Page 226 of When Sisters Collide
Leywani’s mind raced. She’d seen firsthand what Katell could do—how the Makhai had torn through the slaves like they were nothing. If the legions unleashed them on the rebels, it wouldn’t be a battle. It would be another slaughter.
She lifted her eyes to Velthur, the fear in her gut sharpening into something harder. Determination. “How can we stop her?”
“There is no stopping her.” Velthur’s voice was grim, unwavering. “Not by mortal hands.” He let out a breath, his gaze shifting to the river. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed… uncertain. “But the Western gods are older,” he said at last. “More ancient. More powerful.” He turned back to her, his dark eyes measuring. “I’m putting all my faith in them to find a way. Otherwise, it will be a massacre.”
A pause. Then, lower, almost like a command—one final order shehadto carry out—he added, “Tell them what you witnessed. Tell them to be ready.”
An icy wind stirred around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and river water. Lecne had finished loading the supplies, standing by the boat in silence, waiting.
Leywani gripped the scroll tighter, her nails pressing into the parchment.
There was no time for fear now.
Steeling her nerves, she stepped towards the boat.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
LEYWANI
The journey by boat took three long days and nights. The river carried them westwards, its dark waters rippling beneath a sky that shifted from grey to gold and back again. In the early mornings, mist hovered over the surface, curling like ghostly fingers around their small vessel until the sun burned it away. At night, the water mirrored the stars, stretching in every direction, turning the river into a passage between worlds.
Leywani had never been on a boat before, but Lecne taught her what she needed—how to steady the vessel when the currents turned rough, how to handle an oar, how to adjust the small sail to catch the wind just right. Her hands blistered at first, the repetitive motion of rowing unfamiliar, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. She wasn’t about to let Lecne do all the work.
Not that he complained. The Rasennan soldier was steady, patient, taking on the brunt of the labour without question. When she grew tired, he told her to rest, and despite her initial resistance, exhaustion eventually won out. Yet in the darkness ofher dreams, the twisted forms of the Makhai rose again, writhing through nightmares that left her gasping and drenched in sweat. He kept watch most nights, letting her sleep beneath the rough woollen cloak Velthur had given her, but she never felt truly at ease.
They passed a few settlements and fishermen along the way—watchful eyes tracking them from the banks, cautious nods exchanged from afar—but no one stopped them. No one called out. Left alone, the current carried them forward in a quiet, steady motion.
Leywani sat near the bow, watching the rippling water, but after a while, her gaze drifted to Lecne. He rowed with an easy rhythm, his movements efficient and practised. The light brown of his hair caught the sun, tousled by the breeze that skimmed off the water. He had round features with a square jawline. His long-sleeved tunic clung to his frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and scarred hands.
He was different from the other soldiers she’d encountered. Less rigid, less severe. Yet there was something about him she couldn’t quite place.
When he caught her looking, he held her gaze a moment before turning back to the river ahead. “Have you ever been to the Western Lands?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Leywani glanced up from where she sat, hands curled around the edges of the boat to steady herself against the gentle rocking of the current. She shook her head. “No. I’ve never been this far west.”
It was an understatement. In truth, she’d never even seen the Deep River until the Rasennan legion came for them, dragging them from their homes and back to Dodona—an event that seemed like a lifetime ago now.
“Your mother was a Westerner?” she dared to ask, remembering Velthur’s words.
“A slave,” Lecne replied, his voice steady, though something flickered across his face. “She worked for a noble family in Kisra. Her master assaulted her, then cast her out when he found out she was with child. My grandfather, a senator, took us in and gave us refuge in his summer villa in Pumpai. I grew up Rasennan, but my heart has always been Western.” He paused, gaze distant, as if lost in memory. “My grandfather made sure I understood exactly what kind of corrupt monster the Emperor was. When I came of age, he asked for my help to bring him down. He sacrificed a great deal to Laran so I could obtain a Gift.”
He raised the hem of his tunic, revealing the crimson Mark of a sword and shield on one side of his muscled stomach. The Mark, vivid against his sun-kissed skin, gleamed like a brand. “I joined the legions on his command and spent two years with Dalmatius in the Sixth before moving into the Tarquinian Guard. That’s where I met Velthur. We’ve been working together ever since.”
Leywani wanted to ask more, but Lecne’s usual ease hardened. “We’re here.”
The river ahead widened, joining the Rodanos—the border of the Western Lands. Here, the silvery-blue waters surged with power, a constant roar echoing like distant thunder.
Lecne adjusted the ropes, guiding the boat into the swift current. He didn’t speak, but Leywani sensed his wariness in the tension of his hands on the oar and in the quick, sharp movements of his eyes, as if the current itself might swallow them whole.
She gripped the side of the boat, peering at the churning flow. “What is it?”
Lecne pressed his lips tight. “The Rodanos is guarded by a river god. He can choose to let us cross… or drown us where wesit. The two rivers keep the border safe from Rasennan soldiers, but as long as we carry no ill intent, he should allow us passage.”
A chill passed over her skin despite the sun. The water, dark and shifting beneath them, no longer seemed like a river but a living thing—watching, judging.
She held her breath as they drifted forward. The oar cut the surface, sending ripples outwards in silvered rings, but the current didn’t fight them. No swell rose from the depths.
The god had let them pass.
