Page 60 of A Trial of War
“Because you knew me before all this,” Seamus said. “You know what Iam, beneath the deeds of my past.” He raised his head, the faintest shimmer of the old Seamus flickering through the ruin Minaeve had left behind. “I was your friend and ally once. Let me prove I can be that again.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to, and for a moment, I saw him as he had been.
I exhaled, my voice low and distant. “You’ll remain here until we call on you. We can’t risk Minaeve getting her hands on you again.”
Seamus inclined his head, accepting it without argument. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Neera started to protest, but Skylar cut her off with a look.
Skylar’s hand brushed my arm, speaking into my mind,“You can’t forgive him yet. I know that. But, perhaps in time?”
“When did your heart become so soft, Spitfire?”
“Since he became the mate of my cousin. Neera is the kindest-hearted soul in Valdor. Perhaps their bond is a gift from the gods for Seamus’s torment these past five centuries.”
I stared at the joined hands of Seamus and Neera. The bond between them was clear. It was pure, ancient magic, uncorrupted even by five hundred years of darkness.
“We shall see.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Réalta Avermont
I could smell the faint trace of the harbors from Zircon City as we traveled north. It sang to an emotion deep in my chest, the salty sea air that would forever remind me of my home and the people I loved.
I kept my cloak drawn high. The hood shadowed my face, though no one was near enough on the roads to see it. Captain Ryder Wyndfall rode ahead, his broad back a dark silhouette against the moonlit hills, while Isolde kept pace beside me. Her small white mare moved with the grace of a spirit alongside my auburn mount.
Wyndfall’s cloak snapped in the wind as we entered the outskirts of Burns. He didn’t speak much; the weight of my father’s betrayal hung heavy on his shoulders.
Beside me, Isolde hummed under her breath, a healer’s habit I welcomed. The tune helped keep the fear from festering in my bones. I tried humming the notes with Isolde, but they died on my tongue. Still, I was grateful for the stretch of comfort her melody brought.
I swallowed heavily as we continued, knowing the roads shouldn’t have been this empty on our journey.
Farmers should have been bringing in the last of the harvest, and children should have been chasing stray goats through the meadows as we passed through clusters of homes on the outskirts of the main city. Instead, shutters were drawn, and fires burned low.
My people knew what was coming. War was like a pulse or a drumbeat you could sense from the souls of your feet to the crown of your head. Humans were not native to this land, but all of us here today were born in Valdor. We’d become a part of this world.
I tried not to look back, but the palace’s glow still burned in the deep corners of my mind. The marble towers of Zircon rose like swords against the stars at night, the banners of gold and crimson standing tall and strong as I fled.
Leaving was the right decision, but it didn’t make it any easier. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine the firelight reflecting off Minaeve’s jeweled crown on my final evening with them. The haunting turquoise gleam of her eyes still sent a chill along my spine.
My queen, my father had said.
None of this made sense. He named me his heir and refused to take another queen after my mother’s death. Something or someone had poisoned his mind. I could feel the truth of this in my bones. My father’s secret marriage to Minaeve and then naming her his queen went against everything we had built together.
And Skylar was my cousin… my cousin! Father refused to hear me on this, Minaeve whispering in his ear that this was a lie for control, or a trap.
It could be. But the way she looked at my aunt’s portrait was anything but a ruse. I believed her.
Wyndfall raised his hand for us to slow as the forest closed around the path. Branches tangled above us, shutting out the skyline as the horses snorted, their breath steaming in the cold evening air.
“We’ll rest here,” he said. His tone was low and steady, just as I remembered as a child. “The next stretch runs open along the cliffs going north. We need to rest before taking that route.”
Isolde slid from her saddle and stretched her arms. She was petite, with a round face and long auburn hair that was braided back for travel. Her hands were healer’s hands, calloused, and yet, ever so caring.
“I can make a small fire,” she offered. “Enough to warm our hands and feet, not enough to be seen from the main roads.”
“Thank you,” Wyndfall said with a warm smile toward his wife, as he dismounted and moved to check the perimeter.
