Page 127 of Between Fear and Favor

So I forced their hand.

Rifting to the west of the Seat, I stepped onto the thatched stable roof. Close enough to the imposing Seat of the Myriad, if the stable caught on fire, the remaining soldiers would have to move. Otherwise, the ancient building could light, bringing the history of the Myriad down along with it. After opening a rift from the rowhouses to the stable roof, it was only a matter of seconds before the blaze spread. Leaping from the rooftop, I kicked the gate in and went stall to stall, freeing the horses.

Terrified shouts echoed outside, and as I stepped back into the moonlight, I understood why. The spreading fire wasn’t the cause for the screaming—a dragon was. Irses’ enormous form blocked the moon, casting most of Lamera in threatening shadow.

“Fuck,” I murmured as I stared up at him. The dragon had found us and given us away in one fell swoop.

The soldiers who had responded to the fire couldn’t help themselves. Looking up at Irses, they all but stopped in the street to stare. Not wanting to be caught where I shouldn’t be, I slowly stepped back into the shadows, thankful for the dragon’s distraction.

“With a beast like that between her thighs, no wonder she yearns to conquer. How can the Vestian king satisfy a dragon’s whore?”

Two of the soldiers laughed, one elbowing the other.

“If she’s the dragon’s whore, does that make him the dragon’s cuck?”

I wasn’t sure the actions were entirely my own as I used my divinity to remove the air from their lungs. The three of them collapsed, and I decided I wouldn’t mind if Lamera burnt to the ground after all.

Chapter 55

HONOR

As my horsefollowed Dewalt and his sister, and the sun warmed my bones, it was hard to believe my tumble into the frozen lake had only been two days prior. Petunia, the mare Dewalt had spared, was staying behind at the village to recover, and Saski had traded us one of her horses. This one was named Betty, and she was a bit older. With a golden coat and a blonde mane, I thought she was quite pretty. But the most important part—for me, anyway—was that she was docile. Dickey rode quietly beside me, eyes heavy because of the early hour.

The farther south we rode, the more earth lodges there were compared to cabins. Some appeared to be dug into the earth, stairs formed in the ground around them, while others were daintily plopped atop the flat land like the one we’d stayed in. Though it had been nice to sleep on a bed the night before, Saski’s cabin was far draftier than the earth lodge had been. Some of the lodges even had windows cut into the walls, and a few people waved through them as Saski went past. One couple even came out to say hello to Dewalt, their hair as white as fallen snow.

When he dismounted to hug them, I couldn’t stop smiling. These were people who had known him his whole life, and the familiarity between them made my chest ache. I’d have given anything to have people care about me like that. It would have been a blessing to find a group of people who would accept me with open arms whenever I needed it—no matter the time or distance. Who did I have? There was no one left to care for me that way.

Dewalt’s hair caught shades of deep brown in the sunlight. It was as if the sun had found offense in my thoughts, highlighting exactly who I did have.

It wasn’t just Saski who had come to our aid the day before. People all over the village had visited in order to say hello to Dewalt, and not a single one came empty-handed. We were well-stocked with so much clothing, food, and well-wishes, I couldn’t help feeling bewildered.

Dewalt’s niece, Astrid, had taken one look at my tangled hair, and insisted on brushing it. After she wove it into a complicated braid down my back, she’d begged me to allow her to put a cream on my face to help with the wind-chapped skin. It had smelled of mint and made my eyes water, but I had to admit, it made a difference. Something had grown lighter within me when she didn’t comment on my burns. She was older, close to Dickey’s age, but still. Age rarely prevented insensitive comments.

I liked the pace of things here. The capital was so much faster. It was colder, meaner, and far more indifferent. I wasn’t sure if it was just because there were more people, or it was more crowded, or whatever it might have been, but it certainly wasn’t as kind. The king might have had plans to change it for the better, but I knew he’d have quite a task ahead of him.

Abruptly, I thought about having a choice. I could live here if I wanted to, after the war was over. It was strange to think about. I wouldn’t have enough money, perhaps, to build a cabin or hire someone to help build an earth lodge, but it was something I could strive for—if I wanted. Although, there was a stark lack of trees. The single oak in my garden had appeased me while living in Astana, but I missed them. When I was small, still living in Folterra with my mother and the man who sired me, I was always outside. I could often be found climbing the trees, scraping my palms on the bark, or sleeping in the shade. Once, I’d cried when the leaves fell before my mother convinced me to jump in them. I had remembered it vexing my mother, how often I wanted to be outside, probably because of her desperation to keep him happy by hiding what I was.

It was in my blood; elves and fae were called forestborn for a reason. It would make sense to live near a forest. To think about finding peace and living somewhere which brought joy to my heart? It was hard to imagine, now that my choices were limitless.

Unless Vesta fell to the Supreme.

Past the last earth lodge, there was a divine statuary, and I smiled at how well-kept the stone gods were. Weather-worn, certainly, but each god and goddess had been gently cared for. Behind the depictions of the gods, wooden gravemarkers stood in neat lines. Two pieces of wood crossed to have four points representing the gods, the paint at each point fading on many. With two points pushed into the ground, the black paint for Ciarden and blue for Rhia was hard to see even on the fresh grave farther south. But the red for Hanwen and white for Aonara were more resilient as they pointed skyward. Dewalt dismounted along with Saski, and I kept Betty from approaching, wanting to give them privacy. When Saski had mentioned showing him their mother’s grave on our way south, Dewalt had only stared for a few moments before nodding, quietly telling her he’d like to do that.

I still hadn’t found the nerve to visit my own mother’s grave. With marble gravemarkers, the faces of the gods carved into the stone, the temple’s burial ground had always felt cold. Nestled between the wisteria and my oak tree, they’d buried her among the other mistresses and masters. Part of me had just allowed her to exist on the fringes of my memories, tending to the sick or gone on a long trip away. Seeing her grave would make it final. I didn’t blame Dewalt for not coming back all this time.

He opened the gate, looking back at his sister with a raised brow.

“She’s beside Pa,” Saski said, pointing toward the westernmost row. Dewalt only hesitated for a moment, as if he’d expected her to join him, before turning in that direction. Long legs cut across the patches of snow and yellowed grass as he weaved between the markers. Stopping at two graves, both with faded paint, he knelt, bowing his head.

“What do the old gods say about death?” Saski asked, soft, as she came to wait beside me.

I hesitated, grasping at the boundaries of my memory. “I am no expert, but from my lessons, I know the old gods preferred honor and conviction. As long as a person lived their life honestly, they’d be welcome in the eternal lands. Our gods require a bit more from us, I think.”

“It makes sense he converted then. He is fierce in all things he believes to be honorable and true, just like our mother was. I often wish I had their certainty.” She watched her brother, a small smile lifting her lips. After a few hours with her, I knew she found humor often, evident in the deep laugh lines on her face. She was more boisterous while Dewalt’s humor was more dry, but they were very similar. He was still crouched, elbows resting on his knees, but his lips moved as if he were speaking. “She died a few months after the last time he visited. Astrid doesn’t remember Ma or her uncle.”

I didn’t know what to say. Did she want me to condemn his choices when I didn’t know exactly why he’d made them? Instead, I clung to the last thing she said. “Astrid is a very sweet girl. She reminds me of the princess.”

“Lavenia?” Saski’s eyes widened, nearly making me snort aloud. Incredulous, her mouth dropped open as she looked at me. “Gods love my daughter, but she’s nothing like—” She shook her head, trailing off.

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