Rion watched the male in silence. Talon’s fists clenched and unclenched as both males accepted the grim realities of the situation.
They didn’t have an army. They were exhausted, and some still injured. They couldn’t go to Levea, no matter how much they wanted to know whether Avalon had been able to evacuate the civilians. If he had, then where had they gone? Were they safe, or had they been picked off by the very creatures Vairik had sent to destroy the city?
The people really only had two options: The forbidden forest or the ocean. Those from Móirín could manipulate the ocean’s current for a time, but that water was ever moving. Evenwith the combined magic of several warriors, they wouldn’t be able to keep thousands of people adrift forever.
The islands were an option, but Rion wasn’t sure if even Avalon’s magic could carry so many across such a distance.
“After,” Talon finally said. “Once Arianna and Ellie are safe.”
And Saoirse. He hadn’t missed the way Zylah had been monitoring his sister’s injuries. She’d shrugged them off, of course, as she always did. The only ones who seemed mostly intact were Talon, Raevina, and Gavin.
“Alec has resources,” Rion assured. “Once we get to Nàdair, we’ll utilize them.”
“Or pray your brother has already found them.”
That would be the ideal outcome. Nàdair had sentries stationed everywhere, especially after the events involving Whiteridge and the poison all those years ago. No one on the council trusted that there wouldn’t eventually be another uprising.
He clenched his jaw. Whiteridge was Brónach’s southernmost major city, but their prejudices ran even deeper than the citizens from Nàdair. Rion prayed those from Levea hadn’t wound up on Whiteridge’s doorstep. While those in Nàdair would welcome the refugees, those in Whiteridge might put arrows through all of their hearts.
Although, Avalon did have a face with him that even those from Whiteridge would recognize. If anyone could bring Nàdair and Whiteridge back together, it was her.
Rion swallowed hard. Eimear was with Avalon. He’d been trying not to think about it, even if his nightmares conjured the worst of scenarios. Had she fought alone? Had she been forced to drop the iron around her wrist? Had visions overcome what remained of her sanity before she’d even had a chance to fight?
Rion wanted nothing more than to run to Levea and find the one person he’d thought lost to him forever. He knew Saoirse did too, and yet their hands were tied. If no one had made it out at all—
A gasp escaped that Rion couldn’t hold back. He doubled over, clutching his chest. He’d witnessed firsthand how easily Fiadh had infiltrated the massive city and the destruction the Shadow Weavers had left in their wake. Vairik had spies everywhere. He had warriors manipulating the minds of the council. How easy was it for him to simply command those in charge to look the other way? How easy was it for him to prevent the alarms from sounding?
“Hey, you all right?” Talon leaned toward him, hand outstretched, but not touching. Rion’s magic floated up around his body, as if it might protect him from the pain spearing through his chest.
Gods, had they even stood a chance?
What if his mother had been sitting in a teashop right outside the city walls when one of Vairik’s abominations had barreled through? What if the building had crumbled around her, trapping her beneath the piles of rubble? What if that same creature had sought her out, hoping to—his breath turned ragged, vision blurring at the edges.
What if Vairik, in the aftermath, had pinned her body outside the city gates just like he’d done with Conall? What if—
“Rion—” A hand clamped around his shoulder and Rion whirled. He grabbed the male’s wrist, wrenching it to the side. Vairik’s scarred face flashed before him. Rion’s heart nearly stopped. Water wrapped around Rion’s wrist. His heart beat faster, faster, faster.
“Rion!” Everything in his body turned to ice as his head jerked toward the doorway.
Saoirse.
His sister held her ribs tight, leaning against the threshold. Vines were already sprouting at his feet, wrapping around his ankles. No, she couldn’t be here if—
“Rion.” The male’s gentle voice jerked Rion’s head back. Talon. That was Talon’s hand on his shoulder. Talon’s magic holding him in place. Talon’s legs Rion had encased in his magic.
Rion scrambled up from the ground and the bottle turned onto its side, spilling the rest of the alcohol all over the ash-covered earth. He sucked down breath after breath, trying to will his mind back into focus even as it spun.
Too much, he’d drunk too much. That was it. He hadn’t slept and—Rion braced one hand against the tree and vomited. He bent low, his stomach heaving with every clench that sent the burning liquid right back up his throat.
“It’s fine,” Talon called. Rion heard the male slowly rise to his feet. Saoirse’s rapid heartbeat filled his ears. Her fear permeated the air. She remained unmoving until Rion waved a hand at her. Saoirse, stubborn Saoirse, still waited several minutes. Zylah pulled her back inside.
Talon remained beside the tree, waiting for Rion to collect himself. “Zylah might be able to recreate some of the runes Sive used before.” Rion didn’t respond. He didn’t know if Zylah had learned any of those, but given that the female had diversified her knowledge with nearly everything since her freedom, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He wondered if she’d agree to help or tell him he deserved to suffer.
“How will Alec respond to Arianna?” Talon asked after another minute. “Will he honor her title?”
Rion rested his head against the tree trunk. He swallowed hard. “Alec believes in the ancient texts just like anyone else. He’ll give her anything she wishes for.” It was sometimes difficult to remember that just a few short months ago, their countries had been at war. So much had changed.
“Will he even believe us,” Talon waved one arm, “about everything?”
