Page 76 of A Queen This Fierce and Deadly

Removing his hand from his sword, he held it out, waiting until I put my own hand in his. He led me toward the tent that had been designated for us, and my gaze slammed into Galon’s.

His eyes were dark with concern. Concern and fear.

12

Prisca

We stayed at the camp for three days before packing up and traveling toward Thobirea. Rekja and Thora had left two days earlier to meet with his generals in a bid to shore up their defenses. But it seemed it was only a matter of time before Regner continued moving south, farther into Gromalia.

Daharak lost twenty ships to skyrions that had been deployed after her before Lorian had killed them. I could practically feel her fury dripping from the terse words of her messages. But she’d also kept my aunt alive, and for that, I would be forever thankful. She wasn’t happy about meeting us in Rekja’s castle, but she understood the need for a strategic conclave.

A day into our own travels east, I finally received a message from Madinia. The thought of her lying in the forest somewhere, dead by an iron guard’s blade… I hadn’t been able to stand it. I’d sunk into a denial so complete, that even if someone had told me she truly had perished, I don’t know if I ever would have accepted it.

She’d led a group of hybrids to safetybut had fallen unconscious and butted heads with an “overbearing healer who needed to learn her place.” When she’d finally left the gathering hybrids at the beginning of the Asric Pass, she’d begun working her way south through Eprotha, carefully staying clear of Regner’s soldiers.

I scribbled a quick message back, letting her know she should meet us in Thobirea.

Tears rolled silently down my cheeks as I watched the pigeon dart into the sky. Lorian wiped them away with his thumb, then leaned down, rubbing his nose gently against mine. “It would take more than Regner’s iron guards to kill Madinia,” he murmured wryly.

I shook my head. “Don’t jest. She’s fast and strong, but she was traveling with a group of hybrids. And we’ve still heard nothing from Vicer.”

“It’ll likely take him some time to come to terms with the attack,” Rythos said from his horse. We’d stopped to eat, and Lorian handed me up to my own horse before mounting his own.

“It wasn’t his fault,” I said.

“No,” Marth said. He was healed but tired easily, and as the shadows grew longer, he slumped in his saddle, leaning forward in a way that made it clear we would need to stop soon. Rythos wasn’t speaking to him—still livid about the way he had taken the knife for him. But Lorian had told me to let them discuss it when they needed to.

“It was Stillcrest’s fault,” Rythos said, not looking at Marth. “But Vicer will still wonder every day for the rest of his life if the hybrids who died were worth her free will.”

The thought was a depressing one.Just let him be alive. Alive and miserable is fine for now, just as long as he is breathing.

Lorian was growing increasingly quiet and refused to speak about the incident at the camp. I’d attempted to talk to him over the past few days, but he’d shut down. It had shaken him. I’d known that much by the dazed look in his eyes in that clearing.

Perhaps he’d just been…spooked. Perhaps his mind had simply struggled to accept that we were no longer in danger. But even now, while we were traveling, he continued to turn his head, as if he could hear something even the other fae could not. This was no longer about feeling watched. Something had changed.

The days were long. By the time we began approaching the Gromalian capital, any semblance of a cheerful mood had deserted us.

We stopped one final time on our way to the castle, and I stood by the river after filling my waterskin. A hand clamped down on my shoulder, spinning me. I let out a surprised yelp, almost falling into the river, my hand sliding down for my knife. But it was Lorian who’d grabbed me. Lorian, who was edging me back along the river, his sword in his hand.

An ambush this close to the capital? Where were Rythos and the others?

Darting to the side, I drew my own sword. And stared.

Lorian stood, teeth clenched, realization dawning in his eyes.

There was no one there.

But he was still looking at something. A strange, uneasy feeling took up residence in my gut.

“What is it, Lorian?”

He opened his mouth, and I sheathed my sword. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

Lorian sheathed his own sword and turned to face me. His expression was stony, his eyes distant. And I knew what he was doing.

“I know you think I can’t handle it—”

“Stop.” He was clutching my arms in a moment. “That’s not it, and you know it. I didn’t want to worry you. But you’re already worried. And I’m…concerned.”

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