Nephele’s cool eyes flash with defiance and the heat of the moment. “I. Don’t. Care. The fact that the North needs all the Witch Walkers we can gather is exactly why I need to go. I’m one of the strongest witches we have on our side.”
“Unless thecursein the bloodthat Fia mentioned is real,” he says, eyes ablaze when he looks at me. “The curse Neri so selfishly welcomed upon you. We have no idea what it could entail.”
How I want to verbally eviscerate him for that comment, true though it may be. But I bite my tongue instead. A truly unthinkable thing for me. I can sense Nephele’s upset, and this is her battle. I need to let her be the one to fight it.
“Are you concerned that I’ll become a burden?” she asks him, pain coating her words as she lightly touches her heart.
His brow crumples. “No, of course not. I worry that you will need care or tending, and I won’t be able to provide it. I can keep you safe from many things, Nephele, but a curse fromthis landthat I know nothing about?”
“The wolf warned me that there could be consequences if I brought him back from the dead,” she says, clearly attempting to diffuse the moment. “And I accepted the deal anyway. If there is a curse, then I fear it is one he and I must bear together.Webroke the holy law. Not him, and not me.Us. So as I said, I go where he goes. But even if that weren’t a necessity, I couldn’t stay here and hide. You know me better than that.”
Worry and fear are evident in the shadows of Thibault’s face. “I do. But I cannot and will not lose herandyou as well.”
She releases a heavy breath, her gaze intent. “I feel the same way. But please realize that you are not the only one of us who lost her. You are not the only one scared and in pain.”
Thibault’s fire visibly simmers, if slowly, though he looks exhausted by it all. Like a man constantly torn between agony and misery. A man with no good choices.
“Rainawillfind her way back,” Hel says after a beat. “And she will kick all our asses if we’ve stood around pining for her instead of planning for Thamaos and whatever he’s planning accordingly.”
“Very much agreed.” Fleurie pushes her dark red hair off her shoulder as she eyes Thibault and folds her hand around his wrist. “The Raina I knew was a fighter. Don’t assume she needs you to come to her rescue. The past has already happened, and to my knowledge, this Alexus Thibault person I’m staring at right now was never there. So perhaps we should try unearthing your memories of her before doing anything drastic, so you can recall the night she left instead. That could alleviate so much worry.”
“I know you’ve never wanted to before, but you could visit the Memory Catcher,” Nephele says. Her voice falls a touch softer, her sky-blue eyes a little unsettled as a small laugh trips off her lips. “I might need to go with you.”
I glance from her to Thibault and back again, at the damage between them. All these minds toyed with as though memory isn’t what makes a human life—or any life, for that matter—feel real. With Thamaos, such atrocities were expected. But Nephele’s parents? What sort of mother or father destroys their child’s memory? And how? What were they trying to hide?
“I’ve considered seeing Ingrid once we reach Malgros,” Thibault replies.
“Just a thought,” Rhonin says, changing the subject as he traces his finger along the Northland Break’s eastern coastline. “Someone will need to take a small band and travel up to the villages near the Mondulak Range. Someone familiar with that rugged terrain. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ve traversed that territory more than a few times, so it should be me,” Thibault says. “And possibly Keth and Jaega since that’s their home. Which means some of you will have to see to it that those in the valley and at Winterhold are warned.”
“Leave that to me and the wolf.” Nephele presses her fingertips to the table, keeping her shoulders strong. “It should be a fast and uneventful trip with him sifting us between locations.”
She says those words to ease her friend, but the way he looks at me isn’t a signal that he holds any confidence in me whatsoever. Quite the opposite. But this time, he doesn’t argue.
Fia straightens. “Good. It seems that’s settled, then. Now we just need to contact Nicolas Castalan.”
Nephele frowns and shakes her head. “Who?”
“The newest admiral for the Western Drifts,” Thibault answers.
“He’s done an excellent job securing the western waterways the last few years,” Fia adds, “and we’ll need his help fortifying the Malorian Sea between Itunnan and Malgros. But we can’t know how Thamaos will attack.”
“I’d bet my cock and balls that it isn’t by ship,” I counter. “Quezira reeked of the Nether Reaches. Thamaos clearly figured out a way to bring death back with him. I don’t know if he can wield them, though. That has forever been a limit on our power as gods, in order to protect the human world from deities who might use the dead to harm them.”
“But Elias can,” Fleurie interjects. “He was schooled in necromancy by Garujo, one of the most renowned sorcerers of our time.” She looks at Un Drallag, but there’s no flicker of recognition.
“A legion of wraiths infecting Summerland and Northland defenses at sea and along the coast could turn the tides of war quite swiftly,” I say.
“The prince can wieldoneof them,” Thibault adds, holding up his finger. “That’s all we’ve seen him do. To control an army of unholy spirits is an entirely different task.”
“One that would probably kill the prince in the process,” Fia says. After a moment she adds, “But even the thought of such a thing—wraiths possessing members of the Summerland Guard and the Northland Watch—is terrifying. They could infiltrate our front lines so easily.”
“Nicolas Castalan needs to know this is a possibility so he can prepare his sailors,” I tell the queen. “In a war with a god, especially one who seems to have made friends with the underworld, you can’t rule out anything.”
“I can do it.” Zahira turns her eyes on the map. “I’d like to head into Malgros first to check on my wife, but afterward, she and I can journey to the Drifts.” She speaks with such confidence that her partner was spared, but her face is tight with unease as she touches the scattering of archipelagos to the west. “I’ve navigated these waters dozens of times, and I know Nicolas. Yaz and I have too many friends and acquaintances there not to be involved. They will listen to us.” She looks up at Fia and Thibault. “In case it hasn’t been considered yet, it would be wise to send word to officials in Persei, Mapor, and Omalli as well.”
“Already planned,” Fia says. “They survive off trade with the western ports. It’s to their advantage to offer aid. I have emissaries who know the leadership in each of those countries. I just need to get them there before Thamaos is fully restored.”
