She looks around. “Do you have spare parchment? I need to write before we go,”
I take her hand in mine. “Write what?”
“My memories. My head is too full. I dreamt of Mikal again,” she says, taking an unsteady breath. “If something happens today?—”
“Nothing will happen. I will be there,” I say resolutely, feeling the tears crowd in my eyes once again. It’s a weak action, butmy emotions are frayed and scattered.
She shakes her head.
“If something happens to my memories or me, I want my story to live on. You should know as much as possible,” she says gently. “Please. I do this to help my mind, not hurt you.”
The protest sits on the tip of my tongue, but I cannot bringmyself to say it as I smooth back some of her wild hair. My throat bobs.
“Let me get a scroll.”
As I stand, the chilly air bites into me. I walk to the crate containing writing supplies and select what she has requested. Before I return to her, I walk to the flap in our tent. Slowly, I pull one side open and suck in a sharp breath.
Hundreds of elves are already dressed and ready to leave. Their sharp weapons glint in the starlight, and though I can make out their shapes with my Enduar eyesight, their black clothing and dark-colored beasts blend into the night.
Flicking my eyes up to the sky, I look at the moonless sky. Hoping it will not be a bad omen, even though Liana assured me it wouldn’t be.
Marching under a new moon is as good as securing Grutabela’s blessing.
Then I see Ayla and a few of the other squadron leaders. They ride their enormous alces, leading the formation lines. There is the soft crunchy press of snow into grass as the predators move, and the rustle of leather and clink of metal.
When I see the stone benders who accompany them, I suck in a sharp breath. I do not know them all yet, as many come from the deep ocean. But I recognize the stone animator Si’Kirin.
Dread coils in my belly.
And thus, it falls upon us like a black cloak and a dagger to the throat.
More poetry flits through my mind as it sinks in with fierce finality.
The Second Great War begins today.
That thought adds kindling to the fire of determination. We will be able to staunch most of the impact with this attack, ideally eliminating the rest of the human witches who torturedEstela, but King Arion and his elves will be the next battle. Mrath hungers for the blood of her brother.
“Teo,” Estela whispers, as if she doesn’t want to break the silence around us.
I tear my eyes away from the thousands of elves, beasts, Enduares, andglacialmarasmoving outside.
“All is well, my star. The first regiment has begun to move,” I say, turning back to her. I return to the bed and help her glowing form off the ground. “Let us prepare for battle.”
We open the chests housing our blades and armor. I blink back tears as I see her crystal-studded breastplate, and the way it begins to sing to her without even needing to open her mouth.
I draw her hair over her shoulders, untangling knots and braiding her hair into a crown around her head. I help her put on her under armor garments. Each touch is a reminder of my love, a prayer.
I’m lost in my thoughts until her breastplate is clipped on, and her legs and arms are covered. We will ride in on a mythical creature and burn the remaining giants to the ground.
Estela is still hesitant because her magic is not refined, and she doesn’t want to kill any of the humans.
When she is fully dressed, she looks like a queen of battle. Capable, but…gods. She’s not meant for this. Just like my mother wasn’t meant for this who should’ve stayed an instructor at the university, filling young minds with knowledge instead of being sucked into my father’s destructive orbit.
Her hands reach up and stroke my unkempt hair. Without words, I turn around and kneel, letting her braid. Then, just as we did the day I fought the creatures in the cave, she helps me with my armor.
Her fingers do not tremble as they did that day. She does not lookafraid.
She should.
