Page 63 of Merciless Is My Crown

“That’s another six, seven days, Zor,” I muttered. “Too long.”

“You go on ahead. Get to Nightcairn, make sure they’re not there, then head to Stormfall.” Zor ground his teeth together. “I’ll catch up when I can.”

“And you’ll be navigating through the snows which will take even longer.” I stared out over the desolation. “She needs us, Zor, and we won’t fucking be there. We’re letting her down.”

“Tavion and Tristan…”

“They don’t anticipate danger like we do. They won’t deal with threats like we would.” I straightened as Torin and Zephryn approached. “And I don’t trust Adele. She’d sell her own daughter for a seat at the table.”

Zor’s quiet hum of agreement was overshadowed by Zephryn’s rough growl.

“I’ll allow you to carry me to the mainland, but no further.” His shoulders were so fucking stiff you’d think we were asking him to crawl on his knees to Tempeste, not allow us to carry his prideful arse there.

Zor, to his credit, took the bastard’s arm.

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty. Try not to vomit on me, will you? These are the only clothes I have.”

Not a single soul looked at us twice in the port city because word of what happened in Caladrius had finally reached Varitus and spread like wildfire. Boats were being filled with cargo and putting to sea as if the captains hoped to outrun the sea of refugees heading their way.

When the Fae arrived on these shores—if they survived that long—there would be nowhere else for them to go except north to the mines, and the unfortunate souls who ended up there…I shivered, the watery sun doing nothing to warm me.

After a long, drawn-out argument, Zephryn refused to be carried again, and Zor and I had used so much magic we required time to replenish.

“Horses,” Zor decided. “Moving is better than standing around. We’ll ride for the wall. Three days, if we stay off the main roads. Then another three to Tempeste.” Even from here, I heard his teeth grind together. Six days before we reached the city and Bexley, who Torin was putting an undue amount of faith in to heal Zephryn.

Fuck knew how long that would take.

By the time we arrived in the High Barrens, Anaria would have been on her own for over a week, in an unknown place amongst strange people—dangerous people—whose first instinct would be to view her as a threat.

To their throne. To their power. To their way of life.

I didn’t care about Dane’s supposed close ties to the witches or Torin’s assurances…I had a bad feeling about this.

“I’ll find us horses,” I offered, heading down the dusty road before Zor responded. I’d been in this shite city before, never wanted to see it again, yet here I was, heading to the stables to beg a favor.

Good thing the stable master owed me.

We left three hours later, heads covered in old, tattered cloaks, sitting on four of the most pathetic nags I’d ever seen, but we were moving, heading east toward Tempeste. Simon flew overhead until we reached the edge of a forest, then alighted on Torin’s shoulder, tucking his head beneath his wing and sleeping.

“Good,” Zor murmured. “He’ll take first watch tonight.”

I didn’t say a word as we plodded along, step by miserable step, slow as snails when we should have been flying. When we could have already been halfway to Anaria.

But leaving Torin and Simon with a half-dead dragon shifter surrounded by a sea of dangerous, starving Fae…Anaria would fucking kill us both if we abandoned her now.

We ran into the first wave of refugees on the second day and diverted off the cart path into the forest, which meant we made even worse time, taking an old hunting trail Zor remembered.

Then we diverted south, to the gate, the closest point to cross through the wall separating Varitus from Caladrius. That detour took an entire day, fighting the desperate crowds, some of whom decided it would be a good idea to yank Torin down off her horse.

Zephryn left them in pieces behind us, and we rode silently into Caladrius, past the picked-over skeletons of a hundred Fae guards, killed in an instant by Anaria’s magic when she’d crossed over that first time.

“Holy gods, I never thought I’d see this.” Zor reined his horse to a stop, and we watched refugees loot what little was left—nothing really except some soiled fabric and bleached-out bones.

“Is this what I think it is?” Torin’s expression was horrified, and part of me hated her for it.

“Yes.” A chill slithered down my spine. “So take a good fucking look since you were the reason Anaria was brought here in the first place,” I hissed. “Their deaths are as much on you as they were on the king. And the fucking Oracle.”

“Do not speak to her like that.” Zephryn rammed his horse into mine, bloodthirst shining in his eyes. “Or I will tear your head from your body and leave you here alongside them.”

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