The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,186

morning.

The crowned and beaten,

The tongue and sword,

Together they will attack,

Like blinding stars thrown from the heavens.

—Song of Venda

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

LIA

Nurse the rage.

My heart pounded wildly.

The army was a blur at the end of the valley. A solid rolling wave. Condensing. Rising. Solidifying as the valley narrowed.

Their pace was leisurely. Unworried.

They had no need for worry. I’d already seen them approaching from the cliffs at the entrance to the valley before I rode back to take my position. I had seen how far they stretched, how unstoppable they were. Even the trail they left behind them was staggering, like the dust of a star shooting across the sky. It reached back for miles. They marched in ten divisions, infantry at the lead, followed by what looked like supplies, artillery, and herds of brezalots. More infantry followed, and then a fifth divison of soldiers on horseback. There was a heaviness to this division, something thick and weighty and more foreboding than the rest. There was no doubt in my mind that was where he rode, in the middle, within quick reach of all divisions, keeping a close watch on his creation, sucking in its power and breathing it out again like fire.

The army’s slow pace wore on nerves—just as he’d calculated.

A squad of their scouts had spotted us, then raced back to their front lines, probably reporting our pathetic numbers. Five thousand of us defended the exit of the valley—five thousand that they could see. More were ready to stream in behind us. The Vendan pace continued syrup slow, unflustered. We were merely a stone in the trail to be trampled underfoot. Even if the whole Morrighese army blocked the exit, the Komizar wasn’t worried. If anything, we only whet his appetite. At last he was getting the first course of the feast he had anticipated for so long.

Morrighan.

I heard the name of the kingdom on his lips. Amused. Sticky and cloying like a jelly drop in his mouth. He swallowed it down like a treat.

If rage pulsed in my veins, it was masked by the fear that roared in my ears for the thousands who stood behind me. This might be the day they lost their lives.

Rafe and Kaden sat on horses on either side of me. While I was dressed to be recognized, their clothing served an opposite purpose. Both wore black cloaks with the hoods drawn—the uniform of Morrighese Guardians. Jeb, Tavish, Orrin, Andrés, and Griz were in a line behind us, wearing the same. We didn’t want them recognized too soon.

“He’s playing with us,” Rafe said, his eyes locked on the slowly progressing cloud.

Kaden cursed under his breath. “At this pace, we’ll be fighting by moonlight.”

We couldn’t rush forward. We needed them to come to us.

“It’s just past midday,” I said, trying to calm myself as much as him. “We have hours of daylight yet.”

And then a horse broke free from their front lines. A distant speck at first, but then charging, fast. I heard the ratchet of the ballistas as it stormed toward us. But something about its coloring was wrong.

“Wait!” I said.

It wasn’t a brezalot. And there was a rider.

As it drew near, I knew.

It was the Komizar.

He stopped a hundred yards off. He held his hands up to show he wasn’t armed.

“What the hell is he doing?” Rafe asked.

“I request a parley with the princess,” he called. “Alone!”

A parley? Had he gone mad?

But then I thought, No. He is deadly sane.

“And I bring a gift of goodwill,” he called again. “All I ask for is a moment to talk—without weapons.”

Both Rafe and Kaden balked, but then the Komizar reached behind his back and swung a child down to the ground.

It was Yvet.

My heart stopped. The grass swallowed her up to her waist.

I remembered the day I had seen her huddled in the market with Aster and Zekiah, clutching a bloody cloth after her fingertip had been cut off. She looked even smaller and more terrified now.

The Komizar dismounted. “All yours,” he called, “just for the price of a few minutes.”

Rafe and Kaden railed against it, but I was already unbuckling and handing them my sword and knives.

“Our archers can take him down, and we can have the child too,” Rafe argued.

“No,” I answered. Nothing was ever that simple with the Komizar. We knew each other too well, and this was a very clear message to me.

“And when do I get Zekiah?” I called back to him.

He smiled. “When I’ve returned safely to my lines, I will