Chapter Ten

"Risian forces are camped two miles northeast from here," General Branslen says, pointing to the trees drawn on the map that sprawl the length of the long oak table. "With the blockade acting as a means of extra protection, it's likely the brunt of their forces will march north down the Pass. Same way as ye' came in." He finishes with a nod.

Alexander's brow furrows as he leans forward to inspect the map. His index finger traces the lines that snake through the trees, representing the river that cuts through Greenwrath Forest. "And where are our lines going to be, in the event he decides to attack from the south?"

"If we cut him off as he comes down the Pass, our lines will be stretched thin. If we split our forces and have a portion stationed at the back of the Keep, the parapets will be vulnerable."

"No." Heads snap attention, every eye turning in my direction as I speak. "Let him come from the north. If I'm to use my powers, I need a clear view from atop the parapet."

Clasping my hands behind my back, my fingernails bite into the skin of my palms. "The southern wall that surrounds the Keep is little more than a pile of rubble."

General Branslen lifts a brow, but makes no move to comment further. With arms that are as thick as tree trunks and gray strands peeking through his soot colored-hair, it's likely he's studied a map and made plans for battle more than a dozen times. I imagine that the surprise plainly on his features is due to a queen voicing her opinion around the war table.

"Our focus needs to remain here, then," Alexander says, dragging his finger to a sloped line in the center of the map. "He'll already be at a disadvantage. Their cavalry's mobility will be limited, given the narrowness of the valley."

If we can manage to keep him from the hill in front of the Keep, both the parapet and our queen will be protected."

The Brealan general shakes his head and places his palms on the table, mimicking Alexander's movement. "If your intel holds true, we won't have the numbers to do both. If we're unsuccessful in cutting him off at the entrance of the Pass, he'll beat back our lines and take the hill." General Branslen lifts his eyes to me. "It's one or the other, Your Grace."

The meaning of his words doesn't escape me. Although some may consider me a cynic, I know there are limited outcomes that can come to pass when all is said and done. At best, blood will seep into the earth, and thousands will die. At worst, as General Branslen seems to believe, the brunt of our focus will be lost when the Risian King commands his men to march into the Pass.

I refuse to speak life into the third possible outcome that hangs heavily over the small command tent. I'll see a sword pierce my heart before I ever submit myself.

Despite the trepidation that twists my stomach, there is no room for misunderstanding in my tone. "Let him come. Let him take the hill." I ignore the bewildered look Alexander shoots me from across the table. "Place our lines between the hill and the parapet. If I'm to kill the King of Risian, I'll need to be within plain sight of him." My gaze remains firm on General Branslen, though the words taste of ash upon my tongue.

Out of the corner of my eye, Commander Lathing's eyebrows inch up as he speaks. "And should the lines fall and the archers fail to protect you?"

My lips peel back into a cruel, mocking smile as I place my hands on the table and lean forward on my palms. "Then to the ground I go. My legs work the same as yours, Commander."

Commander Lathing's nostrils flare and he opens his mouth to spew some form of nonsense when a rustle sounds from beyond the tent. Hands fly to scabbards at once, heads whipping around to the tent's entrance. Alexander is across the room, his back pressing into my front in a matter of seconds.

General Branslen is the sole being present who seems unfazed by the intrusion. His hands rest calmly at his sides, the wrinkles in his face remaining smooth and without tension. The uneasiness that slithers into my chest fades when the flap opens and a soldier wearing a crimson breastplate appears.

The boy of no more than nineteen raises trembling hands as Commander Lathing brings a dagger to his throat. Candlelight flickers in the boy's amber eyes that are overcome with a shadow of fear. "I come with urgent news."

"What is it, boy?" General Branslen barks.

The apple of his throat bobs beneath a thick swallow. At last, the Commander lowers his blade. "An emissary returned from the forest at first light. By his account, a host of twenty thousand men are readying for travel."

"Twenty thousand," Commander Lathing barks. "You're sure?"

