Shades of War

By Sarah-Jane Lehoux

There's more than one road to redemption

It began as a simple request: Journey to Asur's Pass, an isolated military fort in the savage wilds of the Northern Jungles and escort a wayward son back to the safety of his family farm before the tensions building between humans and d

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah-Jane Lehoux
• Release date: Aug 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9780988145641

Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Sarah-Jane Lehoux is a Canadian writer of speculative fiction. She avoids the real world as much as possible and spends her time cluttering her brain with beautiful nonsense.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, uploaded, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the author.

SHADES OF WAR

© Sarah-Jane Lehoux 2023

Third edition ● August 2023

ISBN: 978-0-9881456-4-1

Print ISBN: 978-1484857168

Edited by Sean Sanders

Cover Design by Sarah-Jane Lehoux

Interior Design by Sarah-Jane Lehoux

TO SEAN

For talking me down from ledges since 1997

CHAPTER 1

Sally’s Pub, a dismal little dive in the southeastern quarter of Eloria, was as it ever had been: dank, run-down, and saturated with the body odour of the city workers who accounted for the bulk of its clientele. But what it lacked in ambience, it more than made up for with its cheap ale, of which Sevy was currently partaking.

Sitting at a table near the fireplace, she surveyed her surroundings with glacial green eyes that were as emotionless and piercing as a bird of prey’s, her lips seemingly fixed into a frown except for those times she allowed them to slide into a sneer. Like the rattling of a snake’s tail, her ice-cold attitude warned everyone in the pub to stay far away from her. And they did. Even the most drunken or stupid of men wouldn’t dare to try chatting up the tall brunette because her temper was known to be as quick as the sword hanging at her waist.

The only one courageous enough to approach her was Hal, the old bushy-eyebrowed barkeeper who’d been serving her here since she was a child. His back was more hunched than in years past, and his sight had weakened, but he alone could confidently invade Sevy’s fiercely-guarded privacy without fear of reprisal. So long as he always brought more drinks with him, that is. They wordlessly swapped coin for ale, their familiarity with one another not requiring any stilted attempts at pleasantries.

As soon as he’d shuffled away, Sevy guzzled down one long swallow after another until her mug was empty save for the last slippery bits of fragrant foam. Satisfied, she sank low into her seat, folded her arms over her stomach, and then rested her feet on the opposite chair, letting the fire warm the timeworn leather of her boots. She wiggled her toes and stretched out her calf muscles, the soreness in them almost pleasurable now that she had the chance to relax and recuperate. It had been a busy few days, and just like Hal, she wasn’t getting any younger. Her eyes closed. Her head fell to the side. The murmured conversations around her faded into a blissful blur.

Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am?

She made no attempt to conceal the scowl that crossed her face as she glared at the intruder through hooded lids. It was a teenage girl. Fourteen, fifteen, maybe. Very plain, gaunt, lanky, and freckled. Her wobbly grin revealed crooked teeth and excessive gums, and she pulled self-consciously at the threadbare dress she wore, as well she should. It was a few sizes too small and didn’t leave much of her burgeoning, if not angular, womanhood to one’s imagination.

What? Sevy barked at her, her shoulders knotting with irritation.

The girl’s wide mouth silently opened and closed a few times, but the second she found her voice again, her words flew out in a garbled rush.

I don’t mean to bother you, ma’am. But you… You’re Sevy, right? They said you could help me.

Sevy straightened in her seat. She raised two fingers in the air to signal Hal over for another drink, then using her foot, she pushed the empty chair towards the girl, who almost tripped over herself while she sat down.

Who sent you?

I don’t know. People around town. They told me you’re good at this sort of thing.

And what sort of thing are we talking about?

Um, the girl said with a nervous gulp. All right, well, my name is Cloa, and me and my brother came here to go to school, but the lady we were boarding with, well, she lied to my parents. She took their money and said she’d watch over us, but she—

I don’t need your whole life history, kid. Just tell me what you need done and how much you’re willing to pay.

Pay? Oh, right. Well, um, I don’t guess I can pay anything right now, but—

Then I ‘don’t guess’ we have anything more to discuss. Nice meeting you. Goodbye.

Sevy turned to the fresh mug that Hal placed on the table, fully expecting this gawky little nuisance to take her not-so-subtle hint.

Wait, Cloa pleaded. "That’s not what I meant! I’m sure my parents will pay you whatever you want, and I really, really need your help, ma’am! See, they told us we gotta earn our keep, and they figure they can get more money outta Kordan than me, and they’re making him… And I promised I’d look out for him, ma’am, she whimpered, snorting back tears as she wiped her runny nose with her sleeve. I promised."

Ew, stop that, Sevy said, grimacing. Pull yourself together.

S-sorry.

So let me get this straight. Some creep’s got your brother, and you want me to break him out for you?

Uh-huh. And then take us home? Please, ma’am. We’re not from the city, and we… We just wanna go home.

She was absolutely pitiful, this wretched and awkward child, and despite Sevy’s guise of detached indifference, rage was rippling to life inside of her. Memories stirred, dragging her back to a time of loneliness and despair. A time when her face was just a little too sallow and her bones just a little too prominent, when hunger gnawed at her innards and the cold shrouded her like a second skin, when desperate cravings for human contact were cast aside because she only felt safe when she went unseen, unnoticed.

But even so, there were hundreds of people in Eloria who shared similar memories, and if Sevy worked for free for every sob story she heard, she’d have starved to death years ago.

You’re certain your parents will pay?

Oh yes, ma’am. My dad’s a weaver in Devenbourn. He has heaps of money.

Devenbourn? she asked, her voice suddenly sharp.

Her hand shot to her neck, to the copper coin she wore on a light chain. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the letter ‘S’ that had been etched onto one side. Though it once scratched her, the etching had smoothed over time, and the coin itself shone from being polished so often with the oil of her skin.

That’s our hometown, Cloa said. It’s west of—

I know where it is. She took another swig of ale, finishing off her second mug as quickly as the first. Right, you got yourself a deal, kid. I’ll get your brother, and we’ll worry about payment once we reach Devenbourn.

Oh, thank you, ma’am! You don’t know how much this means to me! Thank you so much!

Seizing Sevy’s weathered hands in her tiny pink paws, Cloa kissed them until Sevy jerked away, wrinkling her nose at the wet globs of spit and snot that now coated her fingers. She wiped them on her cloak, then stood up, motioning for Cloa to follow, and the girl clambered to her feet, bumping into the table and into Sevy in the process. Suddenly, the prospect of a four-day journey with two children really didn’t seem worth the money that a farming town weaver would likely be able to pay.

I’m getting soft, she sighed to herself.

They walked to the door, Cloa practically skipping alongside her, but she was all legs and no balance. Sevy caught her wrist just before she fell. An egregious lapse of judgment. Cloa wrongly assumed that meant Sevy had given her permission to hold her hand, and based on the hearty chuckle Hal was having at her expense, her hard-earned reputation as the resident bitch of Sally’s Pub was in dire jeopardy.

CