle?” Tristen asked her.
“When else will we have it?” Haeven asked her commander. “I know I am your second. I know that I follow your orders, but we are assassins, not soldiers.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?”
“No, I’m starting to think that you don’t.”
“We were trained for war. I pulled you out of that war camp in the mountains not to protect you. I never intended to coddle you. It was to train you to be a soldier in whatever form that came. And this—this—is our war. It’s the one we’ve been fighting since the moment we defected.”
“My whole life has been a battle, Tristen,” she growled at him. “I know that the cause is just, but I don’t think this is how we are best utilized. Just because the rest of the Guild is fighting for Malysa doesn’t mean we should fight in the same manner for Cyrene.”
“And I don’t intend to.”
Haeven turned away from him and stared at the tent wall. She was shaking. She’d endured more than most. Seen more than everyone. Many thought her empty or devoid of emotion. But in truth, she was overflowing with it. She had just learned to shield it from everyone. Everyone but him.
“I’m tired of fighting.”
“I know,” he said, coming up behind her but not touching her. Touch was something requested but never freely given without that consent. “This is the last one. After this…we’ll retire.”
She snorted. “No, you won’t.”
“Livia,” he breathed her real name, the name only he knew, like a prayer, “we will come out of this together. I promise.”
Then he placed a kiss on her shoulder, a daring move. She allowed it…and more.
The camp was silent.
Or as silent as Cyrene had ever heard it.
One by one, she had seen her friends disappear into their tents. Most in pairs or even threes. They all knew this was the last night they might have together. Tomorrow…was war.