The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

“Dead, but it would have been the other way around for the whole Morrighese squad if the king hadn’t sent a message.”

We reached the wagon, and the surgeon hung back, letting me meet with my brothers alone. My temples pounded. They both lay on bedrolls, their ashen pallor lit with a greasy sheen, but when Regan saw me, his eyes brightened.

“Sister,” he said, and tried to sit up, then grimaced and fell back. I crawled up into the wagon beside them and held their hands to my cheeks. My tears ran through their fingers. They’re alive. Bryn, Regan. I whispered their names aloud as if to convince myself they were really here. Regan’s eyes were wet with tears too, but Bryn’s remained closed, a sleeping elixir keeping him in a dream world.

“We knew it was a lie,” Regan said. “We just didn’t know how deep it ran.”

“None of us did,” I said.

“Before we left, Father whispered to me, find her. He wanted you back too. Is he still alive?”

“Yes,” I answered. I’d already told them about the Viceregent in the message I sent, but now I told him what had transpired these past weeks, and our plan to meet the Komizar in Sentinel Valley. And then, though it hurt to relive it, I told him the truth of Walther’s death.

“Did he suffer?” he asked, his eyes sunken and expression grim.

I wasn’t sure how to answer him and the memory of Walther raging forward into battle surfaced again. “He was mad with grief, Regan. He suffered from the moment Greta died in his arms. But on the field he died quickly—he was a warrior prince, brave and strong, but greatly outnumbered.”

“As we are now.”

“Yes,” I admitted, “as we are now.” I couldn’t sugarcoat the truth for him, even with his weakened state.

“Hold off a few days before you leave,” he said. “And then I

can ride with you.”

I heard the hunger in his voice, his desire to avenge his brothers and ride at his sister’s side. It burned in him. I understood his need, but I sighed. “You have a gash in your side, Regan, that required twenty-seven stitches to close. If it were the other way around, would you take me along?”

His head rolled back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to ride in a few days or even a few weeks. “Damn surgeons. They love to count.”

“You need to stay here. Bryn will need you when he wakes.”

I looked at Bryn, peaceful in his drugged dream world. My sweet young brother looked more like an angel than a soldier. “Does he know what happened?” I asked.

Regan shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was screaming and delirious. He hasn’t woken since.”

I looked down at Bryn’s leg, half of it gone.

“If I’m not here when he wakes, tell him I will make sure they pay. For every life and pound of flesh they have taken. They will pay twofold.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Tavish, Jeb, and Orrin were directing troops to their places in the caravan. We were leaving in three waves. Gwyneth, Pauline, and Berdi walked with lists, checking supply wagons, making sure they were evenly dispersed among the contingents.

I was about to go speak with another regiment that had arrived the night before when Pauline called me over, ostensibly to check on a wagon. I knew something else was on her mind.

“The jacket you ordered is ready,” she said. “I put it in your room.” She kept her voice low, glancing over her shoulder. I had asked her to be discreet. “The dressmaker was not happy. She didn’t understand why you wanted scraps when she had perfectly good fabric available.”

“But she did as I asked?”

Pauline nodded. “Yes, and she incorporated the sewn red scraps you gave me.”

“And the shoulder?”

“That too.” Her expression turned worried. “But you know what everyone else will think.”

“I can’t worry about what others will think. I need to be recognized. What about the tether?”

She reached into her pocket and handed me a long slitted strip of leather. I already had the bones for it. I had been saving them.