The other legionaries attempt to keep their focus on the threat ahead while offering nods of greeting for their comrade, a normally loud and boisterous warrior who slumps where he sits, his face drained of color.
Jarek has climbed to his feet and moves slowly to Romeria’s side, as if nursing an injury. They exchange a wordless look—Romeria’s laced with apology for her mistake, Jarek’s with regret for his—and then the warrior winks at her. The only communication, but it’s enough.
If I couldn’t feel Romeria’s pulse race every time I approached her, if I ever doubted her feelings for me … I might insist she find a new commander, one less devoted and powerful and male. Still, my jealousy spikes at their growing connection.
The chaos of the last few minutes seems to have unsettled the Ybarisans. Their horses shift their weight, likely sensing their rider’s unease.
Kienen finally dismounts and approaches. His weapons are sheathed, but that provides me no comfort.
I move to step out.
Abarrane’s sudden grip of my arm stops me. “You have only been outside once. You will not fare much better than Jarek did, especially around her,” she warns. “Islor’s king cannot appear frail before them.”
“They are sitting ducks out there.” Two hundred and fifty-four Ybarisans on horseback against two.
“She has proven herself more than once. Trust that she can handle this, one way or another.”
I grit my teeth and plant my feet, but keep a strong hold of my affinity, ready to engulf the entire company in flame if needed.
“Your Highness.” Kienen bows. His eyes flip between Romeria and Jarek—surely, he has questions for both—before settling on Romeria. “We were able to negotiate the release of one captured legionary.”
“I see that. And the other?” Romeria asks calmly, sounding more like a queen, born and raised, each day.
“Will be released when we know your promises are as credible as your threats.” The wall of horses shifts again, and a rider passes through a sizable gap, tucked in a cloak. Even still, the glow of the fire illuminates the sunken cheeks of the sapling.
My lips twist with distaste at the sight of the abomination. Of all the dark creatures within my lands who wish to kill us, these are the only ones that stir my apprehension. And now that they’re armed with merth …
“It seems you may not have failed after all. At least, not yet,” he croons.
Romeria gasps. “You.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROMERIA
I never got a good look at the sapling that night on the bridge, when he bound Annika with merth and tossed her over, assigning her a slow death. But the moment I hear those words and that voice, a wave of déjà vu slams into me.
“It’s good to see you again,” I force, trying to hide my surprise. Several dozen cloaked figures move forward on horseback to form a line behind him. More saplings.
The Ybarisans have shifted away, carving out empty space around them. They seem as uncomfortable around these creatures as the Islorians are.
Radomir’s chuckle is dark, as if he doesn’t believe me. “I was sure you had perished, but you have proven more formidable than I expected.” He brings his horse closer, the light revealing his sunken cheeks and a tattooed design that crawls up his neck. It was easy to see these saplings as monsters rather than men when they were attacking us in the night. But listening to him speak now reminds me they were once like Zander and Jarek—Islorian immortals who then fed on their own kind and turned into these hideous cannibal-like creatures.
“That’s close enough,” Jarek growls, drawing two swords in an instant, reminding me how fast he can move, how fortunate we both are that my affinity to Vin’nyla moved even faster moments ago.
I can’t believe I nearly killed my commander with my own stupidity. What was I thinking, charging out like that? The truth is, I wasn’t thinking. I was feeling, and seeing Jarek crumble in front of potential enemies charged my actions. But now is not the time to chastise myself.
I force myself to meet Radomir’s gaze. What the hell did Ybaris promise these vile, black-eyed demons? Wealth? Power? Land? What does a sapling wish for besides a constant vein to satisfy their thirst?
It has something to do with casters, that much we know. “Kienen told us you doubt Mordain’s support.”
“We may hide in these mountains, but we hear things.”
“Such as?”
He flashes a smile, showing off jagged, pointed teeth.
It’s everything I can do to keep from shuddering.