My. Kingdom.
Earlier, while I was slumped here watching Slátra tear three Moltenmaws from the sky and fry the feathers of many more, The Fade’s young queen came to visit me in my guest chamber. Offered to remove the iron pin from my thigh.
We spoke in hushed tones as she worked, and she apologized for the actions of her male—King Cadok Vaegor—who offered his aid to the Tri-Council and sent their thunder of mercenary Moltenmaws to secure me.
I got the feeling she regrets that she let the male “slither into her sleep space,” conceiving a youngling who forced them into a binding that tied The Burn and The Fade together in a secure knot.
I took my veil off and let her see my face, gaunt as it is.
She wrapped me in a warm, sturdy embrace, reminding me that there’s still some good in the world.
Together, we watched Slátra wage a lonely war until the Queen was done mending my wound and retired to her chambers. Still, I rest on the windowsill runed against my escape and pray to Clode despite the chilling silence brought on by these cuffs of iron.
I beg her to tell Slátra to fight her battle this slumber but, once the aurora rises, to turn around. To return to Arithia, curl up in the hutch, and wait for me.
Moonplumes don’t survive in the sun, and I can’t lose her. My heart can’t take another hit.
I’d rather die than watch her turn to stone.
Cold water splashes my face, sloshing me to consciousness. An unrelenting thump in my temple makes me wonder if I’ve cracked my skull.
Rushing water drags at my legs while I cling to something round, my arms draped over the curve of it, cheek pressed against its gnarled surface. Probably a tree.
I must’ve had enough wherewithal at some stage to grip hold of something buoyant and save myself from certain drowning. That’s nice.
I pry my eyes open to a smear of orange water and blue sky above that’s threaded with a middae aurora. Sheer, rusty cliffs press in on either side of the river I’m currently bobbing along at a rapid pace. A gorge, but it doesn’t look like the one we flew through to get to the dwelling. Meaning I’ve drifted farther, though based on the rich color of the cliffs, not quite far enough to be clear of The Burn.
Damn.
Guess I’ll pass out for a bit longer. Sleep off this rampant thump in my head. Hopefully wake up closer to the wall.
I let my heavy lids fall shut—
“Gafto’in nahh teil aygh’ atinvah!” The coarse words echo through the gorge, nudging me. “Agní de, agní.”
That’s no language I’ve ever heard.
Should probably inspect.
I lift my head, turn it, then settle my left cheek on the trunk and pry my eyes open. A large shape is running along the thin shore, trying to keep pace with me. A male, I think. Pretty sure he can’t reach me from there—which is good. I’m too tired for stops.
“Hi.”
Bye.
I close my eyes again.
My log comes to an abrupt halt, jostling me so hard I almost roll off. I groan, opening my eyes to see I’ve snagged on a collection of debris, my trunk still banging and bumping into place amongst a pile of uptorn trees.
The blurred figure draws closer, yelling more words I don’t understand. But I don’t think he’s yelling at me, his head facing another direction, though he continues to point my way.
Cold dread slips through my veins, something innate telling me I need to get up.
Now.
I lift one weighty arm off the log, then the other, and immediately plunge beneath the water, wrestled by its churning might—realizing my mistake when I lack the energy to kick or flounder to the surface.
My lungs rebel, battling for breath, sucking a wad of water that feels so heavy and wrong—
There’s a splash, bubbles exploding.
Hands gripping me.
I’m lugged skyward, hauled toward the bank and torn from the water, up over the shore’s sharp lip before I’m dumped on the ground so hard any moisture I sucked down is quickly expelled in a retching heave.
Muddy water splatters, not discriminating between my sodden hair and the dirt I’m aiming for, air rasping into my heaving lungs between chest-cracking coughs.
My gut and chest continue to convulse in staggered synchrony as I nip squinted glances at my company between the violent upheavals.
The male is huge and muscular with yellow sunburst eyes, garbed in leather pants that hang off his trim hips. He’s littered with pale scars, bearing long red hair adorned with coils of copper thread. The leather strap braced across his chest is laden with an array of finely crafted weapons—dragonscale blades and bronze ones in the shape of lanky petals, akin to the one Kaan had. There’s also a hook-type tool similar to the one I saw being used to pull that eahl up from beneath the ice south of the wall.