Alina undid the buckles on her belt, grimacing as the stitches in her side pulled and threatened to tear. Beneath her, Rynvar gave a series of soft clicks, then a rumble as he leaned his head down and tilted his wing, bringing Alina as close to the ground as he could.
She let out a grunt as her feet touched the soft grass. Beside her Amari, Lukira, and Mera slid from their wyverns' backs and joined her.
"I won't be long," Alina whispered to Rynvar, running her hand along the black-trimmed orange scales of his snout and looking into the sapphire blue of his eyes. She drew in a sharp breath and squared her shoulders, clenching the muscles in her jaw to hold back the pain from where the Lorian spear had sliced through her leathers.
"It's still bleeding."
Alina looked down to see a line of blood seeping through her tunic. "Fuck… The stitches must have opened. I'll have Diara restitch it. It doesn't matter – better they see that I bled too." She inclined her head towards where the Andurii had built their campfires on a flat-topped hill, tents pitched at the top and bottom.
As Alina and her wing-sisters neared the top of the hill, four figures rose around the fire, the light of the flames illuminating their faces: Marlin, Dinekes, Ileeri, and Barak – the Andurii captains, though Odys and Jorath were missing.
Seeing the captains stand, the other Andurii who sat around the fires did the same, realising it was Alina who approached. She saw more familiar faces amongst them: Tarine Valanis, who had once guarded her study in Redstone; Iloen Akaida, whom she had known since she was a child; Juna and Thuram, whom she had assigned to watch over Dayne when he'd first arrived in Stormshold. They straightened their backs, open hands pressed against their chests. "By blade and by blood," they chorused.
"By blade and by blood," Alina repeated, stepping into the firelight. "Please, sit. Rest."
Tentatively, many of the Andurii settled back into the positions they had been sitting in, groaning from the wounds sustained that day as they did. The four captains remained standing.
"You're bleeding." Marlin took a step towards Alina, but she waved him away, frowning.
"That's what happens when someone cuts you. You should know." Alina raised her eyebrows and nodded at the bandages that were wrapped around Marlin's arms and over his shoulder. "Where are the others?"
The looks on the captains' faces answered that question, and Alina felt a flash of worry for Dayne until she reminded herself she had seen him after the fighting at the River Artis.
"Odys and Jorath dine in Achyron's halls. Odys died in the ambush, Jorath near the end."
Alina closed her eyes for a moment, nodding slowly. "I'm sorry."
"Do not be." Marlin shook his head. "I would have given the same call, as would any of us."
Earlier that day, they had been crossing the River Artis towards Myrefall when they were ambushed by Thebalan and Lorian forces. The Lorian mages had collapsed the bridges after only a fraction of Alina's forces had crossed. Dayne's Andurii, along with Senya Deringal's forces and Turik Baleer's cavalry had been trapped on the far side. Thebalan and Lorian warriors fell upon them, emerging from the woodlands to the west, Varsundi Blackthorn riders leading the charge. When Alina had ordered the rest of the force to cross the river, the Lorian mages froze the water solid. All who had tried to cross were frozen in place – those who survived would never walk again. The blood and shattered limbs was a sight that would haunt Alina's nightmares until the day she died.
Alina looked over the faces of the Andurii captains before her. She and Marlin had selected them carefully. They were masters of the spear and blade from Houses that had supported House Ateres for generations, and each of them had sworn loyalty to Alina. Odys and Jorath had done the same. Alina had always known there would be blood and death on this path to freedom. It's all she'd ever known. She'd seen her parents' bodies swinging in the plaza, seen Kal's cold body lifeless on the ground – her love, dead. The empire had only ever shown her blood and death. Though that didn't make the weight of it any easier to bear. "Where is Dayne? I need to speak with him."
The cold light of the moon washed down over the fields of corn, wheat, and barley as Dayne's horse walked along the dirt path that led to the old farmhouse. Wooden fences on either side marked the edges of the fields.
The dirt crunched beneath the horse's hooves, breaking the nocturnal chorus of chirps and clicks of the kiakas – winged insects about the size of Dayne's thumb – that were synonymous with the Valtaran countryside.
Dayne's family had owned the farm near Myrefall for over three hundred years, but they'd always rented the land around the house to a local farming family – House Url. Dayne's father had brought Dayne, Alina, and Baren to the farm many times when they were younger, mostly to escape the constant chaos of Skyfell. They would often play in the fields and swim in the ocean. Some nights they would even share evening meal with House Url. Daemon Url had protested at first. "A House like yours shouldn't be sharing evening meal with a House like mine," he would say.
