“We stand our ground,” Lu repeats, her tone firm.
They all say it back in response, a few of them slamming a fist against their armor-clad chests. “We stand our ground!”
“Archers, ready yourselves at Captain Osrik’s order,” I command, and thirteen of the soldiers nod, their bows already strapped to their backs along with their long-distance arrows.
Turning, I give Osrik a nod. “You got it?”
He gives me a menacing grin and cracks his knuckles as he glances over at the iron catapult built into the wall. He’s the only bastard strong enough to man it by himself. “I got it. Fae will be flattened thinner than fucking flapjacks when I’m done with them.”
I let out a dry laugh fueled more by nervousness than humor. Then I pat him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Captain.”
He tips his head. “Commander.” Then his eyes move to Lu. “Captain, give ’em hell.”
“I don’t give anything else,” she says.
I look between them both, hoping this isn’t the last time we’re together. That we all make it out of this alive.
“Riders, with me,” I announce, and then Lu and I start making our way down the slick steps, passing by the guard tower, with six soldiers accompanying us.
At the bottom of the wall, we pass the armory and head for the stables. Four timberwings are already saddled and ready, and we quickly mount—one rider and one archer per beast.
I situate myself on Kitt’s saddle, and Tyde buckles himself behind me so we’re back-to-back. As soon as everyone is ready, we leave the stables and launch into the sky. We take advantage of the low cloud coverage, quickly disappearing inside them, getting drenched in the icy mist.
We’ve traveled the distance of this flight four times during our practice runs, so despite not being able to see, I know exactly when to signal Kitt and the others to drop.
We tear through the frigid fog, and I spot the cluster of trees ahead. Not real trees. Nothing grows out here. These were forged with iron and spikes, built when Slade took the crown. They’re meant to deter—or at the very least split apart—an enemy army from this narrow junction so that they’re forced to veer straight for Cliffhelm’s base.
But today, we want them veering here instead.
I’m the first to land in the middle of the iron forest, the trees ten feet tall, and big enough to disguise our presence. I wait for the others to land, and one by one, we track the army’s progress.
“How long?” Varg asks from where he sits on the saddle, back-to-back with Gideon.
Tyde hesitates, probably judging the distance between us and how quickly they’ve moving. “Ten minutes.”
Turning, I lock gazes with Finley where he sits on top of his timberwing, and Maston who’s buckled to his back with an arrow in his hand and his red beard coated in frost.
From the roster of magicked soldiers in our army, I specifically handpicked these two for this mission. Finley’s black hair is braided down his back. Maston’s cheeks are bright red from the windchill. But both of them have the same determined look in their eyes.
Right now, these two unassuming-looking soldiers are the most important people in this entire kingdom. Probably in this entire fucking world.
Everythingdepends on them.
“Ready?”
“Just like the practice run, Commander,” Maston says with a grin.
Finley rolls his shoulders back and looks at the others. “Yep. We’ll be back in no time.”
My chest feels like I’ve got every stone brick in Cliffhelm weighing on me, but I don’t let it show as I give them the order. “Just like the practice run,” I repeat with a nod. “Go.”
They both give firm salutes. “For Orea,” they say.
Then, Finley yanks at the reins, and the timberwing lifts them into the air. They disappear into the dense clouds as snow continues to flake down.
At Lu’s back, Roland messes with the buckles around his waist. A bead of sweat drips off Gideon’s temple. Varg flicks the hare bone between his teeth. Behind me, Tyde holds perfectly still.
I start to count the seconds.
