I scuff my boots against the rocky ground, bored out of my damn mind. My assignment this week must be one of the most pointless in border patrol history. This sector is of no importance whatsoever, a lonely stretch of granite and pine trees. But due to its proximity to Davidson's estate, it has to be patrolled.
The day is overcast but chilly, and I huddle in my thin uniform. Gray clouds scud the light sky. Fall is bearing down on Montfort: according to Carmadon, we have about two weeks before the first snows hit Ascendant.
My ability forms a protective shield around me, searching for the steel of raider weapons. As usual, there is nothing. The Prairie raids have slowed since Montfort troops withdrew from the Dancing War and border security tightened. But I haven't lived this long—twenty-five years, now—by being complacent.
The edge of the cliff looms before me: six inches of granite are all that stand between me and the hundred foot drop. I peer over the edge anyway, a cursory glance to check for raiders, who have been known to scale the cliffs. None. Obviously. I straighten up again and pace back towards the Hawkway, the road that runs from Ascendant in the mountains all the way down to the plains.
I switch on my wireless, a broadcaster that taps into the same signal as the other patrol units. "Sector E-1 is clear."
Static. I wait for the standard response from the rest of my unit, but nothing comes.
"I repeat, Sector E-1 is clear." My voice rings out in the silence, echoing off the mountainsides and into the wilderness.
Still nothing. I switch the wireless off and then on again. No change. The device feels the same as ever, even to my ability: all the inner workings are fine, so it isn't a mechanical issue.
A sense of unease rises inside me. In my five years on border patrol, I've never lost connection like this. Something is wrong.
There's another, smaller, wireless hanging from my belt. A direct line to Elane and the Premier's office. She made me take it in case of an emergency. I switch it on, just in case.
Her voice comes through the other end immediately. "Eve? Is everything alright?" There are other sounds in the background: shuffling paper and people talking in lowered voices. I'm guessing she's sitting in one of Davidson's meetings.
"I've lost contact with everyone else in my unit," I say. Even as I talk, my eyes scan back and forth along the tree line, watching for potential danger. There's no sign of metal, no sign of movement. But that doesn't mean there isn't anyone waiting, just out of sight. "I'm keeping this line open just in case. Is that alright?"
"Yeah. Stay safe. I love you."
"Love you too."
I hook the wireless back onto my belt and continue pacing, but farther away from the ledge. If I have to fight, I'd rather not do it backed against a cliff.
A minute passes. Then five, then ten. I'm about to call it a false alarm when I hear a sound like muted thunder in the distance.
Then it draws closer, and I realize it isn't thundering.
It's hoofbeats.
~~~
"Love you too."
I smile briefly at Eve's voice on the other end before setting the device on the table. On my right, Lyrisa glances at me, a question in her eyes.
"Everything's fine," I say, even as worry snakes its way through my heart. "Apologies for the disruption."
"Nothing to worry about, Elane," Davidson says from across the table. "If you need to be excused, or anything else at all, let me know." His expression is worried, tense. I used to think the premier was immovable, his restraint unbreakable. After five years, I know better—he can be read like anyone else, if you know him well enough.
The others—Davidson's closest aides and various Scarlet Guard officials—shoot me worried glances. "It's going to be okay," I reassure them. "Really. We should continue."
It feels like I'm lying through my teeth. My mind is consumed by Eve, my fiancée, on patrol. Sworn to protect us all, even at the cost of her own life. But I have my own job to do—our weekly intel meetings are preciously short—and I won't let my emotions get in the way.
"Back to the situation in the Lakelands, then," Ada Wallace says after a second. "One of their nobles made contact with the Silver Secession last week."
She's the only person in the room without a notebook or files of any sort—naturally, she doesn't need them. Sometimes, I envy her ability. Paperwork is a nightmare.
"Lord Cassius Merin," Davidson says, consulting his own papers. "What do we know about him?"
"He's a cousin to Jidansa Merin," Lyrisa says. "Very close to the Cygnet royal family. I believe I met him once."
