“So, it shall. By the Seven, I will not fail you.”
CHAPTER 15
Alora
Alora sat astride her mare on the ridge, the leather reins slick beneath her palms. The breastplate strapped over her gown pinched at her shoulders, heavy and uncomfortable as the short sword at her hip. Though familiar with them, she had not thought to ever one day use them in war.
She looked out at Stormwatch Keep, its towers burnished orange in the setting sun. White and gold Hydra banners fluttered in the wind. It had been the first point of Calveron’s invasion, for it was the perfect stronghold for their ships.
Now Argyle would take it back.
The evening was quiet, the crisp autumn wind tugging at the hem of her gown.
A handful of Calveron soldiers stood watch on the ramparts, likely drunk and slow on the heavy feast and wine Alora had sent over in the early afternoon. Even their ships idled quietly in the harbor.
Her father sat like a figure hewn from stone in his saddle, grim and quiet in his armor. Flanking him was Commander Basile, Lord Graye, and Caelum. Their horses shifted restlessly, pawing the earth. Behind lay Argyle’s hidden host, packed in the trees, waiting for the signal.
Sweat beaded down Alora’s nape as she watched the sun sink on the horizon. The rays vanished, leaving the land in shadow.
Commander Basile and Caelum put on their helmets. Her heart shook with dread when his gaze met hers. He gave her an encouraging nod.
Alora looked to her father.
Laurent raised his hand, and an ensign officer waved a red flag.
Commander Basile bowed his head to his king. “Argyle will be yours again, sire.”
He drew his sword and led the charge.
Horses charged down the slope with Argyle’s men streaming behind the commander and his son, a river of steel rushing into the dusk.
They stormed the keep and screams of the dying and the clash of steel echoed on the wind, making Alora’s hands shake on the reins. She watched as green clashed into gold, drawing out sprays of red. Armed with iron, the commander’s men quickly cut through the fae soldiers like wheat.
Her stomach turned at the sound of every cry, every blade that struck true. The sounds sank into her bones, as though each death stained her soul that could never be washed away.
Such was the cost of war.
Alora drew a slow breath, forcing the tremor from her hands. She could not dwell on guilt, not when surrender would bring worse horrors. Still, her heart ached.
Her gaze sought Caelum’s cape among the chaos below, her lips moving soundless prayers. Let him be spared. Let him not join the dead before dawn.
Beside her, her father sat as unshaken as the stone beneath Stormwatch’s walls. His hand was steady on the hilt of his sword, his eyes cold and fixed on the battle. He was a king hardened by years of battle, and her, trembling at its first true taste.
She flinched at the sudden blast of a horn’s sharp blare. A call for aid. The horn was quickly silenced, but not fast enough. Lanterns lit with firelight on the Calveron’s ships. Their sails snapped open and a horn blared in response. They were coming.
Alora waited, holding her breath. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Caelum riding out of Stormwatch’s gates.
Caelum galloped up the hill to them, helm tucked under his arm, his armor streaked red as if he had bathed in slaughter. His eyes were grave, yet his voice rang clear. “The keep is yours, sire.”
The soldiers behind them erupted in cheers, but Alora’s heart sank when she saw the grief on Caelum’s face.
“Your father?” Alora asked.
He lowered his gaze. “The Commander was fatally wounded. I sent for a healer but…”
The wound was too great.
Laurent clapped his shoulder. “Your father lived his life with honor, Caelum. Argyle will remember his name.”
