How long does it take for a hundred years –
Till a hundred years have been?
How far must I go for a hundred years?
Until then I cannot be free.
For my love is caught in a fairy mound,
In a fairy mound lies she,
And I cannot enter that fairy mound,
For the door is closed to me.
How long does it take till a hundred years,
If I travel the stars with thee?
How far till I age by a hundred years,
And my love and I can be free?
For the fairies will play and will sing to her,
Will dance her around the yew tree
And a night in that mound is a hundred years,
And so I must age as she.
How long must I go for a hundred years
To pass at home by me,
And where do we go for a hundred years
If I sail the stars with thee?
For my love will be free in a hundred years
When the fairies then let her be,
And I’ll stand at that mound in a hundred years
That my true love I may see.
So let me sail for a hundred years,
For a hundred years with thee.
From Earth to the stars and then home again,
For my love is dear to me.
I’ll mourn for my friends in a hundred years,
And I’ll mourn for my family.
But let me return in a hundred years
So that she shall not mourn for me.
We sailed away for a hundred years
Saw wonders of galaxies;
And when I returned in a hundred years
Not a year had passed for me.
And I went down to the fairy mound
To wait a while for thee
And when I saw thee – oh my precious love,
How leapt my heart in me.
How long does it take for a hundred years?
How far to sail for thee?
I’ve travelled the stars and I’m home again,
And you’re home enough for me.
written for @inklings-challenge 2025. always feels a little bit like I'm cheating when I write something other than a fully fleshed out story but technically I'm pretty sure this fits the rules and October this year is a whole problem. 4500 word essay here goes.
Okay Inklings this year is somehow even LONGER so! First part here, and the next two will be forthcoming over the next couple days. It's just gonna be WAY too long to be in one piece
@inklings-challenge
Link to playlist (not mandatory, just fun, and it's tradition at this point) and a link to part two and part three!
The sounds of life were like a special kind of music to Enver Connally. The chaotic timbre of his squad mates bickering over breakfast, the up and down drumbeat of his heart during sparring. The chirp of a bird in the woods as they patrolled the border, or the wind through leaves.
But war wasn’t music. It was a discordant, aggressive, loud cacophony, assaulting his ears as he tried to stay alive.
One would think he’d be used to it by now. He wasn’t.
A two-note crackle of rifle fire echoed past his ears, and Enver tried not to flinch, gripping his own weapon tighter. Instinctively, he looked back to make sure none of his squad members had fallen, and met only with unfamiliar faces.
He’d been the self appointed guardian of his squad. The one counting heads and lifting spirits.
But that was before the skirmish on the banks of the Aniva River. And now he didn’t know how he fit into this new squad. A mismatched note in an otherwise unhesitating song.
“Eyes up, boys.” Sergeant Kazinsky’s voice was a smooth baritone, like polished river stones pulling them away from fear, weighing them back into reality. “And Rita.” Rita Tanner gave a two fingered salute, the smirk that Enver rarely saw her face without pulling at the scars along her cheeks.
“We’ve got about two miles of ordnance to make our way through,” Kazinsky continued. “If the other team does their job, we’ll have the opposition trapped, and might get out of here before dinner.”
“All we gotta do is not get blown up. Piece of cake.” The quip came from Clifton Ives, as it always did, and Kazinsky shot him a glance that had him straightening, just a little. At his side, Nikan Galanetz was clutching his own rifle, looking like he might be sick. He was the other new member of the squad—just as out of place as Enver felt, but with only six months of experience.
Enver had been there, though it felt like a million years ago. A twinge of sympathy went through him, and he caught the kid’s eye, giving him a little nod. The barest smile crossed Nikan’s face in response. Better than nothing.
“Be ready,” Kazinsky told them. “When our scouts get back—”
There was a rattle of stones and earth, and two more soldiers slid down into the ditch where they were sheltering. Giving a quick salute, the woman in the lead, with wildly curly hair bundled back from her face, said, “Back, Sarge.”
Kazinsky nodded. “Report.”
“We’ve got the numbers,” the woman—Annaleis Esparza. Enver had worked with her as a scout in his old unit, too. She was one of the best—told him, settling into a crouch. Her hand rested on the blade at her side, and Enver tensed. There’s more.
“But,” her companion added. Sean Monahan was an exact contrast to his fellow scout—pale where she was dark, short where she was tall, and twice as superstitious. To say nothing of his pessimism. “They’ve got some top notch casters. There’s a shield up—” Rita cursed, receiving a warning glance from Kazinsky— “and there’s more magic users to spare.”
Great. One of the many downsides about being at war with a counter whose population were 85 percent magic users was, well, everything. Where Harrowdale’s strength was innovation and industry, Alcea’s magic users could match them. Especially with the latest spell, which tore their rifles to bits with ease.
Enver could see Kazinsky realizing the same thing. “Rifles away,” he ordered. “Swords at the ready. Rita, crossbow. Esparza, you’re still a good archer?”
“Better than Sean is,” Annaleis confirmed.
“Time to prove it. Find a vantage point, get some magecopper, and try to pierce that shield.”
“On it, boss.” Annaleis disappeared up the rise, and Kazinsky turned to face the rest of them.
Face grim, he said, “On me.”
“We’re still going in?” Nikan’s voice cracked halfway through his protest, and Clifton laughed, slapping him on the shoulder.
“No choice, brother. Keep moving or start dying.”
Swords slid from sheaths, shields were pulled from backs, and the squad started moving. Kazinsky took the lead, and Enver brought up the rear, one eye on his surroundings and the other on the rookie. Nikan was clutching his sword with a trembling hand, but he didn’t stop. He’s not freezing. And sun knows I froze my first time out. He’d been younger, though. Hopefully.
For a while, the only sound was pebbly dirt crunching underfoot, and the squad’s steady breathing. They were crossing what had been open farmland, before the Alceans had pushed across the border again, trying to claim it as their own. Enver hoped the inhabitants of the burned out farmhouse he saw had been evacuated.
A few more steps. And then he saw it.
Curls of magenta light, swirling up from the grove of willows shrouding the nearby pond. Spell caster.
He didn’t have enough time to recognize the shape it was taking before Clifton shouted, “DOWN!”
This time, Nikan froze, and Enver dove toward him, dropping his sword as a transparent spear of magenta flew through the air, skewering the ground around them. Enver smacked into Nikan, both of them crashing to the ground as it exploded. He felt the impact of shrapnel against his armor, but it didn’t break through, and he rolled to his feet.
