41
THE QUIVER OF ARROWS SLAMSagainst my back. We fly like we’ve never flown before, through melting snow and gray slush. The earth thunders with the hoofbeats of what sounds like half a dozen horses behind me. For that reason alone, I dare not look back. As soon as I tear my gaze away from what lies ahead, I’ll be thrown off course.
“Hurry, Iliana.” She’s pushing as hard as she can, but she can’t keep the pace for long. Meanwhile, I attempt to gather my thoughts: the darkwalker carrying Boreas had a head start. Eventually, it will hit Mnemenos. Will it attempt to cross, or will it follow the river westward? Is that Zephyrus’ intention? To take Boreas across the Shade into his own territory? He might be a traitor, but he isn’t a fool. He’d want to return to the safety of his home, wherever that might be.
No, the fool was me. My own bias toward Boreas blinded me to the truth. The West Wind: a snake, a fraud, a thief. I only pray I am not too late.
An arrow screams past my ear. I jerk Iliana to the left, off the marked trail, plowing deeper into the wood. Curved over her neck, cold wind drying out my tear-filled eyes, I focus on the ground ahead.
But eventually, Iliana begins to lag. We slow to a trot. The darkwalker’s ashy stench has grown faint, and that worries me. I am praying, beseeching gods I abandoned long ago, to keep Boreas safe. I ampouring every shred of my soul into a single request, a wish that the wind might carry to him:hold on.
Miles later, we reach a river. It’s not Mnemenos. The coloring is all wrong—red and pink, rather than blue. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot a handful of figures on horseback, closing the half-mile stretch between us in rapid pursuit. I’m wary of touching the water when I’m not certain of its properties, but I haven’t a choice. I’ll have to cross.
“Let’s go, girl.”
Once we’ve reached the opposite bank, I dismount. My legs wobble beneath me. I want to move, for to stand still is to be prey, but I must remain focused. First, deal with those in pursuit. Then, find my husband. I will tear the world apart if that’s what it takes.
Leading Iliana with soft clicks of my tongue, I tuck her safely behind a clump of trees. Then I crouch behind one of the wider trunks and place an arrow to the bowstring.
A breeze stirs, carrying voices with it, high and low and those in-between. Fools. They will die for their idiocy. At least five men advance, perhaps six. I have seven arrows remaining in my quiver.
The first man tops the rise, mounted on a specter horse. I’m already adjusting my aim. The string groans as I pull it back in a full draw, aiming for his chest.
But as his horse makes its way down the incline, the haze of adrenaline clears.
It’s Pallas.
My knees tremble in relief, and I cling to the lowest branch of the tree to avoid planting face-first into the ground. The captain and I have had our difficulties, but I’ve never doubted his loyalty to Boreas. I scramble out from behind the tree. “Pallas.”
The captain startles. A quick head-to-toe perusal as he surveys me. “My lady. Are you injured?” He directs his bay gelding to the bottom of the hill.
“I’m fine.” As he comes closer, alarm sends me forward a step. “You look unwell.” And that’s being kind.
“Oh.” He glances down at the gore smeared across his breastplate. Chunks of skin, splatters of black fluid. The darkwalkers never fail to leave their mark. “It’s not mine.”
He reaches the opposite bank as more soldiers appear atop the hill. Six of them, all uninjured at first glance, yet exhausted, grim with defeat. All six are heavily armed—swords, daggers, axes, bows. They scan the area warily.
“So few?” I ask, searching Pallas’ face. There must be a reason they are only seven total.
“My lady.” His expression is frightfully grave. “I have never seen so many darkwalkers. We were quickly overwhelmed.”
“What of the citadel?” My voice drops to a whisper.
Pallas glances at a soldier with a black mustache, who bows his head. “It is out of our hands, my lady. The darkwalkers have taken it for themselves.”
The citadel is my home now. The thought of it forever out of reach… “What of the guests? The staff?”
“We were able to get most of the townsfolk out. The staff as well.”
Then Orla is safe, far from the bloodshed, and Silas, and Thyamine. I sigh with relief. “Is this all that remains of the army then?”
Pallas nods grimly. “Aside from those who helped lead the townsfolk to safety. Those on border patrol are too far to call for aid. We won’t know who survived until everyone is accounted for.”
So few to fight against Zephyrus. It’s hard not to give in to despair when hope continues to slip through my fingers. “A darkwalker took Boreas captive. I couldn’t reach him in time.” Failure. What an awful, crippling thing. “I was on my way to Mnemenos to search for him. I imagine you lost their trail as well?”
“We were not looking for the king,” says the mustachioed man. “Our orders were to stay with you.” The other soldiers nod in agreement.
Of course. Boreas would not care about his own safety. Frustrating immortal.
