‘The angle isaid, Elias,’ snapped Alarik. ‘I want to send them aid.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Elias scrubbed a hand across his jaw. ‘That’s probably a good idea.’
In fact, it was an obvious idea, and Alarik hated himself for never once considering it. It was one thing to be cruel in war, but another to be unfeeling at home … or worse, oblivious.
‘There’s more than one way for a country to suffer,’ he said, repeating the wrangler’s words with growling conviction. ‘I won’t have my kingdom invaded, but neither will I have my people starve. This winter has been crueller than most.’
Elias nodded, slowly digesting his words. ‘I like this version of you,’ he said after a beat. ‘You should inhale smoke more often.’
Alarik glared at him.
He backed away. ‘I’ll gather some scouts and report back with my findings.’
Alarik headed for the stairwell, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion. ‘I’ll deal with the glider in the morning.’
‘As you like …’ said Elias, that note of confusion still in his voice. ‘Sleep well, cousin.’
Alarik yawned as he climbed the stairs. With the echo of his wrangler’s song still glowing in his chest, he would indeed sleep well. Comforted by the knowledge that she was warm and safe in his palace, in his coat, in his thoughts.
Even if those thoughts were a secret. Now, and always.
CHAPTER 24
Greta
Greta woke before dawn with a dull ache in her chest. She sat up, trying to make sense of the discomfort, but she couldn’t remember her dreams. A week had passed since Queen Regna’s assault on the king’s beasts, the long night of unrest followed by days of calculated preparation. War was rising to meet them. The beasts were training as hard as the soldiers. Greta spent her days guiding them into different formations, running through defence postures and attack drills, while trying not to dwell on what it was all for: battle and bloodshed.
And, for many, death.
Too disturbed to go back to sleep, she washed and dressed, trying to ignore the anxiety thrumming in her heart. She skipped breakfast and went straight to the courtyard, where most of the beasts were still slumbering, save for Tollo and Gale who were tussling over a rope. Greta walked through the forest, listening for whimpers, and inspecting the pens for any signs of unease.
Something was wrong. The ache in her chest was not her own. Somewhere nearby, a beast was suffering. She slumped on to a tree stump and closed her eyes,listening with her heart, like Papa had taught her.
Where are you, wild one?
And why are you upset?
‘You missed breakfast.’ Greta snapped her eyes open to find Aren standing over her. He held out a blueberry oat muffin wrapped in a napkin. ‘I swiped this for you.’
She shook off her frustration at being interrupted and returned the falconer’s smile. ‘Thanks, Aren. I came out early to check on the beasts.’
He nodded in understanding. ‘Queen Regna’s attack has had us all on edge. But you shouldn’t skip breakfast. How can you take care of the beasts if you forget to take care of yourself?’
‘You sound like my sister,’ she teased, opening the napkin and taking a bite of the muffin. It was still warm, and so delicious she groaned.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said, rolling back on his heels.
‘How are the birds?’ she asked, between bites. ‘Are they giving you any trouble?’
It occurred to her that she might be picking up on the discomfort of a nighthawk or a falcon.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing beyond a little anxiety,’ he said, looking towards the mews. ‘I’m just about to fly them.’
‘Let me know if you need any help.’
‘Eat your breakfast, Greta,’ he chided. ‘That will help me.’
She waved him off and he sauntered away, his hands dug into his pockets as he fixed his gaze on the trees, listening to the chirping dawn birds.