The young man nods vigorously. "The emissary says he saw it with his very eyes. Though it was the dead of night, he estimates at least three thousand mounted soldiers."

A deep crease mars the smooth skin of Alexander's forehead as he straightens. The chirping of birds cuts through the tense silence. General Branslen strokes the length of his thick black and gray peppered beard. Though my knowledge of warfare has come from the recorded histories of the kingdoms, I know this is a grievous miscalculation. To another, these numbers would seem to be of good favor, but alarm bells of warning sound in my mind.

A disquieting energy thrums in my veins as I take a shallow breath and find my voice. "So, where are the remaining fifteen thousand men?"

Panic seeps cold into my chest when General Branslen turns his head and alarm fills his forest green eyes. "That is precisely my question, Your Grace."

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Alexander's expression is somber as he holds the tent flap open. Though the afternoon sun has begun its descent, and dusk streaks across the land, it's the eerie quiet that settles over the camp that sees unease roil in my depths.

While I'm no stranger to the tales of bloodshed, it's a much different thing to experience it. The quiet smothers the many bleak faces we pass while walking through the camp. Almost as if the very ground itself knows of the death and destruction that is to seep into its roots.

"If the emissary's information is correct, Risian could come knocking in a matter of hours," Alexander says in a low voice from beside me, glancing at a group of men who pull crimson breastplates over their heads and secure longswords at their sides.

Unarmoured women wheel carts full of medicinal supplies from a tent to the right. Many of them wear blood stained healer uniforms.

I release the nefarious thoughts threatening to creep in with a long, slow exhale. "I know."

"I'm just not sure it's wise to expose yourself so openly," he murmurs, placing his hand on the small of my back as we turn down a narrow pathway.

I make no attempt to hide my audible sigh. "This is the best opportunity for the whole of Minalis to be freed," I say. Irritation rises as his incessant worry forces me to reiterate the logic on a matter that's been settled. "All I'll be doing is allowing Felix's crazed delusions to bring about his demise."

The thread in my chest unfurls the moment its mate's name passes from my lips. I swallow back the joy that stretches through my chest when Alexander slows our steps and frowns down at me.

"And should he have the same thoughts as you?"

I scoff. "He hasn't an inkling of the truth. He'll be at his most vulnerable when he takes the hill and catches sight of me atop the parapets. It'll put him in quite the pinch, seeing that he wouldn't dream of harming me. Which is precisely the point."

Turning and giving my back in a silent command to end the discussion, I duck my head and step into our tent. I pay little mind to the leftover meat that has long grown cold on the table or the pails that lie overturned on the ground.

Following quickly behind me, Alexander remains silent as I kneel at the foot of the bed and unfasten the latch of my trunk. The low candlelight that omits from the table affords me little sight, forcing me to rummage through the endless amount of garments for my tunic and breeches.

The corners of my lips tilt upward in victory when my fingers close around the silk material of my tunic, and my cotton breeches follow soon after. Having the foresight to understand my need, Nuelle placed the ruby-studded crown to the immediate left of them.

Alexander steps forward and unlaces my corset when I pull my attire for the day out of the trunk and rise.

"It is to be a long and bloody battle, My Queen," he says softly. "You should try to rest more."

"No." The gown pools at my waist when the last ribbon is freed, and I tug it over my head. "I'd like to be atop the parapets before the battle begins."

Having only deliberately used my powers a handful of times in all my life, I'm unsure what awaits me. I'll have to submit myself and open the channel to my powers through emotions I've long repressed.

In the comfort of the Amber Palace, it felt like part of my soul had slipped into the abyss. Now, I'm to insert myself into a minefield of discontent. I can't allow myself to sink into the nothingness I once found solace in.

The extent to which I understand my power is limited at best. I'm unsure of how to wield them. I don't know the depths of their strength, or how to prevent them from burning me, inside and out.

In a strange twist of the stars, the fear that makes a permanent home in my depths is not for myself. Besides, after all I've endured, I imagine there is nothing left of my precious soul to be destroyed.