Ada frowns, and I can practically see the gears whirring in her mind. "The royal family and court are still in turmoil following Cenra's abdication last month. If Merin contacted the Secessionists on their orders..."
I shudder. The Nortan Silver Secession are violent blood supremacists and bigots, intent on restoring Silver rule through any means possible. If the Lakelands back their play, that could be very bad for us. "An alliance between them could be strong enough to stabilize the Lakelands and threaten the Nortan States," I say. "Especially after the Dancing War." This has always been the endgame for them—restore the Nortan monarchy, fix the thrones that Cal and Eve broke.
"Potentially," Ada says. "But I don't see who they could possibly put on the throne. Maven is long dead. Cal is not a viable–"
Suddenly I feel the wireless vibrating against the table. I put it to my ear, my heart pounding like a kettle drum. "Eve? Eve, are you there?"
Her voice is nearly unintelligible, punctuated by crackling static. "There's—trouble—raid—E1–" A high-pitched whine splits the air, and I jolt in my seat, dropping the device to the table with a clatter.
When I raise it to my ear again, there is nothing but static.
Trouble, she said. A raid.
The blood drains from my face. The room has fallen silent, every eye fixed on me. "She needs help," I say hoarsely. "Evangeline's in danger."
Lyrisa grabs my arm, her grip bruising and viselike. "I'll go help her. I can get to Sector E1 in five minutes if I take a cycle up the Hawkway."
"You can't–"
"Watch me. Whoever tried to hurt Evie, I'll kick their ass–"
"No—Elane is correct. You are too valuable." Davidson's voice cuts through the rising clamor like a knife. "A Piedmont princess, the former betrothed of Orrian Cygnet? You cannot let yourself be captured."
She doesn't back down. "There's only one cycle—we can send one person. I'm the only fighter here. It makes sense for me to go."
"You will not be going," the premier says. "That is final."
I turn to him, desperate. "Evangeline needs help. She might be injured, or—" Bile rises in my throat. Eve isn't dead. She can't be dead. I can't imagine a world without her in it.
"Enough," Davidson says. His voice is deadly calm, but his eyes burn with gold fire as he stands from the table. "I will go."
"So Lyrisa is too valuable, but the premier of this country is not?" Carmadon appears suddenly in the doorway of the library, and I wonder how long he's been eavesdropping outside. His face is as hard as I've ever seen it, cut with lines of anxiety. "Dane, please—"
"I will go," Davidson repeats firmly. "My life should hold no greater value than those of my officers. Premiers can..." He hesitates, and I can see through his composure to the person he is underneath: shaken but determined.
"They can be replaced," he says at last.
His husband closes his eyes, as if he's willing the words away. "No. They can't. You can't."
"Every second I spend here is a second Evangeline could be in greater danger. If anything's happened to her..." His voice darkens, and I realize Dane Davidson would be a formidable enemy on the battlefield indeed. I pity whoever tries to cross him.
"Then let me go with you," Carmadon says suddenly. His voice is afraid, but he does not back down. "I can—"
"You can stay here, in case something happens to me," Davidson interrupts. He steps through the doorway, and the look he exchanges with his husband is so private that I drop my gaze. "I cannot fight knowing you are in danger as well, Carm. I cannot afford distractions."
I am suddenly reminded of Evangeline before she went to defend the walls of Corvium. She had begged me to remain safely at the Ridge House. You would only distract me, she'd said. So reluctantly, I had stayed.
She and Davidson are so similar. Destined for greatness, destined to fight a dozen wars and emerge victorious. Theirs is a flame that will never stop burning.
And Carmadon and I? We are similar as well. We tend the hearth, feed the fire, ensure the blaze doesn't consume itself. We are content to stand in the shadow of greatness, strong enough to let our loves go again and again to the jaws of mortal danger.
Davidson presses a kiss to his husband's forehead. "Trust that I will come home to you. But if I cannot? Have strength, my dear Carmadon. Have strength."
The door swings shut as he leaves, and I pray that I have not sent him to his death.