And now the Alcean soldiers were appearing, swinging swords illuminated in different colors of light. Spells, imbuing their weapons with powers that Enver never wanted to discover. He found his sword and took a stance, hand tight around the stiff leather grip.
The area around him exploded into combat. Rita was taking shot after shot, crossbow bolts skating across the field. Kazinsky was at her back, fending off an approaching duo. Enver saw an arrow plunge down into the willows, and one of the clouds of light disappeared. One of their best casters down. Thank you, Annaleis.
Steel grated against steel in a discordant high note, and Enver raced to help Clifton, who was staggering back away from a massive Alcean soldier, who was bracketed in mustard yellow light. He swung his blade, and Enver saw a blast of familiar, jagged shapes flying toward him. Fire spell.
He dove under them, tucking into a somersault and leaping out of it, slashing his sword across the man’s arm. Heat flared behind him, but Enver didn’t look back, not even when the Alcean fell and Clifton gasped a quick thank you.
That was war. You kept moving.
The other team had arrived, and were in the thick of combat. Enver caught a triumphant grin from Rita, heard Clifton start to whistle as he drew a knife. This was just another day’s work, now.
And then. He saw one of the spellcasters step out of the willows, lifting a hand. Magenta light poured forth, striking the ground around them, and Enver saw half a dozen spots light up.
Oh, no. He knew this spell. They all did.
It was a simple one—a massive explosion, meant not to kill, just to disorient. And then came the second hit. Not meant to send you flying, one that would suck you in like a whirlpool. And then it would drop you out, halfway across the country, above a cliff or a jagged outcropping of rocks, or just from somewhere very, very high.
And that would kill you. Or at least take you out of the game so efficiently your team would have no chance of getting you back anytime soon.
I hate this spell.
“MOVE!” Kazinsky’s shout pushed them into action, and they did, sprinting forward at the same time as the Alceans around them. Enver saw Nikan stumble, and he lengthened his stride, just in time to push him forward. Just as the explosion hit.
The trick was to roll, to get as far out of range as possible. Then, you might have a chance.
But Enver had spent his last stride trying to get Nikan clear. So when he went flying, his head cracked against something hard, and his vision went up and down, jagged lines flaring through it. The air went out of him with a whoosh.
Dragging in a painful breath, he pushed himself upward, scanning the surrounding area. A massive circle, about three yards wide, was still glowing violent magenta. The blast radius. And he was still in it.
“Enver! Move!”
Clifton’s shout was just cutting through the air when another blast erupted. Enver barely had time to pull the knife from his belt and slam it into the ground before a whirlwind came to life around him with a roar. Even with the anchor, he felt himself slipping backward. Rita was being held back by Kazinsky, and Nikan was staring wide eyed at—
Oh. I’m not alone.
There was someone else in the blast radius.
And she was Alcean.
Enver caught the barest glimpse of her as she clung to the grass around her desperately. Dark red-brown hair braided and pinned back, her skin a warm shade of brown. Dual swords were strapped to her back, and she wore traditional Alcean armor. But none of that was what struck Enver.
She didn’t look surprised. Not scared, or shocked, or even really upset. She just looked…resigned. Like she’d known this would happen.
Over the roar of wind, he heard the grass tear, and the Alcean warrior went flying backward. She smacked directly into him, and his knife slipped. Together, they were swept up and swallowed by a whirlwind in the ground.
For a moment, everything was silent. Enver couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe, and for a heartbeat he thought the earth would keep them prisoner forever.
And then the world came exploding back to life, and he was falling out of the sky.
A brief glance took in their surroundings. They were on the coast—miles from where they’d been fighting, depending on which coast it was. Cliffs jutted beneath them, with jagged rocks slicing the savage waves into pieces.
And they were plummeting straight toward it.
A scream caught his ear, cut off halfway. To his left, the Alcean moved, teal light coalescing around her hands. As they dropped, straight toward the rocks, she cast a hand out, and a cord made of light moved with it. Coiling like a whip, it snagged at the cliff face, burying itself in the rock.
Enver was going to have to try something a little more simple. Gripping his knife tightly, he let gravity take him down, listening to the harmony of wind and waves below. And as he drew closer, he twisted, spinning toward the cliff.
The blade slammed against the stone, letting out an earsplitting screech—and then he jerked, suddenly, to a stop that reverberated through his bones.
It had caught on a crack.
Enver barely had time to marvel at the miracle that had been dropped into his lap—again—before he heard a scream, a full one this time. A little ways above and to his left, the Alcean soldier had caught herself, but the sickening pop that rang out told a far more ominous story than his own. One of her arms fell free, and she clung to her magic desperately, eyes wide.
She won’t last. With a dislocated shoulder, she had one less hand, and the pain would break her concentration. Enver had seen it before.
In a few minutes, she’d fall.
One less Alcean. One less enemy.
That’s what Noran would have said, from his old unit. His friend had lost family to the Alceans, and had never quite gotten over it. He was still spitting curses the day they killed him on the banks of the Aniva.
Enver had loved his friend. But he wasn’t him.
The Alcean’s face flashed to the front of his vision—not even afraid. Just resigned. Not expecting to be saved.
She’s alone, too. Especially now.
Rock cracked, and he heard her cry out again, voice tight with frustration. Not for the first time, Enver wished for his sword.
Although…
With some difficulty, he slipped a hand under his jacket. Strapped to his back, he kept a few precious, personal items. Not his, but his old squad’s. Things they hadn’t been able to send to anyone else.
His hand closed around a hilt—Penny’s sword. Yanking it free, he hit the switch on the side of the hilt, and flicked his wrist. The blade burst to life, locking into place seconds later. Thank you, Maguire. The smith who’d made it was the best in the business.
Hauling back, he slammed the blade into the crack where his knife was, wedging it in place. Gripping tight, he slowly shifted the knife out and back to his belt—just in time. The teal light above him vanished, and the soldier dropped.
No, you don’t. Bracing a boot against the stone, Enver lunged, and managed to grab her arm. She let out a cry as he hauled her up. Gritting teeth as she tried to pull away, Enver managed to gasp, “Hold on!”
She went still. So still he wasn’t sure if she’d listened, or just passed out from pain. Glancing down, he caught a glimpse of brown eyes boring into his. “We need a way up,” he told her, looking back up. Ten feet up, maybe? That’ll be a nightmare to climb—
He heard the magic before he saw it. A gentle hum, like the strings of a violin, and suddenly pale teal light was surrounding them. As Enver watched, fear drumming the same beat as his heart, it built under them, growing stronger and stronger. And then it burst up, sending them flying up toward the cliff’s edge. Enver’s sword tore free from the crack with another screech, and he lashed out desperately as they shot up.
