“You realize that you might very well be the most powerful siphon in existence,” Callan says. “And the prince might want to use Fleurie to find you.”
Raina looks at me, a glimmer of worry in her eyes.
“That’s very possible,” I reply. “And Raina has seen Vexx riding south. I could be walking into a waiting trap. But if I want to reach the Summerlands, I have no other choice than to go through Malgros. As for Fleurie tracking me down… Thamaos gave Fleurie the moniker of Fury. He denied her true name, using Fury in moments when she showed weakness or rebellion, as a mockery. A slur. A goad. But even he saw what she truly was. She would annihilate the prince. Especially if she knows he means to harm me.”
“But she might not know,” Hel says. “It’s been three hundred years, and it sounds like she’s been tortured for all that time. Her mind might not be the same anymore, or the prince could’ve lied. But also, remember that, like their parents, godlings are vulnerable to iron. And if this woman is Fleurie, then the prince has the upper hand. For now, anyway. With her collared and jailed like an animal, he can prevent her from causing any damage to him or his efforts.”
Nephele arches a blonde brow. “Yes, but to use her ability, he must let her go at some point. The question is, what does he have up his sleeve that will insure that she doesn’t annihilate him? That she does what he wants instead?”
The answer strikes me as sure as lightning.
“A deal. Her help in exchange for him rescuing her.” Like the deal Neri tried to make with Raina. Like the one I made with him in the ravine.
“That’s the only way to truly bind a god or godling’s word,” Callan adds.
I think of Raina’s gruesome description of my old friend. “She might’ve been so far gone that she didn’t know what she was agreeing to,” I say.
Nephele stands and begins pacing a short path behind Mena. “Fuck. This is bad.”
Warek, a silent sentinel, clears his throat, the sound loud over another wind that whips the side of the tent. “There are still obstacles,” he says. “If the prince intends to use Fleurie, and if Fleurie is in the deteriorated state Raina says, then she must heal, which buys a little time. She may be part god, but surely three hundred years of slow decomposition cannot be undone in a single day.”
“Probably not without a talented Healer,” I interject.
“And he doesn’t have one of those,” Rhonin replies. “He has my mother. Knowledgeable as she is, she only holds the power of herbs.”
“Secondly,” Warek continues, “Fleurie must be capable of breaching Fia Drumera’s protections. Protections that have withstood attacks for ages. Can Fleurie’s ability bypass such magick?”
“Unfortunately yes,” I answer. “To a living god or godling, the magick of men is more an annoyance than an unbreakable wall. It’s why the Eastlanders came so close to entering the City of Ruin during the Land Wars. They would have succeeded if not for Colden and his men. There was god magick versus god magick. Two very equal forces. But Thamaos and his army were up against Asha whose lands were fortified by a league of mages as well as Neri, a scattering of Witch Walkers, and his soldiers. Once Fleurie became skilled enough, Thamaos tried using her to take his armies through the City of Ruin’s gates. But Fleurie wasn’t capable.”
Callan looks at Warek. “Portals require immense control and strength to open and hold open. It’s difficult enough to ferry another person through. Let alone hundreds or thousands.”
“Still,” Nephele says. “Warek is right. Fleurie needs to heal, so we have time.”
“But we cannot know how much time,” Raina signs. “This three-week journey must happen as quickly as possible.”
Mena exhales a long breath. “Is it even her, though? That remains the biggest question.”
Something inside me caves. For the first time since Raina said the name Fury to me, I know that it is indeed my friend. In the wood, Thamaos told me that I should know better than to think he doesn’t have a plan. I just couldn’t fathom the impossible at the time. That his daughter lived, and that he’d finally found a way to trap her into doing what he desires.
“Until we have more proof through Raina’s visions, we must assume that it is,” I reply. “And move on from here accordingly.”
“Meaning we should probably leave tonight,” Nephele says. “Before this storm arrives and slows us even further.” Thunder immediately rolls in the distance, and she crosses her arms over her middle as though the ominous sound rattled her.
Gods’ death. We haven’t slept. We’ve barely eaten. But I know she’s right.
I scrub my hand over my face. “Agreed. We need to get ahead of the rain. As far as possible this time.”
“Sounds like you have a plan, then,” Mena says.
Rhonin nods in my direction. “I’m at your side, Alexus. Whatever you need.”
“And me,” Raina signs. “You have me. We bear this burden together. To the very end.”
“To the very end,” I sign back, my heart full.
Nephele stops her pacing and gives me a soft wink. “Me too.”
Hel lifts her eyes, that dark gaze rimmed in soot-black lashes, and defiantly stares at her father. “Me three.”
