The Lightbringer armor sits in my room, unused and abandoned. My chest aches as I press my lips to hers. Once, and then again, because once was not enough. “It will still be there.”
Until it’s too late for her to fall back.
Darian is right. A lifetime with them would never have been enough.
The hall is as chaotic as I expected. Filled with everyone we have, people call and argue and sit silently, watching the mayhem around them.
This is everyone we have.
And despite the noise that threatens my ears, it's nowhere near enough.
We find Eldritch close to the doors. A handful of soldiers lean in to hear as he talks, his hands moving. Sera is one of them, and she nods at us, her brow furrowed as she listens and her fingers moving over her weapons, checking them with efficient familiarity.
Most here don’t have erevas strong enough to sustain them in battle.
“How many?” I ask Eldritch. “Do we have a final headcount?”
“One hundred and eighty-six.” He surveys the hall. “I sent several of the youths to Neela last night.”
I look around once more, taking in the faces I recognize. My mother isn’t amongst them. “She’s not here.”
I feel curiously flat at the realization. That on this day, thelastday, my mother couldn’t find it within herself to stand with us. That she will wait, hidden in her rooms, waiting for the Lightbringer forces to sweep inside and find her.
But Eldritch points. “Over there, lad.”
When I turn my head, he claps my shoulder before moving off, barking at several soldiers who straighten. I do the same, weaving past benches and pushing my way through the crowd.
My mother kneels on the floor close to the wall, her hands tugging at a pair of laces. Tightening them for the soldier who watches her with wide eyes. “There. It shouldn’t come loose now.”
“Your majesty.” He almost stammers it. “Thank you.”
She waves off his thanks, getting to her feet and twisting to look around. When our eyes meet, she stills.
We meet in the middle of the room. She’s wearing Darkwielder leathers. A small, dark circlet rests on her brow; delicate, black-forged onyx, pulsing with faint violet lines. I haven’t seen it since I was a child. “Kaelen.”
“You’re here.” The words are a croak, and her face softens. “Better late than not at all, I thought.”
There isn’t enough time to say everything that needs to be said between us, and soon enough, none of it will matter.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say roughly. And then I point to the table beside the doors. “They’ll want to hear from you now. Before we leave.”
Our time is running out. Seconds are trickling away like sand in a timing glass, and I can’t hold onto them.
My mother walks with me toward the bench. Her hand lands on my arm. “They don’t need to hear from me today, Kaelen.”
She smiles when I look down. “You are so very much like your father, you know.”
She never mentions him. My breath catches in my throat as she pulls me in, her arms closing around my neck and tightening. The words are a low murmur. “I’ll be on the rampart. I can do more from there. Get the first attack as close as you can.”
My throat grows hot and tight when she lets me go. Nodding, I turn away and climb up onto the bench.
It doesn’t take long to capture their attention. Silence sweeps the hall, staring from those closest to me and moving out in a wave of quiet, until every face is turned my way.
One hundred and eighty-six.
Lyra, Eres and Darian nudge their way to the front of the crowd, Lyra sheltered between the two of them.
Eldritch. Sera. So many faces, and so many missing.
