“What about Harman? We have to go help him,”Ana babbles across the mooring, looking around at the spot her brother fell.“We have to?—”
“Look,” I say, pointing to a blond figure riding up to us, a limp body slumped over the front of his horse.
“He’s still breathing,” Alastor croaks when he reaches us, clutching Harman’s hand. He’s thrown the jacket from a soldier’s uniform over the unconscious man, but it’s already soaked through with blood. “That tree practically ripped him open. We need time to get him to a healer. Help him, Ana. Please,” my friend’s voice is hoarse. “I never met a man who could put up with my bullshit like him.”
“My queen,” Drisha says once again, his voice edged with frustration. “We have to go.”
“Stay close to us,” Ana says to Alastor. “I’ll feed his inner flame as we ride.”
We join the stream of foot soldiers and mounted riders escaping from the clearing as Ana’s magic rises up, focusing in on Harman. Archers gather in our wake, and I glance over my shoulder to watch the first round of arrows soar across the clearing toward the Temple forces. They brace, blocking the projectiles with shields and swords, but Caledon simply strides past them all, unconcerned. More than one arrow strikes him, but they simply bounce off his body, leaving him unmarked.
We gallop through the Miravow, Ana pouring her magic into Harman, Alastor’s voice a constant murmur all the while, urging him to hold on. I keep my awareness on the trees above us, watching for a change in their movement, a shift from angry swaying to something more violent and murderous. There’s not much to see at first, but as the Trovian forces swell around us, those fighting elsewhere in the forest getting the message to retreat, the trees start to attack.
“It’s spreading!” Will shouts. The branches contort and elongate, reaching out to snatch at riders galloping past.
“How is he doing this?” Drisha gasps.
“I think because the Miravow’s power is celestial and Caledon’s is too, he can tap into its magic and draw on it endlessly,” I say grimly as our group swerves to avoid a snaking tree branch.
“Incoming!” one of Drisha’s guards bellows. We all look up to see a branch swooping toward us. Ana’s awareness shifts behind me as her focus on Harman breaks for a moment.
“Hold on!” she shouts, and the branch’s descent slows, leaving it quivering in the air like it’s being held back by an invisible force—by Ana. In a few seconds, we’re clear of the tree, andshe releases her orbital power, letting the branch snap back into place.
But others around us aren’t so lucky.
The trees are relentless, and shouts from the distance tell me Caledon’s army are in pursuit, chasing us down as we head to the border. No doubt Caledon’s new invincibility has boosted the morale of the Temple’s fighters, making its soldiers feel like they have the gods on their side.
Ana’s soldiers, meanwhile, are dying fast. Troops by the score are snatched from the air, shot from behind, or cut down as they try to flee. And I’m not sure where it ends. Once we get to the border, what then? I could create some kind of barrier—a chasm that would stop Caledon’s troops from following right away. But lots of our forces would likely get left behind, and the Temple has enough geostri to undo my work eventually.
Still, if this army can’t rest, if we don’t get a chance to regroup, I can’t see us rallying in this fight. We’re losing, and Ana knows it. Even as she tries to keep Harman’s inner flame alive, I feel her hope dying out.
Eventually, the light in the forest changes, the dim green of the Miravow brightening as the border comes into view. The sight of it offers the Trovians a boost of energy at the prospect of escaping at last from the murderous trees. A burst of speed surges around us as the army makes one last push toward safety.
Except there’s something beyond the border. Movement—a lot of it—and a swathe of bright color against the green of the grass.
“What is that?” Will asks, squinting. “More soldiers? Temple forces?”
“No, not the Temple,” Alastor says, and he laughs, the sound a bark of relief. “Look at the banners.”
It’s an army alright, but the uniforms and flags are all the deep, burnt orange of Filusia.
“The fae! The fae are here!”
The shout goes up through the forest as we hurry toward the light—toward my brother’s forces.
Chapter 31
Morgana
The fae save us. For now.
When we burst out of the Miravow, the Filusian army is laid out before us, gathered between the forest and our encampment. Leon finds Fairon’s friend Captain Odaire—General Odaire now—near the front and relays the situation. Odaire takes in the state of our group, burned and bloody, as the Trovian forces limp in from the forest, dragging our wounded. Then he quickly sends up the order to hold the border.
We push on toward camp, but I watch things play out behind us from the back of Leon’s horse. When the first line of clerics breaks through the trees, the fae are ready. They hit the Temple forces with all the energy of a raging storm, letting our fleeing, battered soldiers slip past as the fae plow into the clerics and cleavers chasing after them. The Temple forces soon realize that once they’re away from the cover of Caledon’s possessed trees, their advantage is lost. Almost as soon as they appear, they’re retreating, slipping back into the Miravow.
The sun is low in the sky now. I’m surprised to realize we’ve spent most of the day in the forest. Though I’m exhausted, Imake Leon take us straight to the healer’s tent, searching for Harman. I find him there with Alastor. Mal’s already working on his wounds, slowing the flow of blood, but Harman looks pale as a corpse.
I have to look away when I get a glimpse of his stomach, the torn flesh revealing the sheen of organs underneath. It’s then I recognize other faces among the healers in the tent: Heda from the Crossed Keys is using her balms and potions on our injured while Lafia works diligently as her assistant.
