“He’s asking how you know Alena,” Lecne panted, blood tainting his teeth.
“She’s my friend,” Leywani replied, her gaze flicking to the leader. “I grew up with her and Katell.”
Recognition sparked in the man’s eyes. With a sharp command, the others released Lecne, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees.
A heated discussion broke out among the Westerners as Leywani knelt beside Lecne, assessing his injuries before helping him to his feet.
Lecne pushed himself upright with a wince, his chest heaving with each breath. “Not exactly the welcome I had in mind,” he rasped, spitting blood onto the ground.
Tension crackled in the air. The leader spoke to his men in low tones, a few glances flicking towards Leywani—measuring, deciding.
Leywani’s pulse hammered in her ears. Lecne’s breath had turned shallow, and blood soaked through his shirt. He needed a healer—fast.
After an endless moment, the leader’s attention returned to them. His hazel eyes studied her with piercing intensity, as if trying to unravel something hidden within her. She held his gaze, but the force of it sent a shiver down her spine, a strange pull that made her breath catch.
When the leader’s deep voice broke the silence, Lecne rasped, “He wants to know your name.”
Heat rose in her cheeks despite herself. “Leywani.”
“Leywani,” the leader repeated, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
He spoke again, steady and commanding, and Lecne translated: “He welcomes us to the Western Lands and says his name is Alcaros, son of Vallio.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ALENA
The rain had softened to a drizzle, droplets slipping from the tangled branches above and pattering gently against the soaked earth. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves. Ahead, the village was little more than a blur of firelight and thin trails of smoke smeared against the grey mist creeping down from the hills.
“It’s a trap,” Theo announced, turning his hooded face towards them, his horse tossing its head against the rain. “Definitely a trap.”
Leukos’ shoulders stiffened beneath his thick cloak, rain dripping from its edges. “It makes no sense. We’re allies.”
Danaos, sitting tall on his mount, didn’t look convinced. “And yet Volcos asked us to meet in this gloomy shithole and not at the Falcons’ hillfort.”
He had a point. The twins had used their Gift to transport them from the rebel camp straight to a hillfort near the Rodanos River—in the Falcons Tribe’s territory—where Volcos and his army had supposedly gathered. But instead of a warm welcome,they’d been met with suspicion and orders from Volcos to ride west, to a desolate village far from prying eyes.
Without any explanation.
Begrudgingly, they’d ridden all morning through relentless rain to reach the village.
A flimsy palisade encircled the cluster of huts, its sharpened stakes in dire need of replacement. But faint torchlight flickered at the guarded gate, the first hint of warmth they’d seen all day. The place looked miserable, soaked and half-forgotten, but even this uninviting shelter was better than lingering in the chilly rain.
“Maybe Volcos is afraid of spies lurking at the hillfort,” Despoina offered, though her hand stayed near the hilt of her sword. Her blonde hair, drenched from the steady downpour, clung to her forehead and cheeks, but she didn’t bother pulling her hood up.
Theo’s frown deepened. “Or maybe we’ve done something to upset him.”
Alena drew her cloak tighter around herself and urged her horse forward with a soft squeeze until she drew alongside Leukos. He turned at her approach, and beneath his hood, his gaze met hers, the hard lines of his face softening.
They had agreed to keep their bond secret until after they reached the Western Lands, uncertain how Volcos would greet them months after the Green Mountains’ hillfort battle and not wanting to distract the others in the meantime. But Alena hadn’t anticipated the hollowness it would leave. Ever since the waterfall, Leukos’ presence clung to her like a shadow. Even when he was out of sight, she sensed him—a steady, reassuring thrum of energy threaded through her veins.
It was maddening. Their conversations had become clipped and hurried, stolen moments between war councils or while passing one another in the crowded camp. The only true peacecame during their rare, shared meals with Kaixo and Nik. But even then, the unspoken yearning between them was impossible to ignore.
She missed the quiet strength of his body against hers, the warmth of his touch. Every time she caught sight of him labouring with Pelagios and Nik—muscles straining beneath a simple tunic, sweat glinting on his skin as he raised timber and hoisted supplies—her chest tightened with longing. It was a constant ache, the need to reach out and bridge the distance between them.
But war allowed no time for tenderness, and every day without him by her side felt like a slow, twisting knife.
When her thoughts weren’t tangled with Leukos, they circled back to Katell. There had been no word of her or Dalmatius, and the unanswered questions filled her with mounting dread.
