“Rest, Goldfinch,” I murmur. “Rest, and then wake up for me.”
I fall asleep sitting right there next to her, listening to the tune of her even breaths threading in and out. It’s the only reassurance I have. Because even now, while her aura still wisps faintly around her and her eyes stay firmly shut, I can sense the seed of rot that’s settled into the soil of her chest and taken root.
And still, it does not answer to me.
CHAPTER 9
OSRIK
The moment I landed back in Ranhold, I got the army moving.
It was a disorganized, rushed shitstorm, but there was no time to waste. Hopefully, the soldiers are restless and rested, because we have to get the fuck out of Fifth Kingdom.
On my horse, I gallop up and down the lines as the rest of the soldiers finish packing up. There are shouts and clangs, things being tossed unceremoniously in carts and barrels, tents being rolled up, and horses being saddled.
Within ten minutes, I had the front of the army moving. Another ten, and the middle was underway. Now, I’m getting the soldiers at the back in motion. Of course, a prick of a winter storm starts boasting its grit right as the last of us get going, blowing snow on top of us like it’s trying to prove it’s stronger.
Fuck that.
The army might be slightly unprepared in our hasty withdrawal, but they’re strong. Lu, Judd, Ryatt, Rip and I have all made sure of it.
Taking my horse around the ranks, I encourage them to go faster as they hastily get moving, while also making sure all the stragglers are accounted for. “Alright, Keg?” I holler.
The man dumps a pile of snow on top of the cooking fire, extinguishing it in a mess of steam and smoke before tossing a pot into the back of his cook’s cart. “Alright, Captain,” he calls back. “But this really cuts into my meal prep time for breakfast.”
“I’m sure your breakfast will be fine.”
He places his hand over his chest. “Aww, are you saying I’m the best, most capable cook in the army, Captain?”
I roll my eyes. “Keep an eye on things back here, will you? Whistle if you need me.”
“Will do.”
For the next hour, I tromp my horse up and down the lines, shouting encouragement and orders, getting everyone going quicker as we start to march away from Fifth. Normally, I’d wait for the storm to pass, but I don’t trust Queen Kaila, and considering what happened in that ballroom tonight, we can’t afford to sit around while they decide if they want to risk attacking us or not.
Rip wants the army back in Fourth, so I’ll get it back to Fourth.
But the sky is a dick. Slapping our faces with frigid air, spewing out streams of wet sleet. It’s turned the ground into a sloppy fucking nightmare, and the dripping wind just keeps groaning and crying like a little bitch.
I hate this Divine-damned kingdom.
I think that’s the consensus of every single soldier as we march all night, so at least the shitty elements are making us even more motivated to get the fuck out of here.
By the time I call for the army to stop, dawn is about to crest and the storm is still jacking off, dumping its endless load on us.
Fucking prick.
The mountain pass where I have us stop gives us some protection at least. Everyone pitches their tents, flint sparked to start hasty fires so we don’t all freeze to death. The mountainside blocks most of the wind, and if we angle the tents right, we keep most of the snow from tearing right through them.
Much to my horse’s irritation, I don’t stop checking the perimeter until I get a full headcount from all of the lieutenants and the first watch patrol has been put into effect. Only once most of the army are bundled up inside their tents or hovering around fires do I finally stop my vigil, bringing my horse to where the others are being sheltered.
As soon as I dismount, a soldier named Himinn rushes over. “I put up your tent, Captain,” he calls over the wind, snow battering his chapped face.
“I keep saying that you don’t have to do that shit for me,” I tell him.
The boy is barely ranked, only joined the army this past summer, and he’s been grateful for me accepting his application ever since. Caught him spit-shining my shoes once when I didn’t remember to put them away.
He shrugs with a smile, showing off his chipped front tooth, and then immediately takes the reins. “I’ll put your horse with the others, take good care of him.”
“Himinn,” I start to say, but I’m cut off when a sharp whistle sounds.
The soldier takes the opportunity to slink away with my mount, while I turn around and find Keg strolling up, twigs tied into his long, twisted hair.