CHAPTER 17Lysandra ducked, but not fast enough to avoidthe lash of power that sliced down her arm.She hit the ground, rolling, as she’d learnedunder Arobynn’s careful tutelage. But Aedionwas already in front of her, sword out.Defending his queen.A flash of light and cold—from Enda andSellene—and the Morath messenger waspinned to his knees, his dark power lashingagainst an invisible barrier of ice-kissed wind.Around the tent, all had fallen back,weapons glinting. Flanking the downed man,Ilias and Ansel had their swords already
angled toward him, their defensive posesmirror images. Trained into their very bonesby the same master, under the same blisteringsun. Neither looked at the other, though.Ren, Sol, and Ravi had slipped intoposition at Lysandra’s—at Aelin’s—side,their own blades primed to spill blood. Afledgling court closing ranks around its queen.Never mind that the older lords hadstumbled behind the safety of the refreshmenttable, their weathered faces ashen. Only GalanAshryver had taken up a place near the tentexit, no doubt to intercept their assailantshould he try to flee. A bold move—and afool’s one, considering what knelt in thecenter of the tent.“Di d no one smell that he was a Valgdemon?” Aedion demanded, hauling Lysandrato her feet with her uninjured arm. But therewas no collar on the stranger, no ring on his
bare, pale hands.Lysandra’s stomach churned as she claspeda hand to the throbbing gash on her upper arm.She knew what beat within the man’s chest. Aheart of iron and Wyrdstone.The messenger laughed, hissing. “Run toyour castle. We’re—”He sniffed the air. Looked right atLysandra. At the blood leaking down her leftarm, seeping into the ocean blue of Aelin’sworn tunic.His dark eyes widened with surprise anddelight, the word taking form on his lips.Shifter.“Kill him,” she ordered the silver-hairedFae royals, her heart thundering.No one dared tell her to burn him herself.Endymion raised a hand, and the Valg-possessed man began gasping. Yet not beforehis eyes darkened wholly, until no white
shone.Not from the death sweeping over him. Butas he seemed to convey a message down along, obsidian bond.The message that might doom them: AelinGalathynius was not here.“Enough of this,” Aedion snarled, and fear—real fear blanched his face as he, too,realized what the messenger had just relayedto his master.The Sword of Orynth flashed, black bloodspraying, and the man’s head tumbled to therug-covered ground.In the silence, Lysandra panted, lifting herhand from her arm to survey the wound. Thecut was not deep, but it would be tender for afew hours.Ansel of Briarcliff sheathed her wolf-headed sword and gripped Lysandra’sshoulder, her red hair swaying as she assessed
the injury, then the corpse. “Nasty littlepricks, aren’t they?”Aelin would have had some swaggeringanswer to set them all chuckling, but Lysandracouldn’t find the words. She just nodded asthe black stain inched over the tent floor. TheFae royals sniffed at the reek, grimacing.“Clean up this mess,” Darrow ordered noone in particular. Even as his hands shookslightly.By the tent flaps, Nox was gaping at thedecapitated Valg. His gray eyes met hers,searching, and then lowered. “He didn’t havea ring,” Nox murmured.Snatching up a dangling edge of tableclothfrom the untouched refreshment table, Aedionwiped the Sword of Orynth clean. “He didn’tneed one.”Erawan knew Aelin was not with them. That a
shifter had taken her place.Aedion stalked through the camp,Lysandra-as-Aelin at his heels. “I know,” hesaid over his shoulder, for once ignoring thewarriors who saluted him.She kept following him anyway. “Whatshould we do?”He didn’t stop until he reached his owntent, the reek of that Valg messenger clingingin his nose. That whip of blackness spearingfor Lysandra still burning behind his eyes. Hercry of pain ringing in his ears.His temper roiled, howling for an outlet.She followed him into the tent. “Whatshould we do?” she asked again.“How about we start with making surethere aren’t any other messengers lurking inthe camp,” he snarled, pacing. The Fae royalshad already conveyed that order, and weresending out their best scouts.