Arkin Ateres had pretended to be insulted, before laughing and telling Daemon off for even suggesting such a thing.
This farm was a happy place with few complications, which was a rare treasure.
"Easy boy." Dayne slipped from the saddle as the horse drew close to the farmhouse. He tethered the animal to the edge of the fence and ran his hand along its muzzle, patting its cheek. "I won't be long."
The farmhouse was built almost entirely from Thrakian oak except for the roof shingles, which were made from Lakala wood. Dayne's father had once told him that the natural resins in Lakala wood helped protect from moisture. The house stood only a single story high but stretched almost a hundred feet long and just over thirty feet wide. A wooden deck extended from the front, with three steps leading to the main door.
Three Thrakian oaks stood tall amidst the patchy grass of the grounds that surrounded the house, sentinels of generations passed. In Dayne's memory the grass had always been lush and green, but rainfall had been scarce recently.
Dayne made his way up the steps, avoiding the second; it had always creaked.
He touched the door, slowly as though he was afraid the wood might burst into flames. The front door was the newest part of the house, new enough to be almost smooth. Dayne's brother, Baren, had smashed the old, rotted one off its hinges when he had seen no more than fifteen summers. He'd been chasing Dayne through the house, but when Dayne had leapt through the front door and slammed it behind him, the iron latch had fallen and locked into place. He'd known the door had needed replacing, but when Baren burst through and sent the door careening down the steps in a cloud of splinters, he'd realised just how rotted it truly was. Their mother and father had just laughed, deep, bellyaching laughs.
They ate their evening meal on the deck that night: pork stuffed with cheese – made from a blend of sheep and goat's milk – garlic, and sun-dried tomatoes, all glazed in a tangy sauce. It was one of the memories that had stayed crystal clear amidst a sea of blurred images and half-truths.
He touched his fingers against the door, taking one more look at the deck and the old chairs his mother and father had once sat in, before pushing forwards and stepping inside.
Within seconds he knew Baren had been there no more than three weeks past but was now gone. The sweet, citrusy smell of paoen flowers mingled with the distinct aroma of thyme hung in the air. The flowers sat in a terracotta vase on the short table at the far side of the room, sagged and colourless. Those flowers grew in the garden out back, and Baren had always loved their smell. He had also always been meticulous about their care once picked. The flowers would have lasted almost two weeks with his attention, and about another seven sunrises to get to their current state. The wooden floors had been swept, and the central table, along with the countertops, had been wiped down, but a layer of dust had resettled on both.
"You were supposed to wait for me." Dayne shook his head. He slipped a round-backed knife – the one Therin had given him all those years ago – from his belt and flipped it into reverse grip before stepping further into the room that acted both as the antechamber and the kitchen. Years with Belina had drilled into him to keep a knife handy even when he thought he wouldn't need one. 'Knives are your friends, Dayne. Unless they're in my hands and you've pissed me off.'
Dayne held back the reflexive smile that crept onto his face as he imagined Belina saying the words. He stepped across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards by force of habit. A sheet of paper lay on the table at the centre of the room, folded in half.
Dayne reached out to the Spark, giving an involuntary groan of relief as warmth flooded his body, stilling the aches and pains in his joints, calming the burning where steel had sliced his flesh earlier that day. He pulled on threads of Air and Spirit, allowing the cool touch to tickle his skin before he weaved the threads together and pushed them through the house. He let the threads drift on the air and snake across the floor, feeling for subtle vibrations: heartbeats, shifting feet, held breaths. After he pushed the threads through every room, he let go of the Spark but kept the knife in his right hand, Belina's voice again sounding in his head, 'Put it down and I'll put it in you.'
Dayne lifted the letter from where it sat on the table, folding back the top half with his thumb.
Brother,
What do I say? What can truly be said that would ever make better the things I've done? All these years I told myself I was doing what you would have done – what needed to be done to hold the House together. But as I sit here, waiting, I realise that all I did was tear the House apart.
Loren Koraklon had Mother and Father's bodies strung up in the plaza. For days they forced Alina and me to sit there and watch as they swung in the breeze. They didn't even use rope. They used meat hooks. They treated them like livestock, humiliated them. I'm not writing this so you will pity me. I'm writing this so that you know I understand that I was wrong.
I watched that, and I told Alina to bite her tongue. I told her we needed to fall in line for the sake of the House. I wanted to protect her, but I made her watch our mother's headless body swing. I told myself I was doing what you would have done, but I know you never would have done that.
