She sighed, the sound low and tired.
Then her hand found his.
“Stay?” she said.
Alarik’s throat tightened.
“Of course.”
She shifted closer to him, her breath soft against his shoulder, and he adjusted the blanket over them both. His arm curled around her waist without thinking. He could feel her heartbeat.
Even now, wounded and weary, she burned with purpose.
And still he couldn’t help but marvel that she let him be near that fire.
He pressed his lips to her hair, barely a touch. “Sleep, my queen.”
She did.
But Alarik did not.
Not for a long time.
Not while she was wounded.
Not while the Borderlands watched.
And not with the apprehension of what tomorrow might bring plagued him.
-Maris-
The cliffs of Calanthe rose — a jagged crown on the horizon as they rode like hell.
The return journey from the Borderlands, was tense — though no more veilspawn had stalked their path. Every gust of wind felt like a whisper from the other side. Every shifting shadow made hands tighten around hilts.
They crested the final hill just before dusk.
Nerium’s towers shimmered through the mist, the sea crashing far below, and for the first time in days, Maris allowed herself to exhale.
They were almost home.
If it could still be called that.
She sat astride her horse in silence, Kael to her right, Alarik to her left, the three of them an arrowhead leading their worn company toward the city gates. Behind them rode Zarion, Riven, Corin, Serenya, and the remaining warriors, each one battered and stained, but alive.
Maris hadn’t forgotten the three they'd left behind
She could still see their faces. The screams an echo in her mind.
Kael glanced toward her. “You’re quiet.”
She met his gaze. “I’m thinking.”
“Of what?”
She gave a brittle smile. “How strange it is to return to a home, not to rest, but to wage a war.”
He didn’t reply.