“He knows,” she breathed. He whirled toface her, finding his cousin—findingLysandra shaking. Not Aelin, though she’dbeen plenty convincing today. Better thanusual. “He knows what I am.”Aedion rubbed his face. “He also seems toknow we’re going to Orynth. Wants us to dojust that.”She slumped onto his cot, as if her kneescouldn’t hold her upright. For a heartbeat, theurge to sit beside her, to pull her to him, wasso strong he nearly yielded to it.The tang of her blood filled the space,along with the wild, many-faced scent of her.It dragged a sensual finger down his skin,whetting his rage into something so deadly hemight have very well killed the next male whoentered this tent.“Erawan might hear the news and worry,”Aedion said when he could think again. “He
might wonder why she isn’t here, and if she’sabout to do something that will hurt him. Itcould force him to show his hand.”“Or to strike us now, with his full might,when he knows we’re weakest.”“We’ll have to see.”“Orynth will be a slaughterhouse,” shewhispered, her shoulders curving beneath theweight—not just of being a woman thrust intothis conflict, but a woman playing another,who might be able to pretend, but only so far.Who did not truly have the power to halt thehordes marching north. She’d been willing toshoulder that burden, though. For Aelin. Forthis kingdom.Even if she’d lied to him about it, she’dbeen willing to accept this weight.Aedion slumped down beside her andstared blankly at the tent walls. “We’re notgoing to Orynth.”
Her head lifted. Not just at the words, butat how close he sat. “Where are we going,then?”Aedion surveyed his suit of armor, oiledand waiting on a dummy across the tent. “Soland Ravi will take some of their men back tothe coast to make sure that we don’t encounterany more attacks from the sea. They’llrendezvous with what’s left of theWendlynian fleet while Galan and his soldiersstay with us. We’ll march as one army downto the border.”“The other lords voted against it.” Indeedthey had, the old fools.He’d danced with treason for the pastdecade. Had made it an art form. Aedionsmiled slightly. “Leave that to me.”The Bane were loyal to none but AelinGalathynius.
So were the allies she’d gathered. And theforces of Ren Allsbrook and Ravi and Sol ofSuria.And so, apparently, was Nox Owen.Yet it was Lysandra, not Aedion, who madetheir flight possible.She’d been walking back to her own tent—to Aelin’s tent, not fit for a queen, but anarmy captain—when Nox fell into step besideher. Silent and graceful. Well-trained. Andlikely more lethal than he appeared.“So, Erawan knows you’re not Aelin.”She whipped her head to him. “What?” Aquick, vague question to buy herself time. HadAedion risked telling him the truth?Nox gave her a half smile. “I figured asmuch when I saw the surprise on that demon’sface.”“You must be mistaken.”“Am I? Or do you not remember me at
all?”She did her best to look down her nose athim, even as the messenger-thief towered overher. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen.“Why should I remember one of Darrow’slackeys?”“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothienlooked a little more amused when she cut meninto ribbons.”He knew—who Aelin was, what she’dbeen. Lysandra said nothing, and kept walkingtoward her tent. If she told Aedion, howquickly could Nox be buried under the frozenearth?“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured.“Celaena—Aelin was a friend. Is still one, I’dhope.”“How.” She’d admit no more than thatregarding her role in this.“We fought in the competition together at
the glass castle.” He snorted. “I had no ideauntil today. Gods, I was there for MinisterJoval as a spy for the rebels. It was my firsttime out of Perranth. My first time, and Iwound up unwittingly training alongside myqueen.” He laughed, low and amazed. “I’dbeen working with the rebels for years, evenas a thief. They wanted me to be their insideeyes on the castle, the king’s plans. I reportedthe strange goings-on until it became toodangerous. Until Cel—Aelin warned me torun. I listened, and came back here. Joval isdead. Fell in a skirmish with a band of rebelsby the border this spring. Darrow plucked meup to be his own messenger and spy. So here Iam.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on hisface. “I am at your disposal, even if you’re not… you.” He angled his head. “Who are you,anyway?”“Aelin.”
