“Feel what?” Kazimir’s sharp eyes rove the windows and doorways. I know he blames himself for what happened last night. It will be a long time before we can pass a building without his extra caution.
“The energy in this city. It’s off.” I’ve patrolled these streets countless times on horseback as the commander of the king’s army. Even at the height of paranoia and fear, just after Ybaris murdered my parents and Romeria was in the tower, when buildings smoldered and bodies collected, and a thousand whispers told a thousand different stories, it did not seem this tense.
“It’s because of what happened to you last night. You are on edge.”
“Maybe.” But the air feels thick and heavy, the crowd barely restrained, their gazes full of poorly disguised malice.
It’s as if something is about to explode.
It feels wrong to leave Cirilea in this state, and yet I have no choice. Much bigger threats to Islor await me out there.
Boaz stands at the gate with a small company of guards forming a ring, their swords drawn and aimed outward at anyone who might think to charge now.
“Fight well, Your Highness.” He offers a curt bow. “The king’s guard will hold your city until your return.”
“I trust you will.” I urge my horse forward, but then remember. “Send the priestess to administer healing to the mortal children in the ballroom this morning.”
“Healing.” His perpetual scowl claims his face. “What healing do they need? We have mortals left to mark—”
“We can spare an hour.” Frankly, we can spare more. “Whatever she asks for, you give it to her. Understood?”
His jaw clenches. “As you wish, Your Highness.” But it is clear he does not agree.
I knew there might be a day when I would have to reconsider Boaz’s role in Cirilea. Perhaps when I return, I will make some changes. Until then, at least Boaz will follow my command.
“Let us make haste.” My small processional of twenty soldiers moves ahead, past Cirilea’s gate. The heavy chain sounds as the portcullis drops behind us, and our horses kick into a steady canter.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
ZANDER
“Daylight up ahead!” someone shouts and a chorus of cheers echoes.
“Behold! The other east entrance to Soldor!” Radomir announces with too much energy after a day-and-a-half trek through a dark mountain. “You are almost free!”
And onto the next leg of what seems a futile task.
“Move!” Abarrane bellows, and a jumble of Islorians, Ybarisans, and saplings shift to one side as we head to the front.
At some point, soldiers weren’t as focused on the rider next to them as they were on what deadly creature might wait for us around the next corner. Lines blurred and fears of one another relaxed.
Aside from a few small beasts that stayed away from our lengthy entourage, we didn’t come across a single threat.
I imagine it would be a different story if Romeria were here.
“My kind will not be of much help to you in this next task, so we will remain within these stone walls.” Radomir’s cautious gaze is on the morning sun streaming in ahead. I’ve seen firsthand what it can do the moment it touches a sapling’s skin. “I will meet you tonight at the first watchtower, when the moon is high.”
“And I will attempt to ensure they do not kill you when you arrive.”
“That would be much appreciated.” His thin lips split wide. Now that I have seen his old face, he seems less of a soulless demon, but I can’t allow myself to forget all the horrors these saplings have committed in the name of survival.
I hesitate. “Thank you for being our guide. I doubt we would have made it here without you.”
“You certainly would not have. And if Her Highness’s plans fail and the curse is not lifted, I think I shall regret ever leading you.” He shifts away. “My people! Fall back and let them through!”
I squint against the morning light as we step out onto the stone.
“This must have been used for wagons coming in from the Ybarisan side, back before the rift formed,” Kienen notes as we navigate our horses around boulders on a rough path hewn from use long ago and just wide enough for two mounts.
“There were no sides back then.” And if Neilina has her way, there will come a day when there is no Islor.
We round a corner and get our first good look across the rift and into Ybaris, where the arid and damaged land on their side mirrors ours. Pre-rift accounts of this area told of rich valleys and fertile soil, but Aminadav’s fury left an unsightly scar beyond the endless divide.