“Lorne,” I say, surprised. “Of course. From the southern campaign. I remember seeing you at strategy briefings in Delasurvia. I didn’t realize you’ve transferred to our unit.”
“That was my decision,” Aila says, her fists planted on her sides. “With you and Mylo preoccupied in Hedera, I asked him to transfer in to fill the gap. He’s a skilled soldier, and we’re lucky to have him.”
Not to mention he’s fae, with the magical ability to throw sound. Pretty useful.
Lorne shifts slightly but remains standing at attention. “It’s an honor to serve under your leadership, Commander. And under General Moorgrin’s, of course.”
At the mention of my uncle, his voice softens. There’s real concern there, the kind that can’t be faked.
“He hasn’t woken yet,” I admit. “But he’s still fighting.”
Lorne nods once, solemnly. “He’s a damned legend, if you don’t mind me saying. We need him back.”
“Yes, we do,” I murmur.
As we settle into the camp, my eyes constantly flit to Dante. He keeps himself busy, helping Isaac sort weapons and occasionally strolling down to the stream to check on the horses. He’s not comfortable enough around my squad to keep still, but I don’t push him. I don’t try to force him to like my squad or vice versa. It will happen naturally or not at all.
The fire crackles steadily, sparks rising like fleeting stars, vanishing into the dark velvet sky. The moon hangs high and full above us, bathing the hills in silver, while a low breeze drifts through the red valerian growing at the edge of the ridge. Its scent is sharp and faintly bitter, threading through the sweeter aroma of jasmine and distant pine.
I sit beside the flames, close enough to feel their heat on my shins. Across from me, Aila sharpens her blade with slow, practiced strokes, the whetstone whispering against the steel. Her eyes are focused, but I can tell by the way her brow pinches that her thoughts are elsewhere.
I glance around camp—Isaac slouched against a log, Giorgi biting the inside of their cheek as they poke the fire with a stick, Mylo sitting quietly at the perimeter with his gaze scanning the trees, always alert. Dante lingers near the outskirts of the woods, his silhouette a steady, silent thing in the moonlight. He leans against a large tree, and every so often I catch sight of the red glow from the end of his cigarello.
My attention returns to Aila. “Any word from the camps?”
“Still overcrowded. Feels like we’re constantly running low on clean water and dry shelter. But… the food helps.”
“They are arriving undetected?” My throat tightens. King Silas could only get Mersos to agree on providing goods to Delasurvia if we agreed to close down the refugee camps. As far as I know, Silas is unaware that we’ve kept them open, and there are officially no provisions being delivered to any of the camps. Not by Mersos merchants, anyway.
Aila nods. “As you requested, we’ve made sure the team rerouting a percentage of goods is keeping it under wraps. And as far as the rest of the regiment goes, they’re in the dark. The fewer people who know about this, the less likely King Silas or the triarchs of Mersos will find out.”
“Good.” I release a long breath. “The king’s been increasing hispatrols. You never know where he’s got soldiers watching. Or spies listening.” I give her a gentle pat on her shoulder. “Thank you, Aila.”
“Of course, Commander.”
“Not just for keeping abreast of the camp situation. For all of it. I wish I could be in two places at once, but if I abandon Hedera, Silas will make sure Delasurvia suffers.”
Aila’s gaze softens. “You’re doing what you can, and I know you haven’t forgotten us. It’s my honor to carry on here while you have to put up with that pompous king.”
A few heartbeats pass in silence, filled only by the crackling fire and the whispering wind. I tilt my head toward the stars, their light distant and unmoving over my homeland. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever return there for good, if I can protect Delasurvia from within its borders. It was never my intention to be on the throne, but since I’ve been forced into this position, I should use it to my advantage. For my people.
The night closes in around us. Steel glints in the firelight. Boots scuff over gravel. Lorne and Giorgi keep watch for the beacons while the others rest and regenerate. The hum of tension lingers like a held breath. But for the first time in weeks, I feel something solid beneath me again. We are together. And that means we still have a chance.
“I’ll get more wood,” I offer, needing an excuse to stretch my limbs and steady my thoughts.
Dante pushes off the tree before anyone else can move. “I’ll come with you.”
The words are casual, but they pull at something deep inside me—a familiar ache I’ve had to bury since the king’s decree ripped us apart. For weeks, there’s been no room for us. Not in the castle. Not in the aftermath of Torbin’s fall. But out here, beyond the walls of Ivystone, we’re just us again.
I grab an axe from the supplies on the ground and head toward the edge of the trees, the brittle grass crunching softly beneath my boots. Dante falls into step beside me, quiet and sure. Always close, but never too close—not when anyone might see.
Not until we’re swallowed by the shadows.
The air grows colder beneath the canopy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. I continue deeper into the trees, scanning for a fallen branch suitable for the fire. I feel Dante’s eyes on me, and though I’ve longed for a moment alone with him, it takes me a second to work up the nerve to turn his way. Is it the guilt? Is it fear of rejection? I can’t wrap my head around this uncertainty that’s suddenly clogging my throat.
Spotting a few good-sized branches on the forest floor, I stop. With a deep sigh, I finally turn to face Dante. His eyes shine, even in the darkness, and as he steps closer, I’m transfixed by his height. How have I already forgotten how tall he is, the outline of his broad shoulders? I press my lips together, trying to get my brain working well enough to speak.
“It’s been a crazy few weeks,” I say.