Nox smiled knowingly. “Fair enough.”Lysandra paused before the queen’s too-small tent, nestled between Aedion’s andRen’s own. “What’s the cost of your silence?Or does Darrow already know?”“Why would I tell him? I serve Terrasen,and the Galathynius family. I always have.”“Some might say Darrow has a strongclaim to the throne, given his relationshipwith Orlon.”“I realized today that the assassin I came tocall a friend is actually the queen I believeddead. I think the gods are pointing me in acertain direction, don’t you?”She lingered between the tent flaps.Delicious warmth beckoned within. “And if Iwere to tell you we needed your help tonight,and that the risk was being branded a traitor?”Nox only sketched a bow. “Then I’d say Iowe my friend Celaena a favor for her
warning at the castle, plus saving my lifebefore that.”She didn’t know why she trusted him. Butshe’d developed an instinct for men that hadalways proved correct, even if she had beenunable to act on it in the past. Had only beenable to brace herself for them.But Nox Owen—the kindness in his facewas true. His words were true. Another allyAelin had wrangled for them, this timeunwittingly.She knew Aedion would agree to the plan,even if he still hated her. So Lysandra leanedin, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Thenlisten carefully.”It was done quietly and without a trace.Every intricate element played out withoutissue, as if the gods themselves aided them.At dinner, Nox Owen laced the wine he’d
personally served—as a groveling apology forletting in the Valg soldier—to Lords Darrow,Sloane, Gunnar, and Ironwood. Not to killthem, but to send them into a deep, dreamlesssleep.Even a roaring bear couldn’t wake thislout, Ansel of Briarcliff had sniffed whenshe’d stood over Lord Gunnar’s cot, lifted hislimp arm, and let it drop.The lord didn’t stir, and Lysandra, wearinga field mouse’s form and tucked into theshadows behind the queen, deemed it proofenough.The four lords’ loyal banner men alsofound themselves sleeping deeply that night,courtesy of the wine that Galan Ashryver,Ilias, Ren, and Ravi had made sure washanded out at their fires.And when they all awoke the next day,there was only whipping snow beyond their
tents.The camp was gone.The army with it.
CHAPTER 18No one in Anielle or the gray-stoned keeplooming over its southern edge shouted withalarm at the ruk that descended from the skiesand alit upon the battlements.The keep sentries who’d been on watch hadonly drawn their weapons, one racing into thedim interior, and pointed them at Chaol andYrene as they slid off the mighty bird.The cold on the open ocean was nothingcompared to the wind off the wall ofmountains the city had been built against, orthe blistering chill from the sprawling SilverLake it curved around, so flat that it looked
like a mighty mirror spread beneath the graysky.Yrene knew Anielle’s layout was asfamiliar to Chaol as his own body—and knew,from the memories she’d seen in his soul andwhat he’d told her these months, that the grayshingles of the roofs had been hewn from theslate quarries just to the south, the timber ofthe houses taken from the tangle of Oakwaldlurking beyond the flat plain that bordered thesouthern side of the lake. A small offshoot ofpeaks jutted like an arm from the snakingbody of the Fangs, hemming in the citybetween it and the Silver Lake—and it wasinto the barren slopes that the keep had beenbuilt.Level after level, Westfall Keep rose fromthe plain to the higher reaches of the mountainbehind it, the lowermost gate opening onto theflat expanse of snow, while other levels
flowed into the city to its left. It had beenbuilt as a fortress, the countless levels,battlements, and gates all designed to outlastan enemy assault. The gray stones bore thescars of just how many it had witnessed andsurvived, none more so than the thick curtainwall that encompassed the keep.Intimidating, imposing, unforgiving—Chaol had told her the keep had never beenbuilt for beauty or pleasure. Indeed, nocolorful banners flapped in the wind. No scentor spices drifted on it, either. Just chill, thickdampness.From the lichen-crusted upper towers,Yrene knew that one could monitor anymovements on the lake or the plain, in the cityor the forest, even along the slopes of theFangs. How many hours had her husbandspent on the tower walkways, gazing towardRifthold, wishing he were anywhere but this
cold, dark place?Chaol stayed close to Yrene, his chin high,as he announced to the dozen guards aimingtheir swords at them that he was Lord ChaolWestfall, and he wished to see his father.Immediately.She’d never heard him use that voice. Adifferent sort of authority. A lord’s voice.A lord—and she was a lady, she supposed.Even if flying had forced her to abandon herusual dresses in favor of rukhin leathers, evenif she was certain her braided hair had beenwhipped in about a dozen directions andwould take hours and a bath to detangle.They lingered on the battlements insilence, and Chaol’s gloved hand slid into herown, the wind ruffling the fur along his heavycloak collar. His face revealed nothing butgrim determination, yet the hand he squeezedaround her own … She knew what this
