And when the next phalanx reached the valley, they took one look at Nabil and I standing in the middle of a plain of ashes, and ran. As if the wave of deathfyre had killed those within range, and somehow also ripped the control magic away from the rest.
“Let them go,” Nabil said, and this time I listened. “We need to get home. Can you stand?”
I nodded, gritting my teeth against the strain of using so much magic. My head felt tender, an anvil striking with every second, and my breathing was a laboured scrape that only pulled sips into my lungs. To add insult to injury, when Nabil released me, my knees buckled.
“Sure,” he drawled. “What a great example of standing you are.”
I grumbled wordlessly, leaning into him what he caught me, helping me walk across the ash-strewn valley. The glossy stone was entirely covered. We left footprints as he walked and I hobbled.
It took seconds to get here, but over an hour must have elapsed by the time we reached the rocky outcropping and the solid mountain face that shone as clear as a mirror, reflecting us—me hunched and tired, Nabil jumpy and tense with his head on a constant swivel. He’d used his air magic to carry us across the valley, but in short bursts as if he was drained, too.
I didn’t know how long it would take for my magic to recover after the blast that took out the army, but I felt like I’d been awake for days and could drop at any moment.
“We should talk about what happened back there,” Nabil said as we hobbled towards the gate. “You could have left that group alive.”
“They would have got through the gate,” I disagreed, clenching my jaw when a rush of dizziness made the world blur. “There would have been more people for us to fight in Ithanys. And they would have attacked Queen Adeela.”
He made a face, as if he couldn’t argue that point. “Still—”
“Will you help me walk through?” I asked, changing the subject as we came to a stop before the gate, the flat rock rising over our heads.
Nabil sighed. Heavily. “No, I’m going to drop you halfway through and just leave you there.”
I gave him a flat glare. He smirked.
“Obviously, I’ll help you,” he huffed. “You’re Varidian’s wife and you’re one of us now. You’re Fyrevein.”
I’d had the thought myself, but hearing it from one of the legion made me straighten—as much as I could—and lift my head high. It wasn’t official by any means, and I doubted any military leaders would accept me, but Nabil did. The legion did. That meant something.
“On three?” I suggested, watching our reflections. We looked both brutal and terrified. Haunted. And I knew this war was only just beginning. The battle Fyrevein fought now in Ithanys was only the first battle. More would follow.
“One,” Nabil began the count.
“Two,” I breathed.
On three, we stepped through the shining black stone. I was ready for it to reject us, or for our noses to slam into the mountain face, but the familiar ripple of magic sucked us in, a flash of cool air and warmth sliding over my skin. Relief loosened my chest. We hadn’t destroyed the gate, but we’d dealta powerful wound to the Zalaam forces. We were returning victorious.
Except when we stumbled through the other side, it was onto a rickety metal platform, not the golden steps of the attic room in the fortress. I recognised the huge mill-like building instantly. Knew the pale buildings and purple sky beyond the window.
We were in Riverren.
I opened my mouth to tell Nabil as much, but figures poured onto either side of the platform before I could speak so much as one word. They wore white, not Saber purple and the details and cut of their uniform was strange and new, but I would recognise a guard anywhere.
And we were penned in by sixteen of them.
CHAPTER 52
AMEIRAH
“We’re not a threat,” Nabil calmly told the guards, smoothing the edges of his usually cutting voice, because my head was still swimming and I was in danger of falling down at any moment. “We were trying to get home. My friend needs medical assistance. We’re here by mistake.”
I squinted my vision into focus, and my heart clattered again when I saw how many guards there were: eight on either side of us, blocking any way off the platform. They were a sea of pearl-white uniforms, gleaming gold chains, and wings tipped with what at first seemed like jewellery—solid gold cuffs to cover the fragile edges—but must be protective armour. I saw the details of their faces between blinks, my focus fading as my strength fled.
“You reek of the dark world,” the guard closest to us said. He was in his forties, and had dark hair slicked back from his face, a cleanly shaven jaw, and bright violet eyes. He looked noble, more like a prince than a guard, but his voice was every bit theforeboding soldier I’d expect. “You may look fae, but their magic is capable of much that we don’t know.”
“Shall we take them for questioning, or execute them?” a woman asked from the other side, deferring to the princely man who first spoke. He must be their commander, which meant his word would damn or spare us.
“We’re not Zalaam,” Nabil snapped, decidedly less in control. He tightened his grip on me, as if he’d jump back through the gate and take me with him. It was our only option, I realised, if the guards drew their weapons. I saw them through blurs of dizziness: thin, extremely sharp swords made of pure silver, the handle covered by delicate threads of silver in a half-sphere to protect the wielder’s hand.
