way I just knew that something big was going to happen in the forest when Grayson found us, except this time, it’s not going to be a friend that greets us. None of this has gone to plan, we’ve been separated from everyone else, herded.
“Lots of people,” Naril helpfully adds, stepping in behind me as they tighten the protective triangle around me. They don’t say as much, but their actions tell me one thing—somehow, they’ve managed to surround us, which gives away something about our attackers. They’re fast and silent, fae of some sort. My bet would be elves, but until they show themselves, we won’t know for sure.
Everything goes silent. I can feel their eyes on us, I know they’re out there, but for some reason, they’ve stopped. Is it a tactical move? Are they trying to make us panic and rush into making a rash decision? Are they buying themselves more time? Or is it purely to show they have the upper hand? Tor barely moves from his position in front of me, and for a moment, I’m worried about him, but when I place a hand on the small of his back, he angles his body slightly towards me, never taking his eyes off the area where we know the enemy is waiting, but I can see an excited gleam in his eyes. He’s enthusiastic. I remember what I was told about the mountain tribes, about how they train from a young age to fight, about how they gain glory from battling and defeating their enemies. In reality, there probably is some part of Tor that will enjoy fighting and defending his territory.
“Do we know who it is yet?” I ask in a low voice.
Tor shakes his head, but it’s Vaeril who answers. “Not for sure, but I have a good idea. Whoever it is, they know how far we’re able to see and are standing just beyond.” I look at him over my shoulder. His mouth is set in a grim line, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—elves. If it’s elves we’re about to fight, then the queen has found us, and somehow managed to march an army here almost silently. Also, if this is the queen’s doing, Vaeril is going to have to fight his own people. A wave of nausea washes over me again, not because I doubt that he will do it, but because I know he will, and that’s because of me.
“Somethings happening,” Naril whispers, and I shift from foot to foot, preparing to move when the fighting starts and trust my fae instincts.
In the distance, I see movement. At first, it’s difficult to tell what it is, just a dark mass, then bodies but no individual features. It’s not until I hear Vaeril’s low curse that I realise something is wrong, or at least, more wrong than being surrounded by your own people. “What is it?” My words are quiet, and I don’t take my eyes from the elves making their way towards us. I can’t see their ears or make out their other features from here, but only elves can walk in armour that silently. Although, only some of them are wearing armour, and those who do wear the armour of the guards while the rest are wearing a mishmash of clothing. It’s like they were told to march on us immediately and they dropped everything, leaving in the clothing they happened to be wearing at the time. Something isn’t right here.
I can make out their faces now, but none of them make eye contact as they come closer. In fact, they all seem to be looking straight past us. They form a line in front of us, but I know from the snarls coming from Vaeril that we’re surrounded.
All of a sudden, as if as one, they stop. The lack of sound is eerie. With this many bodies, there should be sound—the rustling of clothing, the shuffling of feet, the steady inhale of their breaths—yet they stand as still as statues, staring ahead. Naril is fiercely whispering something quietly to Vaeril in elvish, and when I glance at them over my shoulder and see their expressions, my stomach drops. In the whole time I’ve known Naril, I’ve never seen him afraid before, but that’s exactly what I see in his expression right now—fear.
I feel like there’s a vice tightening around my chest. I need to know what’s causing that look on their faces. “What—”
“Movement,” Tor