homecoming meant.She’d never forget the memory she’dwitnessed of the father who had thrown himdown the stone steps a few levels below,granting Chaol the hidden scar just past hishairline. A child. He’d hurled a child downthose stairs and forced him to make his way toRifthold on foot.She doubted her second impression of herfather-in-law would be any better.Certainly not as a gaunt-faced manappeared in a gray tunic and said, “Come thisway.”No title, no honorific. No welcome.Yrene tightened her grip around Chaol’shand. They had come to warn the people ofthis city—not the bastard who had left suchbrutal scars upon her husband’s soul. Thosepeople deserved the warning, the protection.Yrene reminded herself of that fact as they
entered the gloomy keep interior.The tall, narrow passageway wasn’t muchbetter than the exterior. Slender windows sethigh in the walls permitted little light, andancient braziers cast flickering shadows onthe stones. Threadbare tapestries hungintermittently, and no sounds—not music, notlaughter, not conversation—greeted them.This drafty, ancient house had been hishome? Compared to the khagan’s palace, itwas a hovel, not fit for ruks to roost.“My father,” Chaol murmured so theirescort wouldn’t hear, no doubt reading thedismay on Yrene’s face, “doesn’t believe inwasting his coffers on improvements. If ithasn’t collapsed, then it’s not broken.”Yrene tried to smile at the attempt athumor, tried to do it for his sake, but hertemper roiled with every step down the hall.Their silent escort at last paused before two
towering oak doors, the wood as old androtting as the keep itself, and knocked once.“Enter.”Yrene felt the tremor that went throughChaol at the cold, sly voice.The doors swung open to reveal a dark,column-lined hall speared with shafts ofwatery light.The only greeting they would get, itseemed, since the man seated at the head ofthe long, wooden table, large enough to hostforty men, did not bother to rise.Each of their steps echoed through the hall,the roaring, mammoth hearth to their lefthardly taking the edge off the cold. A gobletof what seemed to be wine and the remains ofthe evening meal lay before the Lord ofAnielle on the table. No sign of his wife, orother son.But the face … it was Chaol’s face, in a
few decades. Or would be, if Chaol became assoulless and cold as the man before them.She didn’t know how he did it. How Chaolmanaged to lower his head in a bow.“Father.”Chaol had never been ashamed of the keepuntil he’d walked through it with Yrene. Hadnever realized how badly it needed repairs,how neglected it had been.The thought of her, so full of light andwarmth, in this bleak place made him want torun back to the ruk waiting on the parapetsand fly to the coast again.And now, at the sight of her before hisfather, who had not bothered to rise from hischair, whose half-eaten dinner lay discardedbefore him, Chaol found his temper in need ofa short leash.His father’s fur-lined cloak pooled around
him. How many times had he seen him on thischair, at the head of this mighty table, whichhad once seated some of the finest lords andwarriors in Adarlan?Now it lay empty, a husk of what mighthave been.“You walk,” his father said, scanning himfrom head to toe. His attention lingered on thehand Chaol still kept clasped around Yrene’s.Oh, he’d surely bring that up soon enough.When it would strike deepest. “Last I heard,you could not so much as wiggle your toe.”“It is thanks to this woman,” Chaol said.Yet Yrene stared at his father with a coldnessChaol had never glimpsed before. As if shewere thinking of rotting his organs from theinside out. It warmed Chaol enough to say,“My wife. Lady Yrene Towers Westfall.”A kernel of surprise lit his father’s face,but swiftly vanished. “A healer, then,” he
mused, surveying Yrene with an intensity thatmade Chaol want to start shattering things.“Towers is not a noble house I recognize.”The miserable bastard.Yrene’s chin lifted slightly. “It may not be,milord, but its lineage is no less proud orworthy.”“At least she speaks well,” his father said,sipping from his wine. Chaol clenched his freehand so hard his glove groaned. “Better thanthat other one—the swaggering assassin.”Yrene knew. All of it. She knew everyscrap of history, knew whose note she carriedin her locket. But it didn’t ease the blow, notas his father added, “Who, it turned out, isQueen of Terrasen.” A mirthless laugh. “Whata prize you might have had then, my son, ifyou’d managed to keep her.”“Yrene is the finest healer of hergeneration,” Chaol said with deadly quiet.