It sank into the dirt at the top, and they jerked to a stop before they could plummet again. The teal light flickered, and Enver realized it was holding them up. Just barely, securing them from another fall.
But it’s good enough. Straining every muscle in his body, he hauled himself up, getting a boot steady against the cliff and pushing. Inch by inch, second by second, he got himself up and over the edge, one hand still locked around the Alcean’s arm.
The minute he rolled over onto solid land, he turned, sprawled on his stomach, and grabbed her other arm. She let out a hiss of pain, but awkwardly caught hold of his arm. The teal light around her was fading by the second, and he could see fear in her eyes now.
“Sorry,” he told her, and pulled.
Her scream echoed off the cliffs, scaring several nearby birds, but she scrambled up and over. The magic around her disappeared just as she hit the dirt, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Just gasped for breath, clinging to the ground. And each other.
She was the first to move, hands pulling away from his, and Enver reluctantly hauled himself to his feet. Only when they were both standing did he realize he was several inches taller than her. And he was holding a sword.
As one, they stepped back, and took in their enemy. The enemy who’d just saved each other’s lives.
~~~
All good Alcean soldiers hated Harrowdale. At least, that was what the drill sergeants would have you think. The hatred would fuel you and your magic, get them one step closer to winning the war.
Inessa would have hated Harrowdale more if an Alcean hadn’t been the one who betrayed her first.
And he had been. Alvin Melith had been her wingman, her partner on the battlefield and—she thought—her friend off of it. Which was why it had come as a surprise when he handed her over to Harrowdalean renegades to be tortured for information.
(as if being the daughter of a general meant she had special information. All she’d ever gotten from General Lang was disappointed looks, brown eyes, and apparently, her stubbornness.)
But now, she’d been expecting it. Discrediting a good soldier with five years of service to her two, a soldier who’d been a top tier caster and the son of a high ranking lord to boot, had crushed her career like a grape tossed onto a floor of dancers. So when Avery Bedlam had cast the hither-bomb spell, he hadn’t cared if she was in the middle.
And Inessa couldn’t pretend to be surprised.
She’d been done trusting even her own people for a long time now.
But she’d also expected to die when the bomb pulled her in. And yet, judging by the screaming agony from her arm, she was alive.
Thanks to the Harrowdalean soldier facing her right now.
That might be about to end, though, Inessa thought. The odds were simple. He had a sword—and so did she. Two, in fact. But she only had one arm, and with the pain etching itself through her body, casting was going to be nearly impossible. It had taken all her reserves just to help get them up the cliff.
Them. Why did I help him?
Because he was holding you up, idiot. The sarcastic voice in her head sounded remarkably like Anya, her younger sister. Inessa bit her lip hard, trying not to miss her. Trying not to think about how she would never see her again.
Don’t flinch, she told herself, despite the fear already thundering to life. Knowing you would die was one thing. Knowing pain would accompany it was entirely another. She clenched a fist, trying to summon some magic, anything to prevent—
“Truce?”
Her concentration slipped, teal sparks sputtering away from her fingers as she stared at the man facing her. “What?”
“Truce,” he repeated, pressing a switch on the side of his sword. The blade retracted with a click, and he dropped the hilt to the ground deliberately. Lifting his hands in the air, he said, “We’re miles away from the border. You’re hurt, and I’m exhausted. And I don’t want to kill you.”
The words he was speaking were so foreign, so unexpected, all Inessa could do was stare. “What?”
“Did…you actually not hear me, or—”
Inessa almost snorted at his slightly nervous tone. “I heard you. But…” she paused, studying him for a minute. Dark hair cut shorter than the fashion in Alcea, but not buzzed short. Blue eyes darker than any she’d seen before, a striking contrast to the burgundy of his uniform. Harrowdale colors. Not your friend. Dark memories flickered through her mind, and the scars on her back seemed to burn.
But. She was injured and in no position to cast. And her enemy just saved her, and was currently looking at her with the most earnest, open gaze she’d ever seen in her life. Like he’d spill a vein if she asked for it.
It was disconcerting. But it would keep her alive.
“Truce,” she agreed, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Good.” Glancing around, he asked, “So…any idea where we are?”
For the first time, Inessa actually looked at their surroundings. Rich blue-green water a few shades lighter than her magic, cliffs soaring above the waves. It looked like another world, compared to the blood soaked fields and pond they’d left behind.
But it wasn’t. In fact, she was pretty sure she recognized it. “I think…we’re in Alcea,” she said slowly. “Up north, near the Venlann border.”
Her family had gone here on vacation, once. When her father wasn’t busy with the war and before her mother had retreated into her rooms and never left home again. Before they’d lost Cassio to the war.
“So we’re in your territory,” the Harrowdalean said, jolting her out of her memories. She looked back at him, and saw him watching her. “Can you lead us back to the border?”
The border. Where their people were trying to kill each other over a war older than time. Inessa swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of the swords on her back.
She should kill this man.
It was her duty, what she’d signed up for when she joined the army. It was what tradition and honor and her king demanded of her.
And all those things demanded it of him, too.
But instead, he’d saved her life. And offered a truce, even before he knew where they were.
They were without food, water, or any real equipment. They had no allies, she was injured, and he was in a foreign country.
They needed each other.
The last person you needed, who you relied on, handed you over to be tortured, her mind whispered. If anything, you can expect that even more here.
Then at least I’m prepared.
“I can,” she told him. “But I’ll need my arm fixed first.”
He nodded. “I figured. I’m Enver, by the way. Enver Connally.”
And here it was. The part where she reciprocated and turned herself from an ally, however strange, to a piece on a chess board. But Inessa didn’t have the energy for subtlety right now. And truthfully, the less she had to wait for things to go wrong, the better.
“Inessa Lang,” she told him, searching his gaze for surprise, for the moment when he remembered there was a General Lang in the Alcea army.
There was nothing. Instead, he smiled, just enough to warm his features. “Nice to meet you, Inessa. All things considered.”
To her utter shock, a laugh bubbled up in her chest as she took the hand he offered and shook. “All things considered,” she agreed.
The smile grew. “Let’s see what we can do for that arm.”
Part two of my @inklings-challenge story in which I should not be surprised at how much inspiration this takes from various things I love, as that is LITERALLY the premise under which I started writing it. (half of these character's names are references to something) Anyways, enjoy!
Part one
Enver learned two things about Inessa Lang right away. First, she knew almost as many curses as Renee, the sergeant from his old squad, and twice as many as Clifton.