I can't change it. I can't make it right. There are so many things I can't make right, but I'm not going to sit here and stew in my own self-loathing.
Alina's boy, did she ever tell you what she named him? I don't suppose she did. I've already taken so much from her, I won't take that. Ask her. When Loren demanded her child be taken, as all other firstborns were, a woman called Helaena Lakaris was the one who took him, along with the others.
I can't change the past, Dayne, but I wanted you to know I've not turned my back on my family. It just took you to remind me what family truly is. I'm going north. I know a smuggler who operates out of Myrefall. He can get me to Antiquar. I'll find him, Dayne, our nephew. I'll find him, or I'll die in the trying. I'll send reports to old Girda who runs The Orange Tree just outside Skyfell. If something does happen, at the least you can finish what I've started.
One more thing, brother. In Redstone you told me you haven't forgiven me, just as I have not forgiven you. I don't ask for your forgiveness. But I wanted you to know you were wrong. I do forgive you. You came back.
Look after her,
Always your shadow, forever your brother,
Baren
A tear fell from Dayne's cheek, landing on the page with a splat, the moisture turning the paper translucent. He just stood there for a few moments, his body tense, then, still gripping the letter, he wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the table's edge and roared, hurling the table through the air, threads of Spirit and Air whipping around him. The table crashed into a support post and snapped in half, splinters spraying. He stood in the middle of the room, shaking, his fingers squeezing around the handle of the knife in his right hand.
He drew in ragged breaths, his jaw clenching so tight he thought his teeth might snap. His family had been torn to shreds. And it had all started that night just over twelve years gone. That one night had changed his entire life. The empire had taken everything. Loren Koraklon had taken everything. Dayne knew three names from the boat where his parents died: Sylvan Anura, Harsted Arnim, and Loren Koraklon.
Harsted was nothing but char and ash; Dayne saw to that. Sylvan Anura only wished that was her fate. There had been many others along the way. Eight hundred and twenty-six in total between that day and now. But Loren Koraklon… Dayne would rip that man's heart from his chest.
The sound of wingbeats echoed outside, thumping over the kiakas' chorus. Dayne glanced to where the table lay in two pieces, splinters littering the floor, then shook his head. If the world was ever in a place where he would have cause to bring happiness back to this farmhouse, he would replace the table. Until that day, it would stay broken, just like everything else.
Dayne took a moment before going back outside, knowing what was awaiting him. He slid the round-backed knife into its sheath on his belt, then stepped out into the warm Valtaran night air.
"What are you doing here, Dayne?"
Alina stood about six paces back from the bottom step of the deck. She still wore her leather skirts and sturdy riding boots, but her cuirass was replaced by a simple cream linen tunic marred by a blood streak along the left side. Behind her, Rynvar stood with his winged forelimbs pressed into the ground, his neck extended over Alina's right shoulder. The wyvern was almost big enough to be a small dragon, his neck thick with muscle, body twice the size of most other wyverns.
Rynvar stared at Dayne, lips pulling back in a snarl, blue eyes fixed on him.
"It's been a long time," Dayne said, avoiding the second step as he descended from the deck to the ground. "And today has been a hard day. We have happy memories here."
Alina let out a laugh that was tinted in no small part with anger. "Have you ever noticed how you do that? Is it on purpose?"
"Do what?" Dayne narrowed his eyes at Alina.
"How you lie without lying? It has been a long time. It has been a hard day. We do have happy memories here. None of those things are lies. But they're not why you're here."
"Not today, Alina." Dayne made to step past his sister.
"I know Baren is alive. You know I know that Baren is alive. So let's not play games. Just like you did now, you never actually told me you would kill him that day. I knew you wouldn't. Maybe that's partly why I left you to it." She turned her head, letting out a long sigh through her nostrils. "Why is he alive, Dayne?"
Alina stared into Dayne's eyes with an intensity that caused his chest to tighten.
"Because he is family, Alina. And there's not much of that left."
Alina's voice became cold and level. "He had Kal killed. Baren had Kal's throat slit and left him to die like a pig."
"Alina, he—"
"He killed the only man I've ever loved, Dayne!" Alina's scream was so harsh her voice cracked, fire burning in her eyes, tears welling. "The only man I've ever loved… The only man besides Marlin who showed me any kindness after our father died and you left. Baren had him bled like an animal."
Dayne turned away, unable to look into Alina's grief-stricken eyes. "He did it to save you, Alina."