“Her worth is greater than any crown.” And inthis war, it might very well be.“You don’t need to bother proving myvalue to him,” Yrene said, her icy eyes pinnedon his father. “I know precisely how talented Iam. I don’t require his blessing.”She meant every damn word.His father turned that aloof stare upon heragain, curiosity filling it for a moment.If he’d been asked, even minutes ago, howhe thought this encounter might go, Yrenebeing utterly unfazed by his father, Yrenegoing toe to toe with his father, would nothave been among the possible outcomes.His father leaned back in his chair. “Youdidn’t come here to at last fulfill your oath tome, did you.”“That promise is broken, and for that Iapologize,” Chaol managed to say. Yrenebristled. Before she could tell him not to
bother again, Chaol went on, “We came towarn you.”His father lifted a brow. “Morath is on themove, this I know. I’ve taken the precautionof having your beloved mother and brotherremoved to the mountains.”“Morath is on the move,” Chaol said,fighting the disappointment that he would seeneither of the two people he needed to speakto the most, “and it is on its way directlyhere.”His father, for once, went still.“Ten thousand troops,” Chaol said. “Theycome to sack the city.”He could have sworn his father paled. “Youknow this without a doubt?”“I sailed with an army sent from thekhagan, a legion of his ruk riders amongstthem. Their scouts discovered theinformation. The rukhin fly here as we speak,
but their Darghan soldiers won’t arrive for atleast a week or longer.” He came forward—just one step. “You need to rally your forces,prepare the city. Immediately.”But his father swirled his wine, frowning atthe red liquid within. “There are no forceshere—none to make a dent in ten thousandmen.”“Then begin the evacuation, and move asmany into the keep as you can. Prepare for asiege.”“Last I looked, boy, I was still Lord ofAnielle. You gladly turned your back on it.Twice.”“You have Terrin.”“Terrin’s a scholar. Why do you think Isent him away with his mother like a nursingbabe?” His father sneered. “Have you comeback to bleed for Anielle, then? To bleed forthis city at last?”
“Don’t you talk to him like that,” Yrenesaid with dangerous calm.His father ignored her.But Yrene stepped up to Chaol’s side oncemore. “I am the heir apparent to the Healer onHigh of the Torre Cesme. I came at your son’sbehest, back to the lands of my birth, to helpin this war, along with two hundred healersfrom the Torre itself. Your son spent the lastseveral months forging an alliance with thekhaganate, and now all of the khagan’s armiessail to this continent to save your people. Sowhile you sit here in your miserable keep,tossing insults at him, know that he has donewhat no other could do, and if your citysurvives, it will be because of him, not you.”His father blinked at her. Slowly.It took all of Chaol’s restraint to keep fromsweeping Yrene into his arms and kissing her.But Chaol said to his father, “Prepare for a
siege, and get the defenses ready. Or theSilver Lake will run red again beneath theclaws of Erawan’s beasts.”“I know the history of this city as well asyou do.”Chaol debated ending it there, but he asked,“Is that why you didn’t kneel to Erawan?”“Or to the puppet king before him,” hisfather said, picking at his food.“You knew—that the old king was Valg-possessed?”His father’s fingers stilled on a crust ofhearty bread, the only sign of his shock. “No.Only that he was building a host throughoutthe land that did not seem … natural. I am noking’s lackey, no matter what you may thinkof me.” He lowered his hand once more. “Ofcourse, in my plans to get you out of harm’sway, it seems it only led you closer to it.”“Why bother?”