And two, she was still waiting for him to betray her.
“We should secure your arm,” he told her, watching with concern as she took breath after breath, the shaking subsiding. Putting an arm back in place was painful, but her reaction seemed stronger than he would have expected.
She jerked a nod, inhaling again before she straightened up. “I’ll handle it.”
“I can—”
“I’m fine.” Her tone wasn’t sharp or angry, but every muscle was rigid as she leaned away from the hand he outstretched.
Pulling back a little, Enver nodded. “Okay.”
He decided to give her a little space. Instead, he stepped to the side and took stock of what supplies he had.
It wasn’t much. Under his chainmail and leather surcoat of deep burgundy, he had a light long sleeved shirt. His shield had been lost when the bomb went off, as had his sword.
He still had Penny’s sword, and truth be told, he was probably more familiar with it. His sword was still new, the leather around the grip stiff and unworn. The old one was lost to the Aniva, shattered to pieces by some spell.
There were a few more pieces of gear, and he spread them out before them, counting them out.
The knife he’d used to catch himself. A small leather canteen (formerly Noran’s, though it hadn’t been used for water back then), a tiny sewing kit, a harmonica (his, though he hadn’t used it in months). A battered book of poetry that Renee and Dell had passed back and forth, underlining favorite sections and leaving notes for each other. Everyone had known how they felt about one another, and Enver’s heart ached at the memory. What he wouldn’t give to complain about their flirting with Noran and Penny one last time.
The ever present note of grief rose higher in the back of his mind, but he pushed it back, and swept up his supplies. They went in the secret pockets in the back of his surcoat, where they’d be easy enough to access if there was a problem.
Standing again, he looked over to where Inessa was fumbling with the straps of her breastplate. For a moment, he hesitated, then said, “Do you want—”
“Yes,” she said, huffing out an irritated sigh. “Please.”
Crossing over to her, Enver worked at the buckles. Her breastplate was a different design than he’d ever seen before—a curved plate made of shimmering metal covered the front, while the leather straps melded into it seamlessly. Magic blacksmiths. And I thought Maguire’s work was good. He still did, actually, but it was impressive.
The buckles came free a few seconds later, and Enver gently eased it off. Underneath, she wore chainmail that clipped in the back. Getting that off produced a few more creative curses.
Wincing with her, Enver said, “Sorry.”
“If you’re…team medic…I don’t envy your squad,” Inessa bit out, and there was that high note of grief, rising above everything else.
“I’m not,” he said quietly. “But my best friend Penny was. She taught me some of her tricks.”
He felt her go still as the chainmail came free, leaving her in a dark colored shirt. There were three long scars peeking out from under the collar of her shirt, trailing up toward her neck. He wondered how she’d gotten them. In a war, it could be anything. “Sorry,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it. “Was she with the team you were with earlier?”
Shaking his head, Enver said, “No. She was in my old squad.” Studying her arm, he said, “Okay, we need a sling for this.”
“I’m fresh out, I’m afraid,” Inessa said, actually looking a little remorseful. Enver found himself smiling again.
“We can make do.” After a brief hesitation, he undid the front of his surcoat, pulled it off, and drew his knife. “This should work. And if we cut the stitches, not the leather, I might be able to put it back together later. Or a good seamstress could, at least.”
“Which you’re not?” Inessa quipped as he neatly sliced stitch after stitch. “I thought all Harrowdaleans were supposed to have four skills by their eighteenth birthday.”
“Only passable at sewing,” Enver said. The main body of the coat he set aside, as to not lose the pockets and their contents. Two of the side panels, on the other hand, he cut free, and held them up. “We just need something to secure them with.”
Holding up a belt, Inessa said, “I’m not exactly using my swords right now.”
“Perfect.”
With some cautious fiddling, Enver managed to wrap her arm in the leather, and secure the belt around it, then in a loop around her neck. It was messy, but it held it steady. Tucking her chainmail into the armor, he used his own swordbelt to strap them together and slung it over his shoulder, along with the remnants of his surcoat. “Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Inessa gave him a long, measuring look. “I could be leading you in a trap.”
“That would be very hard, considering you didn’t plan to get caught in that explosion,” Enver said. He knew what she was doing—testing him, waiting for him to reveal that he wasn’t someone she could trust after all. Noran had done the exact same thing when they’d first met.
It was almost refreshing to be around someone so paranoid again. If a little worrying on her behalf.
Her mouth pressed into a frown, like she knew what he was thinking. “Fine. Stab me in the back, and I’ll murder you. Literally, on both counts.”
“And ruin all my hard work on your arm?” Enver joked, offering a smile to reassure that he was teasing.
She looked less than impressed, but started off all the same.
Promising start, Enver thought, and followed her.
Day one.
They walked for hours. Alcea was beautiful, obviously—Inessa loved her home country’s forests and hills. But with pain steadily jabbing its way through her shoulder and a Harrowdalean soldier at her back, she was enjoying the scenery decidedly less than usual.
(A Harrowdalean. The last time she’d turned her back on a Harrowdalean, she’d been beaten until she couldn’t stand. Burned and whipped, left with scars that seemed to be whispering to her right now, asking her what she was doing.
My best, she thought back.)
It had been a long time since she let herself be alone with someone. Her new wingmate was nice enough, but he’d made no real effort to get to know her. Perhaps he thought he already did, based on the rumors.
Connally, on the other hand, was…friendly. Not overly talkative—he knew how to be quiet. Although quiet might have been the wrong word, as he was usually humming some tune under his breath. Inessa wondered if he was even really aware of doing it.
But where she’d expected open hostility, he was easy-going and almost chivalrous—carrying her armor, checking in on her as they walked. A tactic, to keep my security away from me and monitor if I’m easy to defeat, she argued with herself.
If that’s true, why did he save me?
Their quiet, steady march gave her plenty of time to think about that. And to wonder what was happening back on the battlefield. Had her side won, or his? Had she been reported missing in action yet?
Does Father know? As a high ranking general, he’d be one of the first informed. From there, either her squad leader or him would be the one to carry the news to her mother and two remaining siblings.
He’d brought the news when Cassio was killed on the battlefield. The last straw for her mother after Cameron joined the peace corps, sending her spiraling into depression. And the last straw for Anya, their youngest sister. She’d run away to join a renegade group along the northern border, refusing to continue her magic studies until she was twenty, like the rest of Inessa’s family had.
