Wynnie gave a single decisive shake of her head. “I’m not leaving you without it.”
“I have Lumen, and a mental connection with the Frostgrave King who is never more than a…frostdanceaway.” A wan smile graced my lips as I willed her to take the damned weapon.
My skathryn let out her most indignant squeak yet, and I quickly tacked on, “And Batty, obviously.”
“You do have a habit of amassing deadly things,” Wynnie commented dryly, but she still didn’t reach for the dagger.
Foreboding trickled along my spine. This was one thing too many. I couldn’t handle her in danger right now. I didn’t say what we both already knew, that we had already lost too much to these monsters. That I couldn’t lose her too.
So instead, I tried for a smile, however tremulous.
“Please, take it for my sanity. It will cut through mana, so even if one of the soldiers gets handsy, you can just…” I made a stabbing motion.
“You know, maybe I wouldn’t mind one of the soldiers getting a bit handsy these days,” she shot back, but her free hand finally closed around the dagger.
I raised my eyebrows. “Any soldier in particular?”
“Not unless he finds a way to be ninety-seven percent less of an assbiscuit about my sister,” she muttered, leaving me in little doubt as to who she was referencing. “But I do need to get going.”
“I know,” I said quietly, my mouth too dry to even tease her about the Lord General. “Just… let me know when you’re back safely.”
“Oh, I will.” She smirked, putting her guard back firmly in place. “Even if you and Draven are also getting handsy, I’ll be sure to interrupt you.”
I nodded while I tried to swallow down the sick feeling creeping up my throat that I couldn’t quite explain. “Be sure that you do.”
She left with one last squeeze of my hand, the door snicking shut behind her. I stayed in my bed, staring out the window at the shimmering wards, like somehow I could see whatever dangers lie beyond.
As if staring long enough might teach me how to survive what waited on the other side.
Chapter 39
Draven
Almost as soon as we’d returned from Frost Grave Pass, I met with Eryx to relay the Skaldwings’ warning. Phoenixes and messengers were dispatched to nearly every corner of the realm—some bearing pleas for aid, others carrying orders for our outposts to brace for an attack or to march if called.
Winter was stretched too thin, frayed by fear and the long shadow of war. And now I was asking my people to rally again, when so many of them had nothing left to give.
If the Skaldwing Thane was right about what was coming, we needed allies if we had even the faintest hope of surviving.
And with Nevara still unconscious…
I would have given anything for one of her cryptic predictions now. Anything to know which strike to brace for, which knife was already at our throats… and which waited in the shadows behind us. Anything, just to hear my best friend’s voice again.
Instead, when I entered the war room, I found Eryx was not alone.
Soren stood beside him, shoulders tight, posture wrong enough to set every instinct in me on edge. A cold spike of fear knifed through my chest.
“Nevara?” Her name came out sharper than intended, betraying the dread I’d tried to suppress.
Soren shook his head immediately. “No. It’s not her.”
Relief flooded my veins, at least, before I registered the rest of his expression.
“But something else is wrong,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. “Very wrong.”
Of course it was. The world never stopped breaking long enough for us to catch our breaths.
“Explain,” I said, my jaw tightening as frost crept outward from my boots.