“I meant what I said in Rifthold. Terrin isnot a warrior—not at heart. I saw what wasbuilding in Morath, in the Ferian Gap, andrequired my eldest son to be here, to pick upthe sword should I fall. And now you havereturned, at the hour when the shadow ofMorath has crept around us on all sides.”“All sides but one,” Chaol said, motioningtoward the White Fangs just barely visiblethrough the windows high above. “Rumor hasit Erawan has spent these months huntingdown the wild men of the Fangs. If you are soshort of soldiers, call for aid.”His father’s mouth tightened. “They arehalf-savage nomads who relish killing ourpeople.”“As ours have relished killing them. LetErawan unite us.”“And offer them what? The mountainshave belonged to us since before Gavin
Havilliard sat on his throne.”Yrene muttered, “Offer them the damnmoon, if it will convince them to help.”His father smirked. “Can you offer such athing, as the heir apparent to the Healer onHigh?”“Careful,” Chaol growled.His father ignored that, too. “I would ratherhave my head on a pike than give the wildmen of the Fangs an inch of Anielle’s land, letalone ask them for aid.”“I hope your people agree,” said Yrene.His father let out one of those joylesslaughs. “I like you better than the assassin-queen, I think. Perhaps marrying the rabblewill breed some backbone into our bloodlineonce more.”Chaol’s blood roared in his ears, butYrene’s lips curved into a smile. “You’reexactly as I’d pictured you to be,” she said.
His father only inclined his head.“Prepare this city, this keep,” Chaolmanaged to say through his gritted teeth. “Oryou’ll deserve everything you bring downupon it.”
CHAPTER 19Fifteen minutes later, Chaol could feel Yrenestill trembling as they entered a small yetwarm bedroom. One of the few cozy places inthis horrible keep. A bed and a half-rustedwashing basin filled most of the space, a ewerof steaming water beside it.Not exactly a bedroom fit for a lord’s son.He fought the heat that warmed his cheeks.“I was disowned, remember,” Chaol said,leaning against the shut door, their packsdiscarded at his feet. “This bedroom is meantfor a guest.”“I’m sure your father had it selected just
for you.”“I’m sure he did.”Yrene snarled. “He’s worse than youportrayed.”Chaol gave her a tired, small smile. “Andyou were brilliant.” Utterly brilliant.His father, at least, had agreed to begin theevacuations for those on the outskirts of thecity, and by the time they’d made their way tothis room, the keep had already been abuzzwith readying for a siege. If his father neededhelp planning it, the man hadn’t let on.Tomorrow, after they rested tonight, he’d seefor himself what his father had in mind.But for now, after almost two days offlying through the frigid air, he needed to rest.And his wife, however bold and fearless,needed to rest as well, whether she admitted itor not.So Chaol pushed off the door, prowling to
where Yrene paced in front of the bed. “I’msorry for what he said to you.”She waved him off. “I’m sorry you everhad to deal with him for longer than thatconversation.”Her temper, despite all that loomed,despite the bastard ruling over this city,warmed something in him. Enough so thatChaol closed the distance between them,halting her pacing by taking her hand. Hebrushed his thumb over her wedding band.“I wish you were meeting her instead—mymother,” he said softly.The fierceness in her eyes banked. “I do,too.” Her mouth quirked to the side. “ThoughI’m surprised your father cared enough tosend them away at a whisper of a threat.”“They’re assets to him. I wouldn’t besurprised if he sent them with a good part ofthe trove.”