And then there’d been Inessa. Desperately missing her older brother, trying to figure out what to do next. She’d never been the outspoken one in her family—Cameron and Anya handled that all on their own. Cassio had been the laid back one in the family, and she’d been…the fourth sibling. Not rebellious like Anya and Cameron in their very different ways. Not loyal and ready to fight for her country like Cassio. Her siblings had all been so passionate, and she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. Who she was.
Even two years after losing Cassio, she was still unsure. Joining the army had seemed the obvious move—her father was a general, and at least she could earn a granule of respect, of importance in his eyes.
And of course, that was how things had gone from bad to worse.
She’d changed from unsure to untrusting. Just waiting for the next betrayal, because if the person she was supposed to watch her back at all times could hand her over to be tortured for money, what would someone else do?
And that most certainly included Connally. Just because he acted nice didn’t mean he was someone she could trust.
So when they stopped that night, in a stand of aspens a few miles into the woods, she knew she couldn’t risk sleep. Not even as Connally settled himself in a corner, clearly worn out. After tucking the tattered remains of his surcoat under his head, he was out in minutes.
Inessa watched him as he slept. Encompassed in slumber, his face was different. Still steadily calm, but more peaceful. Missing an edge of sorrow she hadn’t even realized was there until now. She remembered what he’d said about his best friend, the medic. She was part of my old squad.
As opposed to his new one…
How many people had this man lost?
Something crackled in the woods behind them, and Connally jerked upright, hand seeking out the sword hilt next to him. Blinking, he squinted blearily around. Then his gaze landed on her. “You’re still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Inessa lied. “It always takes me a while to get comfortable in an unfamiliar place.” That was the truth—she never slept well in foreign spaces. There was too much to be wary of, too many noises pulling her out of sleep and into panic at what might be out there.
Connally nodded a little. “I guess I’ve been doing this job too long. I’m used to sleeping wherever.” Rubbing a hand across his face, he said, “I didn’t even think of setting a watch. I can—”
“I’ve got it,” Inessa told him. “Like I said, I’m probably not going to fall asleep any time soon.”
She expected another fight, but he nodded. “Okay. Wake me in a couple hours, or if you’re getting tired.”
Not likely, Inessa thought as he settled back down, his breathing becoming even. Completely at ease, like there wasn’t an enemy soldier across the clearing from him.
I should be taking this opportunity.
The knowledge struck her like a bolt of lightning. He trusted her, and if she was a good soldier, she would be taking advantage of that to eliminate him as a threat.
It would be easy. A swift spell, one of her blades in the right place…
He shifted and muttered something in his sleep. A name, maybe?
She didn’t move.
Day two
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
Enver couldn’t hold back a grin at Inessa’s comment. “You sound like Sergeant Kazinsky. Another one, then.”
“It’s not like we have anything else to do.”
It was true. Alcea was a beautiful country—softer and more enchanting to contrast Harrowdale’s rugged mountains, like a soothing cello versus a chorus of drums. Enver found he liked both and wondered how they wound sound together.
But one could only look at trees for so long. And considering this was the closest Enver would ever be to an Alcean that wasn’t trying to kill him,
“Why did you join the army?” he asked.
There was a little hitch in her stride, just for a heartbeat. “That’s your question?”
“Yup. I know why I did it, and my old squad all had different answers, too.” Revenge, wanting to help, wanting to protect. “I think it tells you a lot about a person.”
She threw a measuring look over her shoulder at him. “And you want to know a lot about me?”
“It’s nice to know the person who nearly fell off a cliff with you.”
The edge of her mouth twitched up, briefly. “Well, you might not learn much from me. I joined up because my family was in the army, and I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stay where I was, and…my siblings always had such a strong knowledge of what they wanted to do. That’s not me.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
A brief pause. “Two, now.” Her voice turned fierce before Enver could even think of responding to that. “What about you? Why’d you join?”
“Honestly?” Enver couldn’t hold back a grin. “Kinda the same reason. In Harrowdale, you need a purpose, or a skill. And my passion wasn’t something I could make or build, so unless I wanted to spend my life doing something I hated, the army was it.” He paused, thinking. “I guess…I kind of am anyway. But I’m good at it, at least. Anyone would be after ten years, though.”
This earned him another glance. “Ten years? You can’t be that much older than me.”
“Well, how old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Ah.” Enver paused, weighing his response for a minute. “Don’t tell the recruiting officers. But I’m twenty-six.”
She stopped dead, spinning around. “You’ve been in the army since you were sixteen?”
“I couldn’t find an apprenticeship,” Enver said with a shrug. “And the orphanage I was in was going to throw me out if I didn’t, so I lied to the office—what?”
Inessa was staring at him with a strange expression. “I was just waiting for you to pity me,” she said. “And you—my little sister ran away when she was seventeen, and that terrified everyone.”
“It’s only a year’s difference.”
Shaking her head slowly, Inessa said, “You’re starting to worry me, Connally.”
As they started through the woods again, Enver said, “You know, you can use my first name.”
“Not happening.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to risk getting attached.”
Unexpectedly, Enver found himself grinning. “You think you’re going to get attached?”
“If you keep talking, that probably won’t be an issue.”
“Then I’d better not stop, for your sake.”
He could swear he caught a soft laugh.
Day three
On the third day of their travels, they found a town. At this point, the flask of water Connally had produced had long since run out, and they hadn’t eaten in a few days. There was no question that they needed supplies.
There were, however, a few concerns.
“If they realize you’re Harrowdalean, they’ll hand us over to the city guard,” Inessa told him. “And if that happens, we’re dead. So don’t talk.”
“Not…at all?”
“Not at all. Your accent will give you away.” While many of the elite in Harrowdale spoke similarly to Alceans, the average foot soldier’s accent was far stronger, as rolling as the mountains they lived among.
Connally shrugged a little. “Right, then. I don’t have any money—”
“Alcea wouldn’t take it anyways,” Inessa said. “I have a bit, and we might be able to barter one of my swords.” She hated to give up a weapon, but starving would be worse.
Shaking his head, Connally said, “No need to go that far. Maybe some manual labor instead?”
“That could work,” Inessa agreed.
So they ventured into town together, answering few questions and buying as many supplies as the small pouch of money Inessa had could purchase. Connally turned out to be an invaluable resource, willingly chopping firewood for a farmer’s wife in exchange for a loaf of bread.
It’s a good thing I kept him around after all, she mused.
Only after they’d stocked up and acquired bags for their supplies did Inessa venture to ask the shopkeeper how close they were to the front.
