Anniliese wound her hands through the thin material of her robes. ShehatedQhohena. Hated all the gods and whatever games they were playing, toying with human lives as if they meant nothing to them. Perhaps they didn’t, and Anniliese and others like her were just ants in a hill, milling about aimlesslyuntil they grew bored and sank their boots into the home they’d spent their whole lives constructing with care.
She wanted no part in it. Long gone were those feelings of freedom and joy that swept through her when her magic had first awakened. Gone were her feelings of rage and vindicated breathlessness, quashed beneath malignant shadows and forced obedience.
All she felt now was cowering hatred and bitter, tugging regret.
Horns blared through the gathered army. Calls echoed through the ranks. Galloping horses raced by, and their wagon lurched into motion.
A dragon’s roar broke through it all, shaking the canvas of their wagon.
Anniliese hid in her corner as Kol’s army started south.
Chapter 38
Quentin might’ve hated Idrix, but helovedVatha.
Was it because he’d been able to take his first proper bath in days? Maybe. Or maybe it was the soft feather bed or the divine silk sheets.
The only thing he didn’t like about Vatha was how quickly they had to leave it.
He again checked over the supplies that had been loaded into their small wagon, though he’d counted everything three times already. His reluctance to leave sat heavy on his shoulders, his skin twinging with slight discomfort under his fresh bandages.
He’d changed them himself last night. Despite how deep they’d been, his wounds were healing well. He’dalwayshealed well, in truth. It would only be another week or so before the stitches would need to be clipped out.
He’d need to ask Delaynie to do it; he doubted they would reach their next destination by then. For some reason, the idea of asking her to tend to him again filled him with a wild, uncaged sort of thrill.
Quentin counted the bags of dried fruits and meats, organized the wine and water skins, and smiled.
Gods, he knew he annoyed her. She made it so muchfunfor him to annoy her. Every time she would huff and turn away or cross her arms and give him that scalding glare, something in his blood would heat.
When he finally got her to start talking…gods, he could listen to her talk for the rest of his days.
She talked about her family. Her Armature father, a life Quentin could intimately relate to. Her Lady mother, the daughter of a wealthy merchant who’d joined Ryenne’s court never expecting to experience love but letting it find her anyway. Everything about Delaynie’s existence should be impossible—the queen’s magic kept Armature from fathering children. Yet something about Ryenne’s Abdication hadmadeit possible. Something in the magic shifted just enough for a miracle to happen.
Delaynie didn’t see it that way. She spoke of her birth as an abnormality, something to be studied. Quentin knew better than to argue, but he knew the truth.
Everything about Lady Delaynie Albellane was a gods-damned miracle, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
“Are you Quentin?”
Quentin turned, stepping out of the wagon. A Vathan guard, armor gleaming and helm tucked under his arm, waited stiffly in the courtyard. Quentin adjusted his baldric and straightened his tunic. “Sure am.”
“I was sent at the request of my king to provide you details about your travels ahead.” The guard pulled a rolled scroll from his belt. Quentin took it, tugging off the twine holding it closed.
It was a map of Vatha. Quentin scoured the papyrus before lifting his gaze to the guard. There was the capital, Elyren, in the west. A dotted path traced through the map, heading toward a mountain range—the Attlehons. Their route through the jungles.
“Quite a gift for someone you don’t know,” Quentin said.
“Our king wishes to extend his goodwill toward the Onitans. He hopes this is a positive first step.”
Quentin nodded. “It’s appreciated. Give your king my thanks.” He rerolled the scroll, nestling it amongst their belongings in the wagon.
The guard was still lingering when he turned. Quentin cocked an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”
The guard shifted, metal clanking. “I have taken the road you are venturing down—many times, in fact. It is long and quiet; not many call the deep jungles home. And those that do are far from human.”
“I’m not afraid of raiders, but I appreciate the warning.”
“It’s not raiders I speak of,” the guard said gruffly. “Be wary of the beasts that stalk the jungle. They have been wild longer than humans have walked the continent. There is a life to those jungles that perhaps even Ydros does not control.”