Yrene glanced around in doubt.“Anielle is one of the richer territories inAdarlan, despite what this keep suggests.” Hekissed her knuckles, her ring. “There arechambers full of treasure in the catacombs.Gold, jewels, armor—rumor has it the wealthof an entire kingdom is down there.”Yrene let out an impressed hum, but said,“I should have told Sartaq and Nesryn to bringmore healers than the fifty we selected.”Hafiza would remain with the foot soldiersand cavalry, but Eretia, her second-in-command, would fly with the ruks and leadthe group, Yrene included.“We’ll make do with what we have. I doubtthere was a single magically gifted healer inthis city until an hour ago.”Her throat bobbed. “Can this keep survive asiege long enough for the terrestrial army toget here? It doesn’t look like it can withstand
another winter, let alone an army at itsdoorstep.”“This keep has stood for well over athousand years—it survived Erawan’s secondarmy, even when they sacked Anielle. It willoutlast this third war of his, too.”“Where will the people evacuate to? Themountains are already covered in snow.”“There are passes through them—dangerous, but they could make it to theWastes if they stay together and bring enoughsupplies.” Heading north of Anielle was adeath trap, with the witches holding the FerianGap, and going too far south would take themto Morath’s doorstep. To go east would takethem in the path of the army they sought tooutrun. “They might be able to hide inOakwald, along the edge of the Fangs.” Heshook his head. “There are no good options,not at this time of year.”
“A lot of them won’t make it,” she saidsoftly.“They’ll stand a better chance in the Fangsthan here,” he said with equal quiet. Theywere still his people, had still shown himkindness, even when his own father had not.“I’ll see to it that my father sends some of thesoldiers who are too old to fight with them—they’ll remember the way.”“I know I’m nothing more than the rabble,”Yrene said, and Chaol snickered, “but thosewho do choose to stay, who are let into thekeep … Perhaps while we wait for our ownforces, I could help find room for them.Supplies. See if there are any healers amongthem who might have access to the herbs andingredients we need. Get bandages ready.”He nodded, pride filling his chest to thepoint of pain. A lady. If not by blood, then bynobility of character. His wife was more of a
lady than any other he’d met, in any court.“Then let us prepare for war, husband,”Yrene said, sorrow and dread filling her eyes.And it was the sight of that kernel of fear,not for herself but what they wereundoubtedly soon to take part in, to witness,that had him sweeping her into his arms andlaying her upon the bed. “War can wait untilmorning,” he said, and lowered his mouth tohers.Dawn broke, and the ruks arrived.So many ruks they blotted out the waterysun, the boom of wings and rustle of feathersfilling the skies.People cried out this time, their voices aherald of the screams to come when that armyreached their doorstep.On the plain before the southern side of thekeep, flowing to the lake edge itself, the ruks
settled. It had long been kept clear ofsettlement, the flat expanse riddled with hotsprings and prone to annual flooding, though afew stubborn farmers still tried to coax cropsfrom the hard soil.It had once been part of the lake itself,before the Western Falls tucked into the Fangshad been dammed up, their roaring watersquieted to a trickle that fed the lake. Forcenturies, Chaol’s ancestors had debatedbreaking the dam, letting that raging river runfree once more, now that their ancient forgeshad given way to a few water-powered millsthat could easily be moved elsewhere.Yet the destruction breaking that damwould cause, even if they gathered everywater-wielder in the realm to control the flow,would be catastrophic. The entire plain wouldflood in a matter of minutes, some of the citybeing swept away as well. The waters would
barrel down from the mountains, destroyingeverything in their path in a mighty wave thatwould flow to Oakwald itself. The lowestlevels of the keep, the gate that opened ontothe plain, would be wholly submerged.So the dam had stayed, and the grassy plainwith it.The ruks settled themselves in neat rows,and Chaol and Yrene watched from thebattlements, other sentries breaking from theirposts to join them, as the riders began settingup camp with whatever supplies their mountshad carried. The healers would be brought uplater, though a few might remain down intheir camp until Morath’s legion arrived.Two dark shapes soared overhead, and thesentries fell back to their posts as Nesryn andSartaq landed on the battlement wall, a smallfalcon alighting beside the former’s ruk.Falkan Ennar, then.
