She looked ahead to where he nodded. A miles long line of dust rose into the air.
She sat forward on the winged horse’s back, faint curiosity taking hold.
It took the better part of an hour to get close enough to see what had caused that strange phenomenon. A long line of people on horseback marched in a steady progress toward the border of the first demarcation.
They looked tiny at the moment, but Shea thought their armor and banners looked familiar. It occurred to her she was looking at a warband, riding rapidly for the ruins of the wall.
The horse flew lower, proving her guess correct. Those banners belonged to the clans. She recognized them.
“Fallon,” she said in a soft voice.
She shook her head. Impossible. She’d left him close to death. There was no way he would have recovered quickly enough to lead an army to the Badlands’ doorstep.
Either way, they were Trateri. She should probably stop to let them know their assistance was unnecessary.
She leaned forward and tapped Orion on the shoulder and pointed down. He let out a snort before changing course. Trenton’s horse did the same.
Orion flew in a wide circle over the army, letting Shea get a glimpse of those who’d followed her. They saw her too, pointing and gesturing. Weapons were drawn, though no one released any arrows.
Orion finished his flyover, ending at the frontline of the army. He landed a short distance away, before trotting toward the banner that flew higher than any others—a hawk on the bluest of backgrounds.
It followed Fallon into every battle. She’d never seen it fly when he wasn’t present. That hope deep inside strengthened.
As she drew near, a horse broke from the rest, slowly cantering towards her. The man on its back was as familiar to Shea as her own face.
A few more emotions broke through the dam in her heart—relief, happiness, joy, touching her before sliding away.
His face was a hard mask as he neared, fire and lightning in his eyes. His gaze traveled over her, noting the blood-stained clothes, the gaunt look of her form—she’d lost weight. Her eyes were haunted, and she looked like she might topple over at any second.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Shea found her eyes drawn to his chest, her mind throwing up images of the way he’d looked lying on the floor of their home, blood pouring from him, his face as pale as the clouds above.
“I’m surprised you’re upright,” she finally said.
Fallon shifted in his seat. “Yes, well, when one’s battle queen jaunts off to take on the entirety of the Badlands alone, you’re not given the luxury of remaining behind to nurse your wounds.”
Shea flinched. Her eyes rose to his. Those words felt like an accusation—one she probably deserved. He had every right to be angry. She’d left him hurt and alone. Maybe her reasons were good, but that brought cold comfort.
His lips parted and he looked like he might speak, his face softening slightly. His gaze turned to Trenton as her guard dismounted from his winged horse and approached the two of them with trepidation.
“I should have you killed, right after thanking you for bringing her back safe,” Fallon rumbled, his voice a dark threat.
Trenton inclined his head, his expression resigned as he accepted his warlord’s judgement.
“You won’t do anything of the kind,” Shea responded in a strong voice. “He did as his battle queen ordered. By your own words when you offered me this title, you cannot challenge that.”
Fallon’s gaze returned to her. He didn’t look happy to have his orders challenged. Before he could say anything, Covath landed beside her. He was alone and she assumed he’d found a spot to set down Ajari before coming here.
He looked between the two of them, his lip curling at the sight of Fallon. “You reek of weakness.”
Fallon observed Covath with an expressionless face, not reacting to the words, ones that would sting the proud man he was. “And you stink of desperation,” Fallon said in a remote voice. He looked the mythological over and arched an eyebrow. “I suppose I have you to blame for my battle queen’s involvement in this mad scheme.”
Shea smothered a sigh.
“Fallon, this is Covath, the leader of his people. Covath, this is Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord of the Trateri, conqueror of the Lowlands.” To Fallon she said, “Play nice. He’s considering an alliance.”
Covath’s shoulders lifted at that statement, his wings rustling behind him.
