Page 86

Ask the Dark Fae to lure them away from the camp. The further, the better. I need time alone with Niersen.

Tova gave me a final look of understanding. Heavy hooves thundered closer. I gestured for him to run while I crouched over a pile of dry debris, using the sharp bark to scratch my inner thigh.

Siras pushed through the undergrowth, his eyes blazing with fury, but stopped dead, looking at the trace of blood on the leaves.

‘What…?’ he stuttered, watching me size up the maple leaves.

‘Can I ask for my belt? I wouldn’t want to dirty your saddle with my monthly visitor.’ I reached out my hand. To his credit, he approached, then lifted my sleeves and inspected my forearms. ‘Seriously, Siras? Don’t you have a wife, or at least a mother?’ I scoffed.

His jaw twitched. He looked towards the fallen tree still blocking the path. His eyes narrowed as the invisible cogs turned in his head. ‘Fine. Come with me. You can pick what you need from your belt; that’s it. Then we ride.’

That was all I needed. I might not be a proficient pickpocket, but Brotherhood training was rather eclectic, and I bet I could fool the uptight Tangrian Prefect.

I took a step towards him and hissed in pain, reaching for my thigh as the fabric rubbed against the fresh cut. At the last moment, I grabbed my stomach. Concern replaced the suspicion on Siras’ face. In two long strides, he reached me, lifting me off the ground.

‘Let me go!’ I dug my nails into the gaps in his armour.

‘You’re in pain. I told you before, Roksana, and I’ll repeat myself. I don’t like torturing women, even ones as annoying as you,’ he answered.

I laughed at his righteous indignation. ‘If that were true, you wouldn’t have shot me when I was fleeing Tivala’s castle. You can repeat that lie as much as you want, but you and I both know the truth.’

He put me down beside his horse with such force my knees buckled. The saddle tilted as he ripped my belt from the travel bag pocket and passed it to me, his knuckles white.

‘Did it occur to you that all I saw was a rampaging monster and the mage who’d created it? I tried to take you away from Tivala’s dungeons, but the old fool refused to listen.’ Rage hardened his stare. I used this distraction and slipped a few pouches of sleep powder from the belt’s hidden compartment.

‘Oh please, leave playing the righteous knight to the Lumivitae bastards. You wanted my magic, that’s all it was,’ I scoffed, pushing the powder into my rolled-up sleeves while openly taking a roll of bandages. His gaze dropped to my hands, and he inhaled slowly.

‘Your magic gave me the excuse to save you. What Tivala did to those women confirmed that Tir ha Mor should be purged.’ The disgust on his face was real. Almost too real.

For the first time, I understood the beliefs of those who followed Tangra’s banner. I swallowed hard. ‘I will ask you once, Siras, as the Queen of Dagome. Fight with us. This conquest will fail. I offer you a way out of this madness.’

Bitterness twisted his features. ‘You haven’t been crowned yet you want me to betray my people? Aren’t you fighting to save yours? How are your deeds more justifiable than mine?’

‘I’m fighting to protect my home,’ I answered.

Siras took my belt and placed it in his bag. ‘Me too. Tangra is disappearing beneath the red glittering sands. They whisper in the night, beautiful and deadly. Each century robs us of more fertile soil…’ He swallowed hard and rested a hand on the horse, stroking its coat with absent-minded gentleness. ‘The day I joined the military, the last peach tree in my mother’s yard died. Don’t ask me to betray my people, unless you can promise that peach tree will bloom again.’

For a moment, we stood in silence. Then I placed my hand on his, hating myself for comforting the man destroying my kingdom.

‘I’m sorry we are enemies, Siras. I truly am.’

His gaze dropped to my hand, and his eyebrow arched. He didn’t take his hand away, but his shoulders sagged before he gave me a tired smile.

‘You aren’t my enemy, Roksana. You are the key to my people’s future. A very troublesome key.’ His hands closed around my waist, lifting me onto the saddle. ‘There’s a river close by. You can arrange yourself there.’

He jumped up behind me, and I did my best to sit as far away from him as I could. Compassion couldn’t cloud my judgement. If I had to choose between Siras and Dagome, killing him would be so much harder if I thought he could be redeemed. This time we rode until dusk.

Night couldn’t come fast enough.

The sun had set an hour ago, but Siras only now allowed us to stop. The soldiers were run ragged after the journey, while I was still tense with anticipation. For the last few hours, I’d been worried he wouldn’t stop at all.

Sweat dripped from the horses’ sides, and even Siras could barely stand when we dismounted. His tent was the only one in the clearing, and he ordered me inside and stationed four men around the tent. The Prefect wasn’t taking any chances.

‘Makosh, please hear your daughter and let the Care’etavos attack,’ I whispered, pacing the small space.

Siras stayed with his men till late, but when he returned, he carried a bowl of hunter’s stew. He observed me in silence as I ate. In his absence, he’d donned full armour, his expression grim as if he expected the worst.

‘The Dark Fae followed us here. I’m going to resolve the problem before the bastards cut our throats while we’re sleeping,’ he said, and it sounded as if he was asking permission. I raised my head from the bowl.