I nod, understanding better now. This isn’t a bad thing, this living, loving,feeling. It’s a gift. Just as Griffin was a gift to me, and I’m his gift as well.
“Thank you,” I say, touching his cheek.
“For what?” he asks.
“For showing me that I can be loved unconditionally, and love wholly in return.”
He smiles. It’s small, crooked, and perfect, and I love him even more. How can joy make a person want to both laugh and weep?
“I was so stupid,” I say. “I can’t believe I ever fought you. Fought us.”
“You had every right to fight me. I’m not perfect, and I don’t always do what I should. You don’t need to be perfect, either, Cat. You just need to be you.”
I kiss him gently. “And together, we’ll do our best.”
Griffin nods. Holding me, he starts to move. We let our bodies speak for us, and I wrap myself around him and feel.
CHAPTER 18
The army grew exponentially while we were away.
“Where did all these people come from?” I ask, just barely keeping my eyes from popping out of my head.
“Everywhere,” Flynn answers. “That whole group over there is from Fisa.” He points to a far-off gathering of people and tents.
That many people came from Fisa?“How did they get past Lycheron and his minions?”
Kato chuckles. “Apparently, the Ipotane round them all up, bring them to Lycheron every few days, and then he does a sniff check, one by one. He reads their worth right from their scents, they say.”
Huh. He sniffed me pretty hard. He sniffed Ianthe even harder. “That’s disturbing.”
“And useful,” Flynn says. “They’re good people, those Fisans. Brave.”
“They’d have to be to face Lycheron,” I murmur. “Have any of them seen Ianthe?”
Flynn nods, squinting and shading his eyes from the sun as he scans the sprawling encampment with an assessing but satisfied gaze. “She’s fine, they’ve told us. Or she at least looks that way. But Lycheron doesn’t let her out of his sight. She’s on his back at all times, and they see that as a sign—a Fisan princess joining the fight. She’s encouraging them to come to us, rallying people to your side.”
“Some turn back,” Kato says with a shrug. “They take one look at the Ipotane and then head back into Fisa.”
Griffin grunts. “Good. If they’re scared of being sniffed, the Gods only know how they’d react on the battlefield.”
I nod. I’ve been in plenty of battles but not on an actual battlefield, with armies involved. I don’t have to have been, though, to know he’s right.
After greeting Kato and Flynn and gathering the most essential news, we all move toward the Fisans. Carver and Bellanca are apparently among them, and since we arrived without fanfare on the opposite side of the camp, they still don’t know we’re back. As we progress in their direction, I see Tarvans and Sintans mixing together in one big, spread-out group. They soon realize who we are, though, and stop what they’re doing to watch us pass, seeming awestruck.
Griffin takes the sudden attention in stride, surveying his soldiers, his warlord face firmly in place. I do my best to shake off my nerves when I see the way people are looking at me—like I’m not even human, but something more. I manage a small smile. It’s probably more of a toothy grimace, but it’s better than nothing, and I turn it on all sides, not wanting to exclude anyone.
On the south side of the camp, Carver is deep in training with a new recruit, his focus undivided, even when everything in the Fisan area starts grinding to a halt.
“Zeus’s bollocks! How many times do I have to tell you not to drop your guard?” Carver pulls up short, inches away from skewering the man he was just sparring with.
Stepping back, his opponent nods to us. Carver swings around, and the tip of his weapon drops to the ground. His whole body seems to relax. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and then sheathes his sword as he strides toward us.
“Took you long enough.” There’s a layer of tension in his voice, his words both teasing and not. “Bellanca was threatening to go after you.”
That doesn’t surprise me in the least. And from the way Carver just said it, I think he was planning on leaving with her.
Carver’s Fisan trainee stands there staring at us with eyes so wide I get the insane urge to look behind us, just in case there’s something there. But no, he’s watchingme. He’s probably in his mid- to late-twenties. He’s broad-shouldered, good-looking, and lean, with unusually close-cropped sandy hair. I very much doubt he’s used to holding a weapon because he lets his sword drop to the ground, unheeded.
