Eira needed no comfort. Not from anyone. There was only one thing that could grant her solace, if she could ever obtain it. A hut, far from here, far from everything. A small garden. An expansive view with a shimmering lake all to herself. Yeah right. No Drajin can escape now.

  Somehow she had found herself back in Lenda, somehow back in the presence of those fools who betrayed her. She wanted to abandon duty, but duty did not want the same. Perhaps it was that ethereal tug from her dear friend that brought her back here, but she only wanted to rest. To forget.

  A stroll in the fortress courtyard. Eira needed air; otherwise, the memory of the stench of that man would waft to the nose, forcing her to gag. At those times, the image of steel tearing the soft flesh of her neck would pour into her mind, but she fought it back.

  She did not want to die.

  She did not want to be bound to this Kingdom any longer.

  She did not even want vengeance.

  All she desired was to forget. To close the open gash that she knew would bleed forevermore. Prayed for closure that would never come.

  Cold wind slammed against her face, forcing itself into her burning lungs. She remembered what this place had been, years before the conversion began. An old feast hall that would provide some comfort to travelers, though mostly the royal family when they traveled for various reasons. She could fondly recall her small form playing with Idwyn here. Ellerie had stayed behind in Welkia as she was not to become a Truthsayer. Idwyn had determined her future from a young age, and training in every Dradris Kingdom was a requirement.

  It had been a few days since they had arrived in the nameless fort, but the heavy mood was already lightening. This was not due to her getting used to the place, no, far from it. The Band of the Promised One had quickly interwoven itself within the community.

  Emerii chatted to the soldiers casually, cracking jokes that drew smiles and laughter even in this situation. Royce had immediately busied himself with the logistics, working through various problems that had arisen. Artowen was a bonfire in the night, drawing all to him. Even the Citizen was playing with children or helping with chores.

  Eira chose to stay out of their way. They were all kind, even the misguided man who had gifted her flowers that first night had good intentions, but she could not stand that brightness. Not now. Not ever again. Compassion would only wound, and so she was thankful they had not overdone it on their journey.

  Did she regret not guiding them? Her mind was in a fog. Though this had been her Kingdom, she would have been unhelpful in locating the destination they sought.

  The gaze of a female soldier wandered to her, the features on the woman contourting into a grimace. That woman was not the only one who remembered Eira. That mere act of recognition created shame in both parties, and sometimes ire. To think some would be angry with her for surviving, for fulfilling her duty to the end.

  She shook her head, her stoic expression remaining firm. She had escaped her torture; this was no time to feel dour. If there was one thing she could control in the chaos of their world, it was her emotions.

  The white howl of the storming night rocketed against the wooden walls of the fort. A fierce cold sliced through the poor construction as families and soldiers huddled together for warmth.

  The wicks of the candles were barely surviving, even inside. Eira did not know if she welcomed or detested the cold. Already so numb, the winter had already almost claimed her life previously.

  She fought against that desire.

  Eira awaited her childhood friend, who had still not arrived. Idwyn would know how to alleviate her pain, how to get her far from this place. It had been so long since they had talked.

  Ever since they were children, Idwyn had been obsessed with the vague prophecies of the Promised One. It felt convenient that the savior was her nephew, but after meeting Artowen, she could see him fulfilling that destiny. He had that aura about him.

  It did not concern her any longer now, though. It was time for her to rest.

  The Band of the Promised One was doing what it could to help, but the roof above their heads was liable to fly off. To Eira’s surprise, there was little screaming or crying. That was thanks to Emerii, who was singing and strumming an old lute she had found. Somehow her voice carried over the storm. Accompanying her was Mav, whom she could see had summoned his deity. From what she could discern, it resembled a small fluffy animal; she could only vaguely make out others’ deities. He was juggling and doing tricks, keeping attention firmly on him and Emerii’s performance. Eventually they swapped positions, and while Mav’s playing and humming was not as skilled as that of Emerii’s, it did compliment her dance.

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  Despite efforts, the storm only became worse.

  A loud bang, coming from the walls.

  “The Uxsons!” An old woman wailed.

  “They’ve come!” Another person exclaimed.

  The walls were unmanned. Though the fort had been near completion, the walls were a death trap in weather like this.

  A figure burst through the door. It was not any soldier or those fighting against the storm. Wreathed in shadow, the darkness accented the black wolf pelt that the figure wore.

  Before hysteria broke out, the figure pulled its hood down, revealing braided golden hair. Then she removed the wool that was protecting her face. Idwyn stared on with a frown. “Young children stay. Everyone else, grab wood and any tools. This is no time to be sitting still. God has decided to test our endurance this night, and if we do not answer, this wooden fortress will be destroyed by the storm.”

  Part of the fortress had been cleaved from this world. Not cleanly, performed by a dull blade that tore away haphazardly at its target. People rushed to and fro, seeking repairs or cleaning up debris. Despite the exhaustion of the previous night, they still worked, completing any tasks that had to be done.

