Brezen

Claire gave her eyes a moment to adjust to the tent's candlelight before looking around. It was sparsely decorated. A few fabric inserts shielded private areas from view, but the rest of it was open and housed a large makeshift table, around which nearly thirty stools and chairs were occupied, mostly by Drengr. She spotted a few Riders. Her eyes lingered over their clothing. Long-sleeved tunics with fitted vests, leggings, bracers, boots.

At her entrance, the interior fell silent. The tent's occupants gazed at her with a mutual lack of recognition. Shoulders were slumped. Their dull gazes told her enough. They had lost a great deal today.

She dropped her gaze, feeling suddenly stupid for playing the victim, for being angry with Koldis and Jovari. She may have been forced to witness each death, but her pain was temporary. Their pain was real. A raw reflection on every face in the room told her as much. And she was ashamed of herself.

She looked up again and found a pair of eyes trained on her, standing at the head of the table. She blinked, then relaxed. It wasn't Reyr, but he looked a hell of a lot like him. Yet, the male didn't look enough like Reyr to be his twin. Her chest tightened.

She cleared her throat. "Forgive the intrusion. I am looking for the fort leader."

The male gave a subtle jerk of his head. Just then, the tent flaps rustled. His eyes darted past her and widened as he spoke, "Lord Jovari? Lord Koldis?"

Jovari and Koldis came to stand beside her.

The male bent over and whispered something to a dark-haired female before striding over. His steps were heavy. He came to a stop before them, looking at Jovari and Koldis. "I did not expect to see your welcome faces, but I am glad of it. How are you even here?"

Koldis cleared his throat. "We were...in the neighborhood. Thought you might need some help. Got here as quickly as we could."

"You are most welcome!" His relief was obvious.

Koldis nodded. "Allow me to introduce Lady Claire. The king's...ward."

He took a step back, frowning. "The king's...? Oh..." His gaze assessed her, taking in her journey-worn tunic and leggings, her pack with Cyrus's Sverak strapped to her back, and her disheveled hair that had long since come undone.

While this happened, mutters erupted around the council table, followed by the sound of scraping chairs. Everyone in the tent stood and fell into deep bows.

She frowned, half expecting her mind to erupt into speculative voices. But it wouldn't. Not with Cyrus maintaining the protective barricade. Thank the gods for that. She hardly wanted to hear their thoughts about her. She could guess well enough what they were saying.

This? This is the famous Lady Claire? We were expecting so much more. She doesn't even look like a lady—a gutter rat, perhaps.

"Claire," said Koldis, "this is Byron, Reyr's nephew."

"Oh..." Her chest instantly tightened as recognition hit her.

Byron straightened. "Well met, Lady Claire. Well met, indeed. We have heard much about you." He turned back to Koldis and Jovari. "As you can imagine, your appearance is a surprise. We did not expect reinforcements, but we are glad to have you. We will take every Drengr we can get. I must thank the king personally for sending you to us."

"The king did not send us." Koldis pointed a thumb at her. "She did."

She tensed.

Byron bowed to her again. "Well then, we are forever grateful, my lady." He hesitated, his head tilting to the side. "Were you...Uncle Reyr said something about a warning. Was that you? Is that what he meant?"

"I..." She licked her lips. "It was. I'm sorry it didn't make a difference."

"Make a difference?" Byron's eyebrows pulled together. "It made all the difference in the world."

The tight knot in her chest flexed, coming loose a bit. "Do you really mean that?"

"I do. We lost the fort, yes, and many lives. But they would have attacked us with our pants around our ankles. You saved us our dignity."

The knot unraveled a bit more. "And...Kane?"

Byron's eyes darkened. "Thus far he has kept his word. With our retreat, he called off the attack. He's with his hoard now, lording over the fort like he owns the place. Filthy, disgusting piece of work. A disgrace to the world." He spit on the ground beside his boot.

She glanced around the tent again. "Where's Reyr? He should be here." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I...need to speak with him."

Byron hesitated for far too long. "He has left us...for now. I am sure he will return when he is ready. He took the loss of..." He shook his head. "It was a heavy blow for him."

