The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

spilling the blood of darkness,

vanquishing it forever.

—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

I sipped hot chicory out of a tall mug, studying the maps spread across the table in the meeting chamber. I moved them around as if looking at them from a new angle would make me see something I hadn’t before. There. It swirled inside me, a distant voice pushing me to look again and again, but I didn’t know what I was searching for. There. An answer? A warning? I wasn’t sure.

I’d arrived early because I couldn’t sleep. It was still dark when I heard the cries of children. I threw back my quilt and looked out the window, but the cries weren’t coming from outside. They hovered in my room and swam behind my eyes. I saw them huddled, afraid, the young Vendan soldiers who were on their way. And then I heard the brezalots, their breath hot and fierce, the steam from their nostrils filling the night air, and finally the whispers of the Komizar crawled beneath my skin like vermin raising my flesh. Fervor, Jezelia, fervor. Are you understanding me at last?

There was no going back to sleep after that. I dressed and crept down to the kitchen, where a kettle of hot water always steamed, and while my chicory steeped, I knelt beside the hearth, saying my morning remembrances, thinking of Morrighan crossing the wilderness with no map to guide her, and the courage she must have conjured. I prayed for that same courage.

There were at least a dozen maps laid out on the table. Ones just of Civica, others of the whole kingdom, and still more of the whole continent. The maps blurred and a scent streamed through me, fragrant, like crushed grass in a meadow. The tiny hairs raised on my neck. There. A voice as clear as my own.

I earnestly rearranged the maps again, this time examining the southern routes, but they had no more answers for me than before. There were dozens of possibilities. We had gone around and around about which route the Komizar would take, though once he spilled into Morrighan, it would make little difference. It wouldn’t take a hundred and twenty thousand soldiers long to quash villages along the way and then engulf Civica. Another looming question was when they would get here. How long did we have? Much depended on the route, though the difference between southern and northern routes was still only a matter of days. Lookouts had been sent to provide early warning, but they could not scout every mile of a vast wilderness.

The last two weeks had taken much of our strategizing outdoors, riding the surrounding countryside, trying to find strategic locations to mount and fortify our defenses. Civica was miserably vulnerable, and the blockades being built on the two main arteries seemed woefully inadequate. During this time, I began training again. As soon as the sling and bandage came off, I tried to regain the strength in my left hand, but the numbness persisted. It was good for holding a shield and little else. I couldn’t hit a target from ten feet. My right hand had to work harder. I tried to hide my frustration as Natiya and I trained dozens of women who had come forward to serve in the effort, many of them already skilled with bows and swords.

When he saw women among the troops, General Howland’s jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crumble into a hundred blustering splinters. “Every willing soldier is welcome and needed, General,” I told him, stamping out his arguments before they could begin. “A woman will be leading you into battle. Why would you be surprised to see them among the ranks?” He had looked at me, stunned, and I realized it was the first time he had grasped that I would be going into the battle with him. Yes, he was counting the days until my father recovered or my brothers returned, but there were still no signs of either one.

The door opened, and I glanced up. Rafe stood there, a steaming mug in his hand too. I looked back at the maps. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” he said.

I hadn’t told him that I knew the circumstances of his betrothal. My toast hadn’t entirely eliminated the awkwardness between us. There were times he caught me looking at him, and I would quickly look away. At other times, his gaze lingered on me even when our conversation was finished, and I wondered what he was thinking. But we eased into a rhythm. Friends. Comrades. Like Kaden and I were.

He walked over to my side of the table and looked at the sprawled papers with me. His arm brushed mine as he pushed a map aside. My skinned burned with his touch. Burned in a way it shouldn’t between friends. It wasn’t right, I knew, but I couldn’t help what I felt.

“See anything?” he asked.

I saw only that our efforts seemed futile. “No.”

“We’ll find a way,” he said, reading my thoughts.

* * *

Kaden arrived, and we conferred, as we did each morning before everyone else joined us, about what needed to be addressed that day. The discussion of evacuating towns along likely invasion routes needed to be b

roached, but we knew that could stir panic and disrupt supply chains that we desperately needed. We leaned back in our chairs, our boots resting on the table, and hours later, we were in much the same position as we listened to Tavish and Captain Reunaud wrestle over ways to bring down a brezalot. They were nasty charging creatures and perfect for the delivery of the Komizar’s most destructive weapon. Both men had seen them killed with spears, but that would require too close a proximity to the exploding animals. They agreed a siege crossbow would work, but without knowing exactly where the enormous horses would charge from, we would need dozens of the weapons. Morrighan had four that hadn’t been used in years. Heavy siege weapons weren’t useful for most battles that occurred in remote field locations. Killing a man required only a sword or arrow. The order went out for more siege crossbows to be built.

There was a knock at the door, and a sentry announced that servers were here with the midday meal. Maps were moved to a side table, and platters were brought in. As we ate, talk turned back to the training of soldiers, and my thoughts returned to my brothers. I looked at Rafe across the table from me. I wasn’t sure I had ever thanked him for requesting an escort home for my brothers’ squads, and then I selfishly wondered how many soldiers were in a Dalbretch battalion. In Morrighan, a battalion consisted of four hundred soldiers. Once here, would his men stay and help us?

I knew the same thought had simmered in Kaden’s mind, and then between bites of his brisket and bread, the Field Marshal suddenly spoke aloud the question that we all had on our minds—would Dalbreck send more troops to help Morrighan? The room fell silent.

The question had already been asked. Rafe had maintained since his arrival in Civica that he and his men were there only to help root out traitors, stabilize our kingdom, and help us prepare our forces for a possible invasion. The Field Marshal had put Rafe in an awkward position by asking again. Dalbreck was in jeopardy too. Rafe had his own borders to think about, not to mention his own troubled reign. He had already risked much just in coming here. I saw Sven’s focus sharpen, waiting to see what he would say.

Rafe studied me, weighing his answer carefully, then looked back at the Field Marshal. “When I sent the message to Fontaine, I also made a request for troops.”

Expressions around the table brightened.

“How many?” Marques asked.

“All of them.”

Sven leaned back in his chair and sighed. “It’s our largest outpost. That’s six thousand soldiers.”

A few hushed seconds passed.