His lips curve. “Care to wager?”
“What are the stakes?”
“I’m sure we can agree to something suitably depraved once we’re back behind the safety of our chambers.” He drops down off his horse, prompting me to do the same, and then juts his chin forward subtly. “Lead the way, my queen.”
The legionaries part ways, their weapons still drawn, allowing me through.
The face that stares back at me through the gate is full of youth and caution. Kienen couldn’t be more than late twenties by mortal standards, his clean jaw giving him a boyish, almost innocent, look. But his leathers and four blades strapped to his honed frame suggest he’s far from it. “Your Highness.” He falters, his focus skittering to the arrow aimed at his head three feet away, but then bows.
Right. I have a role to play.
I ignore the cold air breezing in beyond the gate and assess the situation. A small horde of Ybarisan soldiers waits at his flanks, some twenty feet back, the darkness a suitable veil. Their hands are free of weapons, but I know they wouldn’t need them to cause me harm, not with their elven affinities.
Still, this isn’t a great way to start a conversation.
“Lower your weapons.”
“Are you certain?” Jarek’s raspy voice comes from directly behind me.
If I wasn’t already on edge, he would have startled me, sneaking up to serve as a looming wall behind my slight frame. But I’ve seen how fast Jarek can move. He’d shield me before anyone could draw an arrow, despite Gesine’s protection.
At least he has the good sense not to contradict me in front of them. “Ybarisan soldiers have no reason to harm me. I am their princess.”
A few beats pass and then, from the corner of my eye, I watch the arrows lower.
Kienen clears his throat, his stance still rigid. He’s no less relaxed. Is it from confusion or fear or anger? “I apologize for the delay. When we received word that you were waiting for us in these mountains, we were not sure if it was a trap.” His gaze skims over the legionaries. He’s still not sure, it seems.
He’s confused, I decide.
“You’ve been watching us from the trees,” Abarrane states.
“Yes.” He appraises her frame. Or her weapons. “Did you get what you wanted from whatever poor creatures you tormented in the wagon?”
“Besides my enjoyment?” Abarrane bares her teeth. Even without her fangs, she looks menacing.
If it unsettles Kienen, he does a good job of hiding it. “We saw you defeat the hag the other night. It was impressive.”
“So good of you to lend a hand.”
The faintest twitch of a smile touches his lips. “I would have, if we were sure we wouldn’t end up under your blade next. Besides, it seemed you had a skilled fire wielder to help you.”
Zander remains quiet. Likely chewing on his tongue to keep from taking control of the conversation.
Has Kienen figured out who this fire wielder is? How much does he know? “How many of you are left?” I ask instead.
As if only then remembering that his princess is here, he stiffens even more, any hint of humor on his face vanishing. “Two hundred and fifty-four, Your Highness.”
I resist the urge to meet Zander’s eyes. That’s more than we expected. That’s good … as long as they’ll follow me. And bad if they won’t. “Where are they now?”
“They wait south of here for a rider to confirm it is in fact you here, with the Islorians.” His brow furrows, and the unspoken question hangs.
“I have a mutual interest with these particular Islorians.”
“It seems so.” He sizes up the vacuous tunnel. “We’ve passed through this barren tundra, and there was nothing but a stone wall of script before. Yet now there is a grand gate and greenery sprouting, even as a snowfall threatens.” He pauses, as if waiting for an explanation.
Grass sprouting, along with tree saplings and the hint of other shrubbery, more each day. When we asked Gesine about it, she had no answer, but her frown was deep. “Mordain’s casters have their value.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” His gaze flitters, I assume, toward Gesine. He nods before returning his focus to me. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his vest.
Arrows are aimed at him instantly, freezing his hand.
He lets out a deep, slow breath as if it might be his last. “A letter, from the queen.”
I knew Neilina was communicating. Tyree admitted as much from his cell, informing me that she was disappointed in us for our failure. I struggle to keep my sneer from my expression and wave off the arrows again.