A fresh wave of nausea poured into her stomach as the realization clicked into place. A projection came to mind, springing from the bank where she'd locked them away. A woman falling to her death, insides spilling out of the gash across her abdomen, and the Drengr whose neck was snapped in the process of trying to save her. How had she not made the connection? How had she been so oblivious? Lord Davi and Lady Emmy. They had died in battle. Byron was in charge because they were no longer alive. She'd never felt so stupid in all her life—so angry at herself for failing to make the connection. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she choked. "I cannot even imagine what it's like to lose...to lose..."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Claire."

A dull ache filled her chest, seeping into the rest of her. Now more than ever she regretted her parting with Reyr. If she could see him now, she would tell him how sorry she was for her anger, for the way they'd shouted at each other. She'd said he would lose her friendship if he left, and at the time, she believed it. But she was so, so wrong. And he'd already lost so much.

Koldis stepped forward. "This loss is a heavy blow to the kingdom, Byron. You have our sincerest condolences." He paused. "We have nineteen pairs. It's not much, but it's something. Do you have a plan? A counter-attack?"

"Nineteen?" Byron paused before clearing his throat. "Nineteen's fine. We'll take whatever we can get. No plan as of yet. But come, you must be exhausted." He turned to the table. The tent's occupants watched their new leader. "We're done here for tonight, folks. Go and get some rest. The gods only know we all need it."

"Aye," they said, nodding heads in agreement.

The tent erupted into activity as everyone departed. Many of them nodded and bowed to her in passing, paying her further respect she didn't feel she deserved. And then they were all gone and everything fell quiet.

She didn't notice that someone had come up beside her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Claire. I can hardly believe...well...I never thought I would actually get to meet you. You must be exhausted."

She frowned, studying the young female. It was the one Byron had spoken to earlier. Her hair as black as midnight and her eyes an unsettling shade of blue. She was young. Sixteen, seventeen at most. "I'm sorry...who are you?" After the words were out, she cursed her short temper for how rude it made her sound.

"Oh!" The young female curtsied flawlessly. "I'm Tamara. Well technically, Lady Tamara, but that's too formal for my tastes." Tamara looked her up and down. "It looks like you've been to hell and back, just like the rest of us."

A bark of crazed laughter escaped her lips. "You can say that again! Though, not nearly what you've been through, I suspect."

"Yes..." Tamara shifted from one foot to the other. She appeared to hold herself together, but beneath the facade, there was obvious pain. She blinked several times, regaining her countenance. "How rude of me to keep you standing here like this, Lady Claire. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and resting."

"And food, too, dear heart," Byron said, coming up beside them. "Our guests must be starving. Sir Wentworth was particularly generous. Most of this setup is because of him."

"Food. Of course," said Tamara. "I will see to her every need."

"Thank you." Byron's gaze was gentle.

"Food would be welcome," Jovari called from across the tent. "Thank you."

"Speak not of it," said Byron. "And my guards tell me they have already found the rest of your party decent accommodations."

Tamara took hold of Claire's arm and guided her to the back corner of the tent, to a small wash basin filled with water. It was cold but clean. "Here, I'll take your pack." She disappeared with it behind one of the cloth dividers and reappeared a moment later with a washcloth.

She took the cloth from Tamara and dipped it into the bowl, all but groaning as she washed her face, neck, and hands. She could have magicked herself clean, her clothes too, but she refrained from performing that kind of magic as much as possible. Besides, magic didn't offer the same feeling of clean water on skin.

"Perhaps tomorrow we can visit Sir Wentworth," Tamara suggested, watching her. "His lady promised me a bath in his manor. I can't imagine what a tizzy seeing you, famous Lady Claire, would put everyone in."

She nodded, too exhausted to say more, too exhausted to be flattered. Once she had washed up, Tamara showed her where she would be sleeping. It was a small space with two cots and a large wooden trunk. She was tempted—more than tempted—to crawl under the blankets and escape from the world. She craved a moment alone.

Instead, she joined the others at the table, taking a seat beside Tamara. Bread, cheese, honey, and ale was laid out before them. She was starving, but the food tasted like cardboard in her mouth. She didn't want to appear rude, so she choked it down as best she could. Tamara's eyes were frequently upon her, but she remained silent, unquestioning, and thank the gods for that.

It was Koldis who broke the calm. "Now that we are fed, I would like to hear what happened, Byron. Beginning to end."

