Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Anash

My skin is clammy, even after toweling off and changing into dry clothes. I'm not the only one feeling unsettled. If Zenith's pacing is anything to go by, Rahz and Jindal made quite the impression on him. He's called for a meeting of his advisors, which hopefully still includes me, even after my ignoring his orders, but first the panel must be assembled.

"A fire in the rain," he mutters. "Have you ever seen anything like that?"

"I haven't." But if anyone could do it, my guess would have been Rahz. The way Princess Suvi gushed over his raw talent keeps me from underestimating the half fae. I saw some of their lessons with my own eyes. He's a force to behold.

If only I could explain this to Zenith and unburden myself of secrets. But he's imprisoned by his duty, bent on fulfilling Queen Aurielle's wishes, and too stubborn to listen to the cries of the other side.

But if now is not the time, then when? I can't leave him in the dark forever.

Thankfully, the bridge being burned down has added several days to our journey. Plenty of time to broach the subject.

"Since when are mixlings so powerful?" He spins on his heels and crosses back to me.

"I thought those of mixed blood were always among the best mages. Was it different in your era?"

He grumbles. "Why would a mage fight on their side?"

The way he says "their" — referring to humans as if they are inherently bad or inferior somehow—makes me cringe. Zenith may not know any better, but that's only an excuse for so long.

I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my gray wool shirt. "There are mixlings fighting on both sides, Zee. Being half fae and half human, they must feel a terrible sense of division."

Zenith huffs and wrings droplets from his soiled clothes, then hangs them from the tent supports.

"Loyalties may sway one way or the other." I may not be part human, but I am a mixling, and I do know what it's like to feel torn between dueling natures. How do I explain that to Zenith in a way he'll understand? Perhaps I don't, at least not when he's in such a foul mood. He really does hate water. "It's hard to know the right path to choose."

"But the fae have ruled Luminia for ages. Humans have no?—"

"And so? Is there no room for improvement? Room for everyone to have a seat at the table?"

He casts me a harsh glare. "Anash, quiet. Your words border on treason."

"Then it's a good thing I speak to my lover and not my commander."

His expression plummets. "About that, we need to talk."

I was hoping to avoid this conversation. Wishful thinking on my part that he'd forget so easily. "I couldn't stay behind. What use am I holed up in a tent?"

"You're alive holed up in a tent. Anash, you aren't a trained fighter. You're not a fighter at all. That's not why you were sent here. No one expects you to fight, least of all me."

"But—"

"As your lover and as Her Majesty's high general, I need to know you're protected. In camp. With your guards. I cannot fulfill my duty to the best of my ability if I'm worried about you." He envelopes my hands in his. "If you won't keep yourself safe for your own sake, do it for mine."

Well. When put that way, the order almost seems reasonable. Hard to argue with reason. And I don't want to argue with Zenith at all. "You're right. I'm sorry."

He crunches his brows. "Really? That seems too easy."

"I'm unaccustomed to following orders." I squeeze his hands. "Princes generally give them. Even mixling princes." Of which I'm the only one, and still, it's an adjustment to take orders from a soldier. Any soldier, but especially when that soldier is my beloved.

"I'm sorry." He sighs and sits next to me on the bed. "This is all a big change for you, isn't it?"

Indeed. In the past months, I've left my home and crossed the sea plus half the continent in hopes of finding a mate. Of course my family thought he would be another prince, but instead, I found a handsome gargoyle, awoken from the stone itself, and fell in love.

Our lands are on the verge of civil war, with me caught in the middle, torn between what is right and the misguided beliefs of who I love. That I'm functioning at all is a small miracle.

Zenith wraps a big arm around my shoulders and tugs me close. "Everything will work out. War is new for you, but not for me. It's the very reason I was created. My purpose. Trust me to lead us in this, and in no time we will be at peace again and free to?—"

"General?" Captain Randal asks from the entry flap to our not-so-private abode. "Your advisors are gathered and ready for debriefing in the war tent."

I deflate. What was he going to say? Free to what? Reign over the species together? Like what got the fae into this mess in the first place? Free for Aurielle to command he turn back into stone for another eternity until he's needed again?

Zenith's answer is to me as he rises to attend to duty, as usual. "Thank you, Randal. We'll be right there."

At least I'm still to be included. I follow on shaky legs, reeling from the fire and the awkward confrontation with Rahz and Jindal.

Outside, the wind has pushed the rain on its way. What remains is only a drizzle, but the aftermath is made obvious in the muddy encampment where walkways became washes during the worst of the deluge.

The war tent is much like the others but big enough for ten men to gather around a table full of maps. Mixed scents waft through humid air: damp leather, unwashed soldiers, and sandalwood incense to cover up the unwashed soldiers.

I never say much during these meetings, but I listen. And I report.

Zenith joins Captain Randal, so I take a seat next to the only other scribe, a fae called Isolde with emerald-green hair, eyes, and wings.

"What happened today cannot be repeated," says Zenith, face grim. "We were caught unawares, slow to respond, and woefully lacking in the chain of command for which I take the blame."

"And I," says Randal. "I should have sent men after you rather than try to save a bridge already doomed to failure."

"We remedy these faults before we leave this table. We shall set a plan in place for handling surprises, along with a contingency plan if the first should fail. No more floundering. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the group says.

"First." Zenith turns his attention to Isolde and me. "Gather me a list of every soldier with prominent magical abilities, organized by strength and skill."

Uh-oh. He's asking us to work together. It's not that I don't like Isolde. She seems fine, but I don't know her, and her reason for being here directly conflicts with mine.

We trade glances and nod. Inwardly, I grimace. I hate lying, and this will mean more lying.

"Next order of business…" Zenith and his advisors go on to hash out details, propose potential scenarios and solutions, and discuss what's known of the longer route we'll be forced to take to the next bridge. He tells them of Rahz and Jindal's request for an audience with the queen and their threat of more destruction if such a meeting isn't granted.

I listen. Any detail could be of importance, so I must memorize everything. I'm careful taking notes to be sure they can't be misinterpreted if read by another. But overall, I'm disheartened.

Zenith won't be caught off guard a second time, and while I don't want him to lose a battle, I certainly don't want him to win one either. I don't want anyone to be hurt or killed.

I'm counting on Princess Suvi to sort this out, on Rahz and Jindal to stay safe and protect the southerners, on fate not to let us down. The tension in the war tent isn't helping.

By the time we depart, I have enough letters to write that the calluses on my fingers are going to need their own calluses.

I have questions too. Why wasn't I told about the attack on the bridge beforehand? If I'd known, maybe I could have?—

Oh. That's probably why I wasn't told. I'd have been too prepared. Not startled enough. Not honest in my reactions.

I'm a terrible liar. The sooner I come clean to Zenith, the better. But not now. Not today, when he has a renewed sense of duty and the motivation of an early setback to regroup the army and drill them even harder.

My shoulders sink as Isolde and I sort out our plans to poll the soldiers on their talents with magic. It reminds me an awful lot of the queen's mixling registry and gives me a sour taste in my mouth.

But I have my orders, and this time, I intend to follow them. It will do Rahz good to know what he's up against.

And hopefully, Zenith, by the moon, will understand when the dirt comes out in the wash.