Pallas vanishes while Boreas shrugs on his tunic and reaches for his armor. I sit up in bed, the blanket held to my chest, though I’m aware it’s pointless, considering I’m fully clothed.
Quickly and efficiently, the king prepares for departure. Armor buckled, straps tightened, boots tugged on, spear in hand. The North Wind, an inexorable force, and never more so than when encased in gleaming metal.
“Stay at camp,” he says as he adjusts his arm gauntlets. “It’s the safest place for you.” He then adds, as if in afterthought, “Don’t do anything foolish.”
I scoff. “When have I ever?”
He only stares.
Point made.
He’s pushing through the tent flaps when I call out, “Boreas.” He stops, though doesn’t turn around. “Be careful.”
And then I am alone, the mattress still warm from where my husband had lain.
33
BOREAS HAS NOT RETURNED.
Maybe someone shoved a blade through his chest. It would serve him right after all the terrible things he’s done. Yet the day stretches thin, and my heart does not slow its frantic pace. Immortal or not, he can still be gravely injured. My feet carry me from one end of the tent to the other, again and again, until the lamps burn low, the space more shadow than light.
I shouldn’t care.
I do care.
Well, shit.
In seconds, I’ve shrugged on my thick overcoat, bow and quiver tossed over my shoulder. Beyond the tent, the sounds of battle preparations greet me. Whinnying horses and clinking armor. The snap of canvas. No one notices me slinking around the back of the tent where Iliana grazes on brown, frost-bitten grass.
The mare greets me, nuzzling my shoulder in affection. The white star on her brow burns bright on this night.
“My lady.”
I sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be this easy.
Swinging into the saddle puts me at a height advantage, so that is what I do. “Yes?” I say, looking down at Pallas.
In the glaring light, the red of his hair matches that of the fire. A bandage wraps his thigh. Once recovered, I imagine the captain willreturn to combat. He takes in my attire, my position atop Iliana, and frowns. “You’re ordered to remain here until the king returns.”
“Change of plans.” I give him my friendliest smile. “Boreas has asked me to meet him at the field.” Sitting up straight in the saddle, I tilt my chin at a lofty angle. “Just doing my wifely duties.”
Pallas grabs the reins, halting my forward motion. His armor clangs with the movement. “I can’t let you do that. My orders were clear.”
My mare tosses her head, fractious beneath me, eager to run. The smile is gone. “I am taking Iliana, and you are not going to stop me. Now unhand my mount, or I will do it for you. Have you forgotten our last encounter?” I pat my bow, in case he needs reminding.
Pallas purses his lips, but I’m already pushing past him. He leaps back to avoid getting crushed by Iliana’s hooves. He need not worry. A short visit to the field, just to make sure Boreas isn’t bleeding out somewhere. I’ll be back before my husband learns I’ve even left.
Once we reach the edge of camp, Iliana explodes forward. The path left by Boreas’ force leads me deep into the wilds. After a time, we slow to a trot, and then a walk until we reach the forest’s edge.
I stand before a field of blood.
Thousands lay dead beneath the fiery sun. Steam rises from the carnage littered far and wide. I gag, pressing the back of my hand to my nose and mouth. Mounds of bodies. Hills and peaks of blackened, shadow-torn flesh. A red-tinged fog descends, concealing much of the scarred, ruined ground.
In the distance, the Shade flutters, and people spill into the Deadlands, wielding rusted swords and axes and pitchforks. Within minutes, their eyes flatten and their teeth crowd together. The king’s force struggles to impede the outpouring from the Shade, but it’s impossible to halt the flow, the trickle squeezing between the cracks. Though the specters are already dead, it seems they can die again, for blood coats their armor, open wounds displaying bone and tendon within.
Iliana prances forward, but I draw her behind a tree for cover. I scan the madness that spreads like a flood. No sign of him. Not one sign—
There.
