“Thyra.” Stellen demands my attention, his movements swift. He reaches past me for the satchel with the bread in it, quickly pulling out two cloth napkins.
I anticipate his intentions, reaching into the other bag—the one my cloak rests inside—to retrieve the waterskins.
Within moments, we’ve doused the cloths in liquid and wrapped the damp material around our mouths.
Stellen’s hands tug at the back of my head as he secures the knots.
He drops a whisper at my ear. “If this cloth comes away, you may need to consider using your Lethian armor to protect your airways, but only if you have no other choice.”
I nod to let him know I understand.
The material of my Alak-Teahan cloak will also provide me with options if I need them.
Up ahead, the fight appears to be pushing north of the towers. Not that it’s easy to make out. Despite the snow and the icy air, fires keep burning, sending more black smoke billowing outward.
Now another scent reaches me. A sweet aroma mixing with the smell of burning iron.
My brow furrows against the wind. “That smells like…” My eyes widen. “Thistleberries.”
Stellen takes a moment to respond. “Can oil be derived from the bark or seeds?”
“I don’t know. It was never mentioned.”
He makes a softhmmbefore he says, “Only a highly flammable oil would burn like this.”
The air we race into is now filled with the sweet scent of the fruit I once so happily devoured.
A sweetness that brings horror as we draw nearer and the full devastation of the battle ahead becomes clear.
Eagles… White wolves… Frost Fae… Iron Fae… They’re tearing each other apart, all while choking on smoke.
Only three hundred paces away, an eagle falls from the sky, dropping to the ground beside a white wolf whosebreathing is labored and slow. Both animals struggle to rise.
Horrified tears burn my eyes. A scream of fury rises to my throat.
Nobody will survive the burning smoke. “They’re fighting to die.”
Stellen’s command to Nara comes clearly. “Nara, stop! Don’t run into the smoke.”
He’s right. We might be able to withstand the acrid air with our face coverings. But Nara won’t.
She turns sharply to the left, veering away from the battle, not exactly turning back but angling farther away so she can run parallel to the towers while remaining in clear air.
All it will take is a strong wind and the acrid smoke will blow over us.
Stellen’s voice at my ear is colder than ever. “It’s clear Hadrian doesn’t care if his own warriors die. It’s also clear it’s a limited attack. Three towers directly south of the city. This can only be a demonstration of power. Intended to intimidate my army. And me.”
I grab Stellen’s arm where it presses to my waist. “You can stop this. Call back your soldiers. Use your ice to douse the flames. Offer the Iron Fae amnesty.”
My final suggestion makes him stiffen. “All I can offer the Iron Fae is a swift death.”
We’re nearly parallel with the second burning tower, the air so black with fumes that I can’t make out the fight within it. If, that is, anyone is still alive.
“Why is mercy not an option?” My disbelief punctuates my words. “The Iron Fae are suffocating on smoke they’ve been ordered to fly into. Just like the Frost Fae. You said it yourself: this is a demonstration. How does any of this achieve anythingexcept the glorification of the man you swore you’d make suffer?”
Wrenching myself around on Nara’s back, balancing and then facing Stellen, I press my hand to his heart. “If you want to hurt Hadrian, then hurt Hadrian. At least give his people a choice.” Angry tears burn my eyes. “Stellen,give them a choice.”
His palm brushes my cheek, his voice a murmur. “‘You stand idly by, even though your ice could douse the flames.’”
