I felt a flush creeping up my throat. “Of course not. But I thought?—”
“You thought I’d fall apart,” she said quietly. “That’s why you refused to tell me before. You didn’t want to hurt me.”
There was no anger in her words, but guilt tugged at me nonetheless. “I underestimated you.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “I think if you’d told me when you found me in the Broadlands weeks ago, you would have been right. Certainly, seven years ago…” She swallowed, looking south and east as if gazing toward home. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, Rydian. But my commitment to my purpose has.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t let myself respond to that. Not when I’d already told her those feelings couldn’t matter. But her purpose was the same as mine. And I refused to let her shoulder that alone.
“I hope you’ll allow me to share the burden of that purpose,” I said.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. Out of the both of us, you’re the one with the battle experience. It only makes sense that we use it to our best advantage.”
“What do you need of me?”
Her gaze heated, and I knew we were both thinking of many answers to that question, none of which had anything to do with battle or Obsidian armies.
“I’d like to have your input concerning what comes next,” she said slowly.
“With the rescue?” I asked.
“With all of it. Lesha’s rescue. Our exit strategy. The war that has already begun and will inevitably only get worse. For us, for Grey Oak, for Menryth. You make a much better general than I do.”
I blinked. “You want me to lead your army?”
“I want you to lead your army,” she said pointedly. “The Withered are Autumn fae, which are your people. And when I inevitably open the gate to your kingdom,” she smirked, “that army is your people too.”
Her smirk vanished. “Once, I had hoped my purpose would involve me leading an army to fight for my people, but I see now what my purpose truly is. And I’m beginning to realize it will take all I have to fulfill it. I can’t do this alone.”
“You will never have to.”
Her smile was forced, but I could see relief in the way her expression relaxed at the edges. “Thank you.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I’m going to get some air,” she said, turning away.
I lingered a moment longer, watching her as she walked the camp’s edge. And still, I couldn’t make myself go to her. To take down the wall I’d erected between us. Because every time I looked at Aurelia, I remembered what I’d promised her father. And every time I heard her laugh, I wondered how long before I’d have to die for that promise. I would allow her to lose her general. I couldn’t allow her to lose her mate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Callan
Grey Oak slept under a blanket of thick clouds; its streets shrouded in mist that swirled like a nightmare’s thin veneer. Few lanterns still glowed in windows. Even the drunkards kept to themselves at this late hour. I preferred the solitude. It was better than the constant murmurs during the day. The king was dead, and the new one was worse—or so they whispered.
Maybe they were right.
Every day, our lands grew colder. More frozen. Crops had died. So had the sick and weak. The Withered, especially, were too frail to withstand the plunging temperatures. At least, Heliconia’s frost hadn’t reached the city yet. I prayed to the gods that it never would. But I knew I couldn’t count on the gods. Not anymore. Nor could I count on Aurelia, their Chosen One.
It was up to me to protect my people. To save them.
I was sure my father would have groaned in his grave to know that. Maybe that’s why I’d already cast aside every possibility the old bastard would have considered viable. And now, here I was, doing the last thing he ever would.
Alone, I moved through the back alleys with my hood pulled low, the cold gnawing at my knuckles. Above me, the great stag banners of Autumn hung limp, their golden embroidery dull in the moonless night. Fitting, when I knew the once-great magic of the Autumn fae had long since dulled to match.
I’d stopped the donations on the same day I’d held my father’s funeral. It had felt righteous in the moment. Noble. Now, walking the empty streets of my starving capital, I wondered if it was too little too late. At least, with the donations, they’d been given coin so they could eat.
The oracle’s shop was tucked in a narrow lane behind the apothecaries’ square. The symbol of an open eye marked it, but I’d known it anyway—and had avoided it until now. I was surprised to find the door unlocked and was instantly wary of it.