Drumming fingers against the countertop as he took their coins, the shopkeeper said, “Oh, about…five day’s walk? Close enough that we’ve had a little trouble with those renegades. You be careful, miss. You never know where a Harrowdalean could show up.”
Behind her, Connally devolved into a coughing fit, and Inessa kicked him. “You’re so right, sir,” she told him, hastily sweeping her things into her arms. “Thank you again.”
She felt his curious glance follow her out the door, and couldn’t fully relax until they were out on the road again. “That was close.”
“Guess I’m a bit of a liability,” Connally said mildly, slinging his pack over his shoulder as he pulled out two apples.
True.
But…
“As long as you keep chopping firewood, I’ll keep you around,” Inessa told him.
He laughed, and tossed her one of the apples.
Day four
He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Inessa spoke.
“Do you sing?”
“Huh?” Enver glanced up from sorting through the items still hidden inside his surcoat. It wasn’t exactly wearable at present, but he still wanted it close. He’d had it for a long, long time. And the things left from his old squad mattered even more.
Inessa shifted a little, looking uneasy. “You’re always humming. I wondered…”
“Oh! A little, yeah.” Enver closed his pack, moving out of a crouch as he continued, “There was a choir at the orphanage, and I was a part of that. We were lucky enough to have a piano, so I learned how to play that, too. And once you know that, there’s a lot of other instruments you can figure out.” Like his harmonica. Though learning had driven the rest of his squad insane. Noran had threatened to pitch the instrument into the nearest body of water plenty of times.
Slowly, Inessa nodded, looking like Enver had felt when he’d puzzled out his first piece of sheet music. “That’s your passion. That you mentioned when you were talking about joining the army.”
“It is.” A little bubble of joy flickered to life in his chest, because she’d been listening. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been. “The arts aren’t exactly prioritized in Harrowdale right now. Being able to build something is worth more. Blacksmiths, carpenters, glassblowers. Industry is what matters.”
“And in Alcea, it’s magic,” Inessa said wryly.
“Maybe the two countries aren’t so different after all,” Enver said.
It was something he’d brought up before, to his old squad. Noran had called him naive, and Renee had laughed in his face (which was just her way). Penny had looked a little wistful at the idea, and Dell had been extremely nervous that he was going to commit treason.
He hadn’t said anything to his new squad. There hadn’t been enough time.
But here he was, saying it to someone else. And Inessa didn’t even look shocked. Her expression turned thoughtful and a little grim. “Maybe not. The question is if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“If we can find common ground? Good,” Enver said decisively.
“You sound like my brother.”
“Then he must be very smart.”
Inessa smirked a little. “On a good day.”
Enver laughed, and they finished packing up. As they got on the road again, he asked, “You don’t mind the humming, do you?”
She shook her head. “It’s something to listen to, other than the wind and your incessant questions.”
There was definitely a teasing note to those last words, and Enver smiled. “Good.” And as they started walking, he took a deep breath and began to sing.
It was an old, old song, from deep in the mountains. But he loved the way the words echoed off the trees and mirrored the bird song. And if he wasn’t mistaken, judging by the slight smile on Inessa’s face, she liked it, too.
Day four
It was her fourth night awake. At this point, it was getting a little untenable. Which was code for, Inessa was exhausted.
But she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t force herself to drop off when an enemy soldier was right there. Even if the enemy was Connally.
(and was he really an enemy at this point, when he always made sure she had breakfast in the morning? When he asked her about herself, accepting her terse answers when she didn’t forget herself and tell him more? When he asked her to teach him Alcean songs she knew, and she was already doing so?)
(was she just making the same mistake again, and was she doomed to repeat it over and over?)
So she positioned herself so that her shoulder, still healing, would give out twinges every now and then. Found a sharp rock to lay on, a pointy bit of branch to lean against. Pretended to sleep when he was on watch and desperately strove to keep it pretend.
Which was why she was as wide awake as she could be when she heard Connally start to speak.
It was just fragments at first, vague mumbling that she didn’t understand. But then, there was a mournful cry that jolted her out of her haze.
“No. Please, no—Noran! Penny!”
She knew that name. Or one of them, at least. His friend. Who’s dead—oh, no. Inessa was no stranger to nightmares. Especially ones that echoed the past.
Scrambling to her feet, she crossed the clearing, dropping to her knees by his side. His face was twisted, fear and grief etched in every line. “Connally! Wake up!”
He didn’t wake, but let out another choked cry. Grabbing his arm, Inessa shook. Hard. “Connally!”
He surged upright, eyes snapping open. Inessa pulled back quickly, letting go and giving him space as he heaved in a breath. For a moment, his gaze skimmed over her, like he wasn’t quite seeing his surroundings. And then his eyes locked on her.
“‘Nessa.” His voice was a far cry from the easy, pure tenor she heard when he was singing. “Was I screaming?”
“Only a little,” Inessa said, taking a deep breath. “Are you okay?”
The smile he offered her was wobbly. “Relatively. Thanks for waking me up.”
She nodded, returning to her position against the tree. Instead of laying back down, Connally started digging through his pack, humming softly under his breath. Glancing at her, he said, “You can get some sleep if you want. I’m…probably not gonna fall back to sleep for a while.”
She let out a vague noise that could be interpreted as agreement, and hoped it would end at that. But, typically for Connally, it didn’t. Instead, he glanced at her, eyes narrowing a little.
Sitting back on his heels, he asked, “When was the last time you slept?”
At this point, she couldn’t even be surprised that he knew. “At all? Before the bomb hit.”
Connally let out a noise of soft distress. “You haven’t slept in four days?”
“It’s not that bad.” Lie, and he knew it.
“I know we’re supposed to be enemies,” he told her. “But I’m not going to kill you in your sleep. You know that.”
She did. Connally was honorable, the kind of man who would never—
Inessa cut herself off sharply. Don’t think about that. But she couldn’t help it. She was starting to trust someone again. And last time that had happened…
“It’s not because we’re at war,” she told him, throat tight. “It’s because…I trusted someone once. He was supposed to be my partner—do you know about the Alcean tradition?”
Connally nodded. “Pairing men and women in everything, including battle. You all have a partner, and—” he stopped, eyes going wide.
He understands.“You’re not the only one who has nightmares.” The words escaped before she could think better of them, and she took a shaky breath, looking away. “He betrayed me. And I’m still…not over it.”
“I wouldn’t be either.” His voice was gentle, but sad. “I’m so sorry, Inessa.”
The sorrow in his voice almost pulled tears free in her own eyes, and she closed them tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That—thank you.” You don’t know what it means for someone to listen, to believe me over the reputation of a dead caster with twice my skill. Even my own father thinks it was a misunderstanding of some kind, a trick.