  On such a beautiful day, Eira could sympathize. The clear sky above, the sun hanging high, as the fresh snow glinted and sang the praises of life. Even she couldn’t help but smile, though the destruction was extensive. But they had survived, and what was before their feet could be rebuilt. It was an odd sense that momentarily cast away her melancholy. It made her want to help, though she did not.

  “Quite a terrible storm last night,” Idwyn said.

  They had been roaming the area side by side, an opportunity to converse with her old friend. “The worst I’ve experienced.”

  “I see they found you some new clothes.”

  Eira nodded. Plain clothes that were for warmth and movement.

  “Though not as extravagant as your previous garbs, Captain of the Red Feathers.”

  She scowled. “Do not call me that, Idwyn. That is behind me; it is a position I no longer hold, nor desire to.”

  Idwyn’s smile did not reach her eyes. God, she is frightening when she is like this. “It has not even been a full year, Eira. You worked so hard, and here you are back in Lenda. You could reclaim what you lost.”

  “They’re all gone. Every single one. There’s nothing for me here except traitors and the dead.” She looked out at the chaos. “You must have more important tasks than talking to me, Idwyn. Why are you here?”

  “You appeared to have something you wanted to ask me. Besides, I promised we would talk when I returned. All else can wait.”

  A moment of hesitation. Then, “Do you know of a place that is safe from this? Somewhere far away that you could take me to. To let me rest.”

  Idwyn bent in laughter. A full, echoing guffaw that resounded on the tall hill. “My apologies, that is normally not something you would ask. You know as well as I do that there is nowhere safe in the world.”

  “Even you would say that.”

  “You seek sanctuary.”

  Eira nodded.

  “None can give it to you. Besides my friend, are you sure you desire what you are asking? Has the rape killed your warrior heart?”

  She held her stoic expression, though a physical blow would have hurt much less. “I’m tired, Idwyn.” A hand touched her shoulder, and she almost allowed herself to break.

  “I’m sorry my words wound. You have a tendency to bottle everything up. I thought to prod you, as you are not yourself.”

  She shook her head. “It is fine.” Idwyn can always see right through me.

  “Watch my back, my friend. I will lead you out of this. You trust me, do you not?”

  Eira glared at her friend. “With everything I have. Do not insult me.”

  “We will talk to the King during our evening meal. I would appreciate your presence.”

  “They cannot be trusted, Idwyn! We could have broken the Uxson advance, but Brymoor and the King turned away the other troops. The Red Feathers didn’t even have time to retreat.”

  “Lenda cannot be trusted, nor Zernau or Bardoo. Even the others and my birthplace of Welkia are dubious. We Drajin fight each other as often as the Uxsons. But that will change. Tie them together tenuously with their desires, then let the Promised One turn that into true alliances. Look to Artowen, and let your doubts be dashed away.”

  As they walked, Artowen came into view. When the man noticed his aunt, he dropped what he was doing and glided over with an open expression.

  “Thank you for your assistance last night, Aunt Idwyn. If it were not for your leadership and ideas, I fear the entire fort would have fallen.”

  “A good lesson then, dear nephew, to remember.”

  He chuckled lightly, then shifted his attention. “It is good to see that some color has returned to your face, Eira. If things were different, I would have liked to have taken you to the safety of Welkia.”

  Idwyn laughed suddenly. ‘My apologies, that simply reminded me of something comedic you said the last time we were together, Artowen. Pay it no mind.”

  He looked on, confused, but she did not elaborate further.

  The cozy atmosphere stung. “I will be taking my leave,” Eira said, “I am still tired from all that has occurred.”

  She pivoted and strode away without another word, but when she glanced back, those two were waving at her warmly.

  There had been enough exercise for the day; now all she wanted was to lie down. She had almost broken, but she was still a soldier at heart; she would not let anything out. She would endure.

  Eira went up the stairs to arrive at the communal room they had been allotted. Despite the overfill, there had been some places left empty for storage or important guests. The others had still spent most of their time with those who now lived their lives here.

  There was a view past the wall, which was a blessing. Eira did not know if she could stay sane staring at a wall, feeling trapped once again. She was also thankful their room had survived the storm.

  When she entered, she noticed something resting on the windowsill. The light of day flared on the metal tray the pastry was resting on, as well as the smear of honey that was atop it.

  It was her favorite treat, especially in the winter months when the bakers chilled the honey. That was the spot she had been at most since their arrival, and there was only one. It had to be meant for her.

  Was it a kind servant who remembered her?

  Or a soldier who felt for her blight?

  Maybe it was poison. Good.

  She reached down and slowly took a bite, the soft breading fell away as the rush of cold, vibrant honey awoke on her taste buds.

  Eira’s tears were dry, but even so, she wept.