She felt as if she was going insane, her mind whirring and her palms sweating under the thin blanket, despite the cold.
There was more too. The woman in the dream, the one named Ana—Soren had recognized her. She didn’t know why or how, but her features had been familiar enough that she couldn’t dismiss it. Plus, the timeline of the dreams was becoming confusing. One moment, the goddess had been leaving Vane behind in that farm field, seemingly forever, and then the next she was riding with him. Then…
The cave.
A ‘ceremony.’
Soren tried to remember what they had been wearing. She could not see the goddess herself, had never been able to, but Vane and the others…
Gods, she couldn’t remember. And besides, Arenean weddings might be different to whatever the gods did.
But if she was right?—
Wait.
She forced her whirring thoughts to slow, clouded by the usual haze that set in when she awoke. The goddess, the one with Ana, had said that ‘Vulcan’ was Vane’sfather.
Vulcan. The god of fire.
Which meant Vane wasn’t even fully mortal, and if he had come from a time when the borders to Arcadia were still passable by mortals, he was over a century old.
The knowledge was too much, and she shut her eyes tight, wishing for the haze to take with it the realization. But the knowing remained, and with it, a decision to be made.
Did she confront Vane about it?
She couldn’t, not without raising suspicion as to how she knew. Perhaps he would be angry with her, or even kill her. Others must be unaware, for if the King of Aren knew he had a demi-god in his army, he surely wouldn’t be wasting his time training her.
In the end, the answer was clear.
She had to pretend she had no idea.
Soren was awake the rest of the night, rising as soon as dawn was a whisper outside. But when she slipped out of the tent, she heard running and whooping. She lingered near the tent entrance as a few soldiers rushed past her, shouting something about ‘those Misean bastards.’ Her throat tightened. Something must have happened.
Arenean flags waved as more emerged from their tents, drawn by the noise. Behind, she heard Cion rasp, “What’s going on?”
Soren took a deep breath and turned to face the princess, who was looking at her with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know. Some victory, I think.”
Cion nodded slowly. “Interesting. Last I heard, Misean forces had pushed us back towards the border, despite Meesling’s recent betrayal.”
Soren shut her eyes briefly then looked at Cion and said, “Princess, I didn’t know… What I mean to say is, I didn’t intentionally hide what I could do. It was out of fear. I never intended to use it. I had vowed to myself I wouldn’t a long time ago, but I was afraid for you?—”
“It’s alright,” Cion said tersely. “And…thank you. I would be dead if it weren’t for you.”
Soren looked down. “Right. You’re welcome, princess.”
Cion laughed softly. “It’s odd to see you become yourself after all these years. It’s happening slowly, but I think I’m finally meeting you for the first time.”
Soren wasn’t sure how to reply, or if she even should. Cion sighed and grabbed her arm. “C’mon, let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
She followed Cion through the camp, soldiers eyeing Soren as they went. When they ran into Ilav halfway through shouting something that sounded a lot like ‘Fuck Mise,’ Cion tugged on his arm roughly and shouted in his face, “What happened?”
He grinned, his gaze landing on Soren as he replied, “The Miseans may have spirit, but we have something even more powerful.Mòr Maslach.”
Cion stiffened. “They sent him to push them back away from the border?”
Ilav gave an enthusiastic nod. “He burned hundreds of them. They had no choice. Now, we have our foothold back in Misean lands. Without the aid of the wyverns, it’s only a matter of time before they all burn.”
Soren took a step back. The entire morning had been too much, more than she could handle or bear.