Inessa couldn’t say any of it. But somehow, she wondered if he didn’t understand. So she sat, letting a few tears escape at a time, while Conally sat in silence with her. Eventually he started singing, as he always did, a low, soft tune in a language she didn’t recognize.
She would ask him about it tomorrow. For now, her eyelids were already dropping.
He’s still an enemy.
He trusts you more than your own people do.
You’re at war with him.
He cares.
For tonight, that would be enough.
Day five
Alcea was really starting to grow on Enver.
He had the odd nightmare, which wasn’t ideal, but he had those back home, too. And here, there was someone he knew to wake him up. Someone he trusted.
Which wasn’t untrue of his new squad, but they were…new. They weren’t the people he’d lost.
Neither was Inessa, but it didn’t feel like she’d been shoehorned into their place. She was complete serendipity, and it was a little awkward to admit just how much he liked being around her.
(but he did. He liked her wry comments and her laugh, and the way she could pick apart a problem and stitch it back together with a solution in place. She was a special kind of music, an instrument he’d never expected to hear in the symphony of his life. But he was so glad that he did, even if it wasn’t forever.)
There was, however, one thing he didn’t like as much about Alcea. And that was that he had no idea where they were going at any given moment.
“Are we lost?” he asked.
Inessa threw an irritated look at him. They’d stopped in a small grove for a brief lunch, and Enver was currently packing up while his companion (friend, he hoped) was studying the forest around them.
“No,” she said. “You have to stop asking that. I’ve lived in Alcea my whole life, and we got directions two days ago.”
“Yeah,” Enver said, “but I’ve lived in Harrowdale all my life and I could still get lost. Heck, I could get lost in Balthazar, and I grew up there.”
“You grew up in the capital city?” Inessa didn’t look back at him, but he heard the interest in her tone, and smiled a little.
“Yep. You’d like it there, it has everything,” Enver said, flashing back to the crowded city he’d grown up in. The chaotic orchestra of home was loud and overwhelming, but he missed it. Missed the tiniest parts of it, the stalls and shops that he’d perused with his squad.
He heard Inessa snort as she turned to face him. “Because going there would be so practical. Alright, I think—” she froze, eyes locking on him.
Enver frowned.“What? What’s wrong—”
“Don’t. Move,” she hissed as he started to rise. “We have a problem.”
That’s not good, Enver thought, just as bushes rustled and a low, predatorial hiss slithered forth behind him.
Inessa lifted a hand, teal light rising from her finger tips. “On my mark,” she said quietly, “get out of the way. Fast.”
Enver dipped his head in a quick nod, heart pounding. He sensed the something behind him moving forward, felt a flare of hot breath against his neck—
“MOVE!”
The word had barely left her mouth before Enver was diving forward. He heard a snarl, caught a flash of light as he rolled to his feet, spinning around and reaching for Penny’s sword. And then froze, eyes going wide at the sight of the massive, scaly creature behind him.
His first thought was that it was a dragon. But there were no wings, and it had five heads. A long, greenish tail flicked back and forth, claws slashed at the grassy forest floor as it snarled at Inessa.
A blast of light shot from her palm, surrounding its heads in a bubble. It exhaled a plume of greenish haze, but the bubble trapped in place. The creature growled, tail lashing viciously. The end slammed into Enver’s chest like a brick to the lungs, and he went flying.
The bush that caught him was officially his favorite part of Alcea. But any ribs that had been twinging from his fall days earlier had definitely cracked now. He wheezed, gasping for breath, and heard Inessa’s shout.
“ENVER!”
A brilliant explosion of light came from the clearing, and he heard a snarling hiss, then the crashing of something plowing through the undergrowth. A few seconds later, a smaller version of the same sound came toward him, and Inessa appeared.
She was glowing—literally. Crackling tendrils of teal light were wriggling through her hair and frosting her hands. They flared a little as her eyes locked on him, then seemed to fade. “You’re okay?”
“All things considered,” Enver managed, pushing himself upright and holding back a wince. She almost smiled.
Offering him a hand, she said, “Congratulations. You just survived your first encounter with a hydra.”
Enver took her hand without thinking. “Wait, a hydra? I thought those were—” he choked on a groan as Inessa hauled him to his feet. “Extinct,” he gritted out. “Or at least rare.”
“They were,” she responded, studying him with a frown. “But with so much of our resources devoted to the war, things have gotten out of hand. Are you sure you’re okay?”
He could almost hear Penny scolding him. “Okay, I…might have messed up my ribs a little. But it’s not the end of the world.”
Inessa frowned, expression going tight. “Never thought I’d wish I had healing magic. I think there’s a town close, we can get someone to look at you.”
They made their way back to the clearing to pick up their things, the hydra long gone. Inessa stayed close to him, almost hovering as she took her armor and chainmail, which he’d been carrying for the past few days.
She was worried. Enver could almost have smiled. “You know,” he told her, “your secret is out.”
She looked a little startled. “What?”
“You called me Enver. I think you’re attached.”
A smile curved her mouth, ever so briefly. “I suppose there are worse fates. All things considered.”
Now Enver was definitely smiling.
Day six
There turned out not to be any towns nearby. So after Enver swore that he wasn’t in too much pain—which Inessa didn’t fully buy—they kept walking, and stopped earlier than usual that night.
The next morning, Enver was visibly slower, and Inessa knew he was in pain. Once again, she regretted not going to a healing school instead of the army. Now that would have been useful.
But regrets helped no one in the here and now. So she helped him bind his ribs with the remnants of his surcoat, and stayed close to him as they kept walking at a much slower pace. And she also found herself talking more, trying to keep his mind off of the pain. She wasn’t used to that, not these days. But luckily, Enver had plenty of questions.
“What’s your magic like?” he asked as they paused for a water break. “I mean, I know a lot of the more intense stuff. And I know it’s about stamina and concentration, and that you have the general skill but have to be trained in more specific areas—”
“Sounds like you know everything already,” Inessa said wryly, offering him a canteen.
Enver accepted it, taking a careful drink before responding. “I know the warfare stuff. I guess I’m wondering…what does it feel like? And what can you do with it that doesn’t involve blowing people up?”
Inessa considered the question for a moment. “It can feel different, depending on the spell. Warm or cold. Sometimes it feels…bubbly, almost. Have you ever had champagne?”
Laughing, Enver said, “I’m not nearly that fancy.”
