52. Brett

Hector was clearly expecting to be chased from Urial, attacked at every turn, and I had to admit, given the fact that they were poisoning him, I couldn't blame him. When someone wanted to murder you, you had to take that seriously and protect your loved ones. And yourself, if you could.

Which was exactly what Hector had done. He'd sent Paris off to Nemeda when he'd been worried about the king to begin with. Then when he'd realized things were dire, he'd wanted us to take Paris and Helena and go.

It had just taken some time to convince him that wasn't how Nemedans worked.

He'd been right to send Paris to us, because somehow, without ever having known us, Hector was already one of us.

He was going to do well in Nemeda.

If Killian's reaction to him was any indication, he was going to be spoiled with choices on which clan he wanted to join.

I didn't think Paris was going to love that, but he'd survive. It was an easy day's flight from Hawk lands to the wall, so even if Hector went there in the end, they could see each other constantly.

Or I supposed, if he wanted to, he could go with him.

Just the thought was painful, so I decided not to think about that. Paris had decided to come back to Nemeda easily. He'd been there for just a handful of months, and he already knew it was home. Part of that was because of me, right?

Because I was part of his home.

And more, he was bringing his family with him, because they were part of our family too. I might hardly know them yet, but I could already feel it. Helena's strength, even while we were packing what few things she was going to be allowed to bring with her to a strange place filled with strange people. Hector's quiet determination, even in the face of complete betrayal by his king.

Because we all knew it was his king.

Who else? The man was mad; there was no other explanation for what was happening in my mind. The prince, Tybalt, was a disaster, but not a murderous one. He was sad, miserable, crumbling, looking for pleasure wherever he could take it, because he expected very little of it.

Not that I wanted him around.

Winter winds, no. I just pitied him, that was all.

He had no family. No clan there to protect him from his father.

I couldn't imagine living my life that way. It was scary enough being in Urial and having only Killian and Paris to fall back on. Without them? I couldn't imagine what I'd have done, other than shift and fly as fast and far as possible.

Home.

There were a few patrols between us and the border, oddly enough. Maybe even a few sent from the palace. We didn't stop and chat with them about what they were doing and who they might be looking for, but avoided them through judicious use of scouting by wing, and then traveling around other encampments.

We even decided to avoid visiting the Montagues again on the way back. If nothing else, we didn't want to put the kind Montagues in a position to have to report on our movements if asked. This way, they could quite honestly say that they hadn't seen us returning to Nemeda.

I could almost feel it when we crossed the border, like a pop in my ears from changing altitude. A sudden change in the urgency of our flight.

What was it Killian had said?

Urial doesn't have a war in it.

I'd dismissed it at the time, in my anxiety and fear that I'd exposed my people to a war on another front. But it seemed to be true, from what I'd seen of Urial. The people there hadn't been like the militant southerners, quick to anger, constantly complaining about their injured dignity, and always ready for a fight.

The people of Urial mostly hadn't seemed all that different from Nemedans. Oh, they had some things we didn't, and the opposite was certainly true as well, if the state of the rough cotton bedding on both Paris and Hector's beds were any indication. But their people were more concerned with survival than their dignity. That, to me, made sense.

The southerners were more than willing to die for their imagined dignity, when... well, I'd spent years helping the Crane defend Nemeda. I knew firsthand that there was no dignity in war. In death.

Paris and I landed in the sleigh soon after we crossed the border, no longer worried about wandering bands of mercenaries and such. We were in Vulture lands, yes, but that was still home. Safe from Urial and its mad king.

Mad because any man who didn't adore Paris had to be that.

Helena had been worried before we'd left, less than thrilled about leaving so many of her things behind, but as we'd gone, her whole demeanor had changed. She'd been getting more excited as we went, letting her braids hang loose and looking at everything we passed with interest.

"Is that a giant tent?" she asked, pointing back at the center pole of the main tent in the council meeting area.

"It is," I agreed. "It's part of a meeting area where we congregate once a year, in the fall, for a council meeting."

"A council of all the clans?" She really was picking up on the way Nemeda was organized very quickly. Even Paris hadn't been so quick. Of course, Paris hadn't wanted to be there at all, in the beginning. I nodded, and she immediately turned ahead, biting her lip and thinking. After a moment, she turned back to me, and I recognized the look in her eye. It was so like Paris when he was about to ask something he knew I wasn't going to like. "So what about this whole Avianitis thing. Can I get it?"

"No!" Paris nearly shouted from behind me, tumbling over the edge of the seat to practically fall into my lap.

I could barely hold back laughter. "I understand your hesitance, love, and she needs to know more about it. But I don't think she was asking me to infect her here and now. And I couldn't anyway."

He pouted and remained in my lap, casting an annoyed look at his sister. I wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at the image of her sick, of me infecting her, or something else entirely.

Eventually, though, he sighed and turned tell her everything.