And we’re here to try to stop that from happening.
This outpost’s sole purpose is to guard the border separating Fifth from Fourth. It’s a bulky fortress built on a sheer cliff, with a protective wall of slanted stone that stands up against the wind. Thick guard towers are on either side of the outer wall, and there’s a threat of sharp spikes spread along the base. Every inch is made from the black stone from our mines and always covered in a layer of frost.
Lu and Osrik stand on the wall on either side of me, all of us in our fighting leathers and full armor. Black metal encases our bodies, with strips of brown leather crossed over our chest plates and Fourth’s sigil engraved right in the center.
To my right, Lu rests her hand on the hilt of her sword, fingers wrapped around the twisted wood. Even out here, Osrik has his arms bare, with only straps of leather wrapped around his biceps.
I don’t know how the bastard doesn’t get frostbite. At least I convinced him to wear a damn helmet this time. Although, I think that might actually be because Rissa glared at him when he started to refuse it. When he put it on, she nodded victoriously and then breezed back inside the barracks.
I think she’s good for him.
Roland, one of the soldiers I brought with me, lets out a low whistle. “They look like a cursed river. Like sludge seeping this way.”
My gaze follows the parade of marching fae. Theydolook like a curse flooding in. Thousands of them are filing toward us, and the twenty-two of us on this wall are all that stands between them and the border we’re trying to defend.
Every one of us knows that our odds are impossible. That in all likelihood, this is a suicide mission.
For most of my adult life, I’ve wanted to be an army commander. Wanted the chance to step out of my brother’s shoes and lead these soldiers by myself,asmyself.
Now, I’m standing here doing just that, and this responsibility is the heaviest thing I’ll ever have to carry. Because this isn’t just a matter of life and death—with war, that’s always the case.
What’s at stake here is our entireworld.
Which is why I’ve poured everything I’m capable of, everything I’ve learned, into planning the strategies of this single battle. Because in many ways, the fate of Orea will be decidedrighthere. In the empty land straddling the line between Fourth and Fifth.
Despite the enormity of the task we face, these soldiers choose to stand here with me. Lu and Osrik choose to stand here with me, giving me their trust.
And that means more to me than they’ll ever know.
With a pang, I think of my mother. Wishing I could’ve seen her and that I could go into this fight knowing that she’s alright. Wishing I could know what the hell happened to Slade.
Fuckingprayingthat I can make it out of this and find them both.
The chilled silence drags on as we watch the fae seep in, and I hear the scrape of my soldiers’ boots against the stony ground. Hear the creak of their leathers cinch every time they shift. All while the icy air chaps our faces and spits frost at our feet.
Finally, one of the soldiers to my left, Gideon, breaks the grim silence. He has magic in his veins that makes him unbelievably quick despite how bulky he looks. His form often blurs when he moves. “You know what I hate the most about battles?” he says.
The soldier next to him, Varg, picks at his teeth with a hare bone. He’s got a superstition about that damn sliver. If he’s not picking at his teeth with it, he’s got it clamped between his lips. He says he’s never lost a battle while it was in his mouth. But that could have something to do with his own power, which is the fact that his own bones are unbreakable. So while he’s well into his fifties, he’s a damn formidable fighter.
“Gettin’ your shitty face all scarred up?” Varg muses around his toothpick.
Gideon glowers at him. “Fuck off, I’m still prettier than you. And no, it’s the food. Battle food is either the dry shit we carry in our fuckin’ pockets all day or this charred shit we gotta catch ourselves that’s barely got any fat on it and tastes like smoke. Just once, it would be nice to camp next to a fuckin’ tavern.”
A few of the soldiers chuckle.
“Or a saddle house!” someone else calls, and that earns even more laughs. Lu and I exchange an amused look.
“Well, what I hate about battles is having to dig our own shit hole,” Varg jokes.
“Or having to piss in the snow and watch your dick shrink from the cold,” another soldier says.
“Hate to break it to you, but your cock is always that small!”
More and more of them toss out replies and chuckles.
“Nah, the worst is this heavy ass armor.”
“The helmets we gotta wear.”