“Well, it’s like that. And we can do a lot of things that don’t involve fighting.” Inessa lifted her hand, willing the teal light to blossom to life. It pooled in her palm, then flared upward, branching out into vines that curled and twined around her fingers.
She heard Enver take a quick breath as tiny flowers burst to life at the ends of the vines, opening and closing in time with her heartbeat. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered, and she was grateful to hear no fear in his voice.
“It doesn’t have a point beyond that,” she admitted quietly. “But I think that’s enough sometimes. For something to be just beautiful, and bring joy.”
“I agree,” Enver said, and Inessa looked up to meet his eyes. He was smiling, as he was so often. And she felt herself smile back.
“What a lovely little light show. Why weren’t we invited?”
The teal disappeared with a snap at the unfamiliar voice. Inessa launched herself to her feet, spinning toward the sound. Her hand went to her sword—and her breath froze in her lungs at the sight before her.
Six men faced them. All carried swords, and a few had rifles hanging from their backs. Their armor was battered leather, their clothing worn and dirty. But each of them wore a scarf or armband made of burgundy fabric.
Harrowdaleans. In Alcea? That could only mean one thing.
The main part of the war was focused around the center of the border Harrowdale and Alcea shared. But farther north, bands of militia and renegades had formed, fighting out their own battles, even turning on their own people. She’d been held by such a group. And they were facing one now.
“Easy,” Enver said, moving to his feet behind her. She felt him move to her side, and glanced over to see him lifting his hands. “I’m Enver Connally. Part of battalion 122. I was with the Cave Bears and the Sun Rays at the Aniva River skirmish a few months back.”
I’m one of you. The message was implicit. But looking at the men surrounding them, Inessa had a bad feeling that it wouldn’t be enough.
One of the men squinted at him, eyebrow lifting. “Thought the Rays all died in that skirmish.”
“Most of them did.” Enver’s voice was achingly sad. “I made it out.”
“Really?” The man who’d spoken first—their leader, Inessa guessed—folded his arms, his eyes tracking from Enver to her and back again. “Wouldn’t have thought that a survivor of something like that would be a traitor.”
Inessa bristled instinctively. Enver, a traitor? The sun’s more likely to start setting in the north.
“I’m not a traitor,” Enver said steadily. “We were hit with an Alcean hither-bomb. Just trying to make our way back to the front.”
The leader looked unimpressed. “Really? And uh, just checking, we’re still at war with the Alceans, yes? So why’s she alive?”
All eyes locked on Inessa, and she took a quick breath, not daring to look at Enver. Tell him I’m your prisoner. Or undercover. Or something, just don’t—
“She’s a friend,” Enver said. “I trust her.”
Do that, Inessa finished in her head.
Now the leader actually laughed, his head tipping back. “Trust isn’t worth spit to Alceans. Do you even know who you’re traveling with?” A spike of fear pounded through Inessa’s chest as he locked eyes with her. “I remember you,” he told her. “I remember the day our mutual friend introduced you to the boss. Melith, wasn’t it? Strong caster, but he liked his coin better than his country.”
No. Oh, no. It’s them. Breath seemed to leave her lungs, and Inessa stumbled back a little.
A hand caught her by the shoulder. “Inessa?”
“Oh, so you know her name!” The leader sounded positively gleeful. “Maybe she left off the last part. Lang. Ring any bells? Daughter of one of the foremost generals in Alcea?”
And there it was. The piece she’d never explained to Enver. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t told him. Inessa couldn’t bear to look at him.
“She’s a liar, Connally,” the leader told him. “Best leave her with us. We’ll bring you back to the front, and she can—”
“No.”
Enver’s voice was steadier than the mountains he lived among, and Inessa’s eyes flew up to him. He met her gaze as he told her, “I don’t care. I won’t let them take you.”
She could have burst into tears right then and there.
The man who was supposed to be her enemy, more loyal than the wingman who’d handed her over for gold.
How’s that for irony?
“You’ll want to rethink that, Connally,” the leader warned. He took a step forward, and Enver was already moving. Stepping in front of Inessa, he drew his sword, extending it to its full length with a flick of his wrist.
“There’s nothing to rethink,” he said. “You want her? You go through me.”
Every word felt like soothing balm poured over her heart. But it was also insane. Inessa had seen the hitch in his movement when he drew his weapon. Enver was hurt, and so was she. Lasting against six armed men was nigh on impossible.
I should give myself up.
But she saw the look in their opponents’ eyes. At this point, it was both or neither. So instead, she clenched her fist, letting teal light bubble from between her fingers. “Try it,” she told them, “and it’ll be the last breath you ever take.”
The men seemed to hesitate, eyes drawn to the magic coming to life in her hands. But anger twisted the leader’s face, and he reached for his rifle. “Take them,” he spat.
Not this time. Inessa spread her fingers, and the light in her palm exploded outward. The men went flying, and she drew one of her swords, calling on more magic as they scrambled to their feet.
Turning, she felt Enver’s back press against hers as he took a fighting stance. They might not win, but they wouldn’t go down easy.
The leader charged at them, lifting his weapon—
And a horn sounded, pulling them to a stop. All eyes tracked to a group of armored men on horses charging toward them. “Stop in the name of the king!” the lead man shouted.
There were several yelps and curses, and the Harrowdaleans scattered, bolting for the woods with only a few backwards glances. Inessa felt relief pour through her, followed almost instantly by concern. Soldiers sent by the king? But how? We’re miles from the capital.
The horses slowed as they approached, milling around them. Inessa felt Enver tense, and she silently pressed her shoulder against his as they turned to face them. I won’t let them take you. I promise.
The man who’d been in the lead vaulted off his horse. As he approached, Inessa realized that his armor wasn’t the polished, magic forged stuff she wore, but piecemeal and cracked. In fact, she wasn’t convinced all of it was armor—one man in the back seemed to be wearing a pot on his head.
“Amazing how that works every time,” the lead man commented, pulling off the helmet he was wearing. Red hair several shades brighter than her own caught at Inessa’s vision, and her heart skipped a beat.
For a minute, she thought she was looking at a ghost.
But Cassio was dead, buried near their home by the sea. Which meant this could only be one person.
His twin.
“What brings you—”
“Cameron?”
They spoke at the same time, and his gaze snapped to her immediately. It is him, Inessa thought as her older brother’s jaw dropped.
“Inessa? What are you doing out here?”
Inessa couldn’t trust her voice to a response. Instead, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him in a hug.
As a slightly dumbfounded Cameron returned the embrace, she heard Enver’s confused, but still friendly voice. “Uh. Hi, I’m Enver?”