Alina sniffled as the laughter left her throat, snot and tears standing in the way of pure rage. "Is that what he told you?" She ran her tongue across her teeth and wiped snot away with her closed fist. Dayne couldn't help but notice both her hands were clenched, thumbs stuck into the fist – what she'd always done as a child when she was angry. "He told me that too. Told me he did it to stop Loren from flogging me in the plaza. Can I ask you a question, Dayne?"
Alina didn't wait for a response.
"If it was Mera, would that answer satisfy you? If I bled Mera dry and left her to die alone on a cold floor, would those words have been enough?" Alina's voice dropped to a sombre lament. "Kal laughed. All the time…" Her voice trembled, her words catching in her throat as tears rolled down her cheeks. "He was always laughing. He was the light of my life and the father of my child… the same child Baren took from me. You can stand there and say he did it to protect me, but would you have done the same? Or would you have come to me? Would you have treated me like a sister, like an equal? We could have come up with a plan… We could have done something… anything." Alina sniffed, wiping the tears away with a closed fist. She let out a cough and shook her head, straightening her back, changing the conversation. "I came looking for you, to see how you were after today. You lost Odys and Jorath. Along with fifteen more. The captains are still taking count of losses, and there are many still in triage. We lost over a thousand today… and it happened on my command. We should have scouted more. I should have had wyverns covering the sky days in advance. I should have been more prepared. I'm sorry."
"Men and women will die under your command every day until this war is over, Alina. You've led us to victory after victory. We've taken all the lands from Skyfell to Ironcreek to Myrefall in a matter of months. You've made the right call every step of the way. The truth of war is that no matter how much you win, you always lose." Dayne let the sound of the kiakas break the tension, their rhythmic chirping and clicking filling the air. "The garrison at Myrefall is near ten thousand strong. Lorian ships fortify their port and keep them stocked to withstand a siege. Ten thousand or so more patrol the open lands between the city and Achyron's Keep. Loren Koraklon's banners have swollen to near thirty-five thousand on last count, and the Lorian reinforcements arrived weeks back."
"Why are you telling me everything the scouts told me this morning?"
"Because it's time you considered what I've said. It's time we send a hawk to Aeson."
Alina's stance shifted, her chin rising a bit higher, her shoulders rolling back. "I've told you. This is our fight. This is our land. I'm happy to use his war as a distraction, but I will not go crawling on my knees to the man who promised our parents the world and abandoned them when they needed him. We are Valtarans. Our blood traces back for thousands of years. The blademasters of Valtara are legend. We will drive the empire from our home. And we don't need Aeson Virandr to do it."
"At what cost, Alina? How much Valtaran blood must feed the soil before Valtara is free?"
"As much as it takes!" Alina roared. Her chest heaved, her breaths trembling. She steadied herself. "I will not send our people to die needlessly. But there are some things worth bleeding for, some things worth dying for. If Loren has thirty-five thousand, then we will wait, and we will raise the banners of every House, Major and Minor, from the southern coasts to the Abaddian cliffs. They will stand for a free Valtara, and we will raise an army that will make the ground shake."
Dayne couldn't help but admire the flames that burned in Alina's heart. There were some things worth bleeding for, worth dying for. And Alina was one of those things. As was Mera. He had said much the same thing to Aeson Virandr about six years ago. "Alina, I am your sword. Wherever you send me, I will go. Whatever battle, I will fight it. Whatever price, I will pay it. But we need to use our heads as well as our hearts. The new Draleid stands by Aeson's side. A dragon is worth ten thousand men."
"What have dragons ever done for us, Dayne? Dragons took everything from us. Dragonfire burned Stormwatch. Dragonfire killed every rebellion before this. It is dragonfire that put the Lorian boot on our necks."
"And it is steel that took our father's life and our mother's head." Dayne's voice rose higher than he had intended, his blood flush with anger – not at Alina but at life and the cost of living, at everything that had been taken. "Would you have us fight with sticks because of what steel has done?"
Alina glared at Dayne, and he could see the cold fury in her eyes. She turned and walked back towards Rynvar, the wyvern dipping his neck to allow her to mount him. "Be ready in the morning," Alina said, her voice devoid of emotion. "We march for Myrefall at dawn's light. I will have High Commander Arnen select a hundred of his best. You can bolster the Andurii ranks with whomever you choose. Be ready to bleed. Valtara demands it."
Alina whispered something to Rynvar, and the wyvern let out a series of clicks followed by a roar as he stepped forwards, cracked his wings against the air, and took flight.
Dayne stood and watched as the orange-scaled wyvern vanished into the clouds above, the beating of his wings lingering on the air.