Fires of War (War and Deceit #4) - Erin O'Kane Page 0,78

voicing their concern for my safety too. However, they understood my need to rescue Jacob and insisted on sending guards with me. The tribes agreed, saying that even if I was rejecting the king’s offer, I had to look like I had my own army behind me. The king has been spreading rumours that I am feral now, that I cavort with the tribesmen and elves.

When I arrived here, I hoped to find Wilson, to wrap my arms around my friend and apologise for leaving him behind. Except he wasn’t at the guild. Merrin explained that all the castle mages were called back, but Wilson never returned. They feared the worst. However, I know my friend. He can’t be dead.

I wanted to travel straight to the castle, but the mages insisted that if I turned up on horseback, I would only be adding to his rumours. Instead, they insisted I travel to the guild and wait for the date to be set.

Something else that had been decided, was that I wouldn’t be disguised as ‘Lady Clarissa.’ The last time I attended a ball in Arhaven, the night I escaped, I was still under Grayson’s protective magic that disguised me to help me blend in. I wonder how everyone will react when I arrive as the goddess’ chosen, with my black hair rather than the golden ringlets I had before. Will anyone even recognise me as the same person? This way, we would travel in coaches with my guards from the elves and tribes, plus a whole unit of magicians to protect us, wearing our finest ball worthy outfits. I hate that we’re having to do it this way, but I admit that walking in with the king’s magicians as my protectors gives me a sick sense of happiness.

The messenger arrived two days ago. The ball would be tonight.

A bird flies overhead, its song bringing a smile to my face as I pause my stroll and look up, watching as it weaves through the towers. The gentle sound of footsteps echo through the open courtyard, announcing someone’s approach, but I know who it is from the soft tug in my chest—Grayson. Letting out a soft sigh, I pull my gaze from the spires and look at my mage, feeling trepidation. Not at seeing him, but at what he’s about to tell me.

He greets me with a soft smile, his eyes apologetic. He hates this as much as I do. “Are you ready?”

No, my mind screams, but I can’t say that out loud. I have to be ready, there’s too much at stake.

“Give her more time,” Eldrin snarls, turning on the mage.

I have to bite back my groan. This is not the first time the two of them have fought, and it’s usually started by the surly elf. Grayson, to his credit, has at least been trying to be civil to Vaeril, realising they will both be spending a lot of time together. The mage has even made an effort to speak to my elvish guard who made the journey with us to the guild. However, he and Eldrin just seem to rub each other the wrong way, arguing over everything the other does. I haven’t had much time to spend with Eldrin, thanks to everything that’s happened, and I know he’s struggling, especially being around so many magicians. Maybe I can talk to him before we leave, find someplace where it can be just the two of us, I think to myself, but my thoughts are cut off as a low growl reverberates off the stone walls.

Grayson’s hands ball into fists, but he ignores Eldrin, striding past the elf as he approaches me, stopping only when he reaches my side. “I’m sorry, but if we don’t leave now, we won’t get there in time.”

Naril is standing at his brother’s side, a hand pressed against Eldrin’s chest as if to restrain him, but we both know it wouldn’t stop him if he really wanted to get past.

“Fuck the king,” the scarred elf barks. His upper lip pulls back in a snarl, but it’s half-hearted, his eyes locked on me instead of the mage. I know what he really wants to say. Don’t go. He thinks it’s a trap and has been against it the whole time, worried for my safety. Which I think is the only reason why he hasn’t taken his arguments with Grayson any further than that, because he knows the mage can help keep me safe from the king.