Her body went rigid. The last thing she needed was to relive the battle. She downed half of her mug of ale in several big gulps, bracing herself for the conversation to come. A huge belch crawled up her chest. She glanced at Tamara before silently expelling it so that no one noticed.

Byron granted the request. He and Tamara took turns recounting everything that had taken place from the moment Claire's warning was received at the fort. Their details filled in what Claire had seen and heard.

When Byron retold the part about his mother's death, fresh tears slid down her cheeks. She brushed them away, hoping no one noticed. "I thought Riders were immortal?" she said, trying to understand. "I thought they healed like the Drengr."

"They do," said Koldis. "To some extent. Riders inherit the same magic as their Drengr mates—a shared magic. But no one can heal from a lethal wound. You know enough about magic now, about how it exhausts you. Wears you down over time..."

Yes, she knew, all too well.

"After their deaths," Byron continued, "we had no choice but to retreat. Reyr wasn't himself though. He tried to go after Kane. And I understand why. But not at the extent of our people. Truthfully, I wasn't sure if he would back down. I thank the gods that he did. Kane would have burned the entire city to the ground."

"And the fort?" Koldis asked, shifting in his chair.

"We did all we could in the hour given. We got everyone out, everything that we could carry. Our fort boasts some sixty staff, hundreds of foot soldiers, guards, the like, so we took boats from the docks. I'm not proud of my actions—commandeering that which isn't mine to take—but it was the best I could do." He shrugged. "I'm sure the city folk will forgive us."

"You did the right thing," Koldis assured him. "I had wondered how you managed it, getting everyone out without flying them over."

Byron barked a laugh. "Oh, we flew plenty of goods over, whatever we could carry in our claws and on our backs. I wasn't about to leave anything for Kane. We purged the fort of valuables. I've never seen our people move so quickly. We gutted the whole damn place. Should have burned it to the ground too. My scales crawl when I think of that worm living in our home."

Claire felt her own skin crawl at the thought.

They talked well into the early hours of dawn, posing questions, filling in details. She propped her chin on her fist struggling to listen. Her eyelids grew heavier by the minute. The conversation was further and further away. She began nodding off, only vaguely aware as Jovari recounted their reason for being in Celenore. "We had planned to fly directly back after defeating the Vodar," he was saying. "Our goal was to return before—" He abruptly stopped, gasping mid-sentence before he shot to his feet. Koldis did the same.

Her hand jerked away from her face, leaving her instantly alert. "What is it?" she whispered, taking in their shocked expressions, their wide, unseeing eyes. They did not answer. Her spine tingled. Only one thing—one person—could make them react like that. She knew what it meant. But how was it even possible? Wasn't King Talon in the forest?

Her stomach fluttered. She watched Jovari and Koldis for a few moments longer, watched their faces move through various expressions. And then it was over and they sank back into their chairs.

Their scowls said enough.

She swallowed. "He contacted you, didn't he? Tell me."

Koldis exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "He is out of the forest. A day's flight from here. He will arrive around dusk tomorrow."

Her blood turned cold. Tomorrow? Oh, gods! She tried to speak. A lump had formed in her throat. "Does he know I'm here?" They both nodded. "And? Was he angry? What did he say?"

"He's furious," Koldis said.

"But restrained," Jovari finished. "He didn't yell. Usually he yells."

The knot in her stomach tightened. "I'm going to be in so much trouble," she whispered. "You know how he gets. The kettle's going to explode."

Koldis and Jovari shot each other looks but said nothing.

Unable to stand it, she jumped to her feet. "I've had enough for one day. I'm going to bed."

"Claire?" She froze midstep at the sound of Koldis's worried voice. "You going to be okay?" He stood, looking after her.

She sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I? I'll be...I'll be fine."

The sun wasn't up yet. Hopefully she could manage a few hours of sleep, at the least. Tamara followed her into their shared space but kept quiet. She didn't ask why Tamara wasn't sleeping with Byron, though she assumed they were mates. She was too tired to care.

When she curled up on her cot—a more comfortable alternative to the ground, but only just—she couldn't sleep. She was too distracted by what Talon would do once he arrived. By how angry he would be at her having broken her promise to him. After tossing about for a bit, she realized sleep would be impossible. But she didn't want to get up.

