“Do they have any prisoners with them?”
Yale shrugs at Penn’s question. “I do not know.”
“And the king?”
“If King Soren rode among them, my scouts did not see him. But if the Llyrians have returned, it is safe to assume their business in the Southlands has reached a conclusion.”
A current of foreboding sluices through the air.
In the wake of Fyremas, Soren chased Efnysien south, intent on bringing him to justice for his crimes. I’ve harbored stubborn optimism that he will succeed in catching the dark sorcerer before he disappears behind the impenetrable boundaries of Dymmeria, that shadowy desert realm he calls home. Pendefyre has been decidedly less optimistic about the Llyrian king’s odds.
If Soren’s soldiers have returned north after such a short time without any prisoners in tow…perhaps I should’ve shared in his pessimism.
“Anything else to report?” he prompts Yale.
“The Reavers at the southwestern border continue to encroach,” the general responds tersely. “We have driven the clans back onto the ice shelf time and again, but they persist. A strong show of force is needed to obliterate them once and for all. Instead, you’ve sent our troops marching in the opposite direction.”
“I trust my lieutenants. They say the Frostlanders pose an imminent threat to the northern shores. I will not leave us open to an attack on both borders, not on some whim of revenge.”
“Revenge?” Yale scoffs. “It would not be revenge to exterminate every last bit of Reaver scum from the face of this earth. It would be justice. Or have you forgotten they would have happily done the same to us? They will not stop until they have eradicated all fae. I merely suggest we return the favor in kind.”
“The clans are not only warriors. There are children there. Expectant mothers. Elderly.”
“Future and former monsters.” Yale spits on the cobblestones. “I would slaughter every newborn babe on the ice shelf myself, given the chance.”
My whole frame jolts.
Penn’s eyes flash to me for a brief moment. He’s sensed my sudden flush of horror through the bond. “Your appetite for vengeance is irrelevant, General.”
But Yale is not finished. “There was a time, not so very long ago, when you would have been in total agreement with me in this regard. Tell me, Pendefyre…when did you become so soft?” His eyes pin me in place. “Or would the better question befor whom?”
“Tread lightly,” Penn clips, his rage manifest.
“I see I’ve stumbled upon a sensitive topic.” His golden eyes never leave my face, nor does his expression shift from the malicious sneer it has settled into. “I did warn you, wind weaver. Did I not? Are you so blind you cannot see how your position here compromises everyone in this kingdom? Or merely so selfish you do not care about the lives you put at risk?”
I flinch as his words make impact.
“Yale—”
The general cuts off Penn’s attempt to interject. His tone is savage as he continues, “I think it must be the latter. Only someone entirely self-serving would be able to stomach standing so proud in the rubble of the city she made a target; walking among the survivors of an attack aimed at her.” His lips flatten into a stern line. “Why do you think so many have fled? No one can stand the sight of you, so supercilious, so smug. Masquerading as a hero. We all know the truth. You are the root cause of every evil that plagues this kingdom. You are—”
“ENOUGH!”
Pendefyre’s bellow is so loud, it pierces the sky. I flinch again as the sound of it rebounds off the walls of the barracks, echoes out over the lake.
Yale wisely stops talking.
“I will permit your insubordination toward me,” Penn growls, fisting his reins in a white-knuckled grip. “I will even tolerate your attempts to undermine my authority in front of my men. But one more word spoken against Rhya and you will find yourself out of a position.”
The general’s teeth grind together in an effort to contain his anger. Even if he could not manage to remain silent, it scarcely matters. Penn is done listening. Using his knees to steer Onyx, he bends at the middle, reaches down to hook me beneath the arms, and hauls me up before him in the saddle. The move is so abrupt, I nearly cry out. My ass is barely settled when Penn’s heels press to the stallion’s flanks, spurring him into a gallop. Away from Yale. But I know, even as I am carried far out of earshot, his scathing words will follow me wherever I go.
Chapter
five
We ride for several hours.
I have not been beyond the limits of Caeldera for well over a month, and am surprised to see whatever odd weather patterns plague the capital city have spared the rest of the plateau. The kingdom is in the full throes of late spring. The deep snows I’ve come to expect have melted away, leaving behind a world of lush grass, flowering shrubs, and thickly leafed trees. After weeks spent beneath constant cloud cover, I find myself looking around in a mix of confusion and wonderment as we ride through the sun-dappled forest, passing the occasional guard tower and checkpoint. Each is outfitted with soldiers clad in Dyvedi brown, armed to the teeth.