Instead, she decided to play through the projections she had tucked away. You sure you want to do that? Cyrus asked. She exhaled and considered his question. Yes, she was sure. It was time—or at least, time to try. She owed it to herself. Otherwise like any wound, the projections would fester and rot, and her mind wouldn't thank her for it. So, she closed her eyes tightly, and braced herself.

After a bit of coaxing, they began to trickle through her thoughts. The first few were meaningless, quick flashes of what had taken place during the onset of battle. Then the first death was upon her. An orange dragon. She felt the arrow through her skull, a poisoned arrow, and her anger turned to rage. Then the second arrow struck and she gasped, feeling the brief flash of pain accompanying the projection. In that moment, she knew she was going to die. Then there was nothing.

She was on to the next. And then the next. And the next.

Dragon, Drengr, Rider. It didn't matter which death it was. They were equally difficult to bear. After four or five of them, she felt tears soaking the pillow beneath her head.

"Claire?" A whispered voice in the dark called out to her. The projections came to a brief halt. "Are...are you okay?"

She cursed herself for not crying more silently.

Wiping her eyes, she flopped over onto her back. "I...I'm fine." The white tent ceiling loomed above her.

There was a noise. A shadow passed over her as Tamara came up to her cot and squeezed beneath the blankets beside her, uninvited.

"It's okay to cry," she whispered, then put an arm over her shoulders and nuzzled her head down beside her the way a loving sister might, the way her best friend had done after bad fights with her ex-boyfriend. It didn't matter that they hardly knew each other, that Tamara was a stranger. They shared something deeper. A common grief.

"I saw them, you know," she managed to croak. Her throat was raw. Tamara remained quiet, almost as if she knew these words needed to be spoken. "I saw each death as it happened. Dragon. Drengr. Rider. I felt them, too. Not just the pain. The raw emotion of it all. Emotions that my human years can hardly fathom. With each life taken, I felt things I've never felt before. Anger that redefines what I ever thought it meant to be mad. Hatred I never imagined could be so powerful. Love...love that makes my knees weak." She swallowed, stifling another sob. Several more projections flashed through her mind. Tamara's presence seemed to encourage the onslaught. She wasn't sure if she could handle it all in one night. But maybe it was like a Band-Aid—better to peel it off in one quick motion.

"You don't have to bear it alone," Tamara whispered. Words she needed.

A flood gate was removed. The remainder of projections broke free. This time, she didn't fight them. She stumbled through them. The worst, she saved for last, even though she was trembling beneath Tamara's arms. Even though she had to gasp for each breath.

The projection of Lady Emmy's death played out. This time, she watched Emmy's falling body and didn't fight it. She let the small details seep into her. That's when she noticed something more than fear and disappointment. There was something much, much deeper. Something worth remembering. Another quiet sob escaped her chest.

On the surface, Davi's failure appeared to have broken him, as if Kane had won. Up until now, she was certain that he had. But the truth was, Kane had won nothing. Beneath all of the obvious emotions Davi emitted, there was something stronger, more enduring. Something Kane could never take.

"Until the very end," Emmy had said as she fell to her death. And it was true. Davi had failed to save her, failed to protect her, failed to save his people. Emmy knew she was going to die just as she knew of his other failures. Yet, she loved him anyway. Her love rose above everything.

She thought about the other mate deaths and noticed the same thing with each of them, the same kind of love. It wasn't just the fort leaders. It was all of them. It had taken Emmy's words to make it clear, but she finally understood what Cyrus and Reyr had truly lost when they lost their mates. What Lilly had lost when Hiondel died and why she wanted to disappear into the wilderness to be alone. She also understood why Reyr sometimes wished he had died with Gemma, the way Davi and Emmy had died—together.

Her heart broke a little more.

When she finally had the nerve to speak, her voice was a strangled whisper. "I just realized something."

"What is it?"

"Love is enduring," she managed to say. "Beyond death. I'd like to think the love shared between mates transcends time and space. That's how I plan to remember them, all of them."

Tamara must have understood her well enough, because her body began to shake, too. She shifted until she had an arm around Tamara. They cried together, arm in arm, for all they had lost. For all that their friends had lost. For everything that Dragonwall had lost, until sleep took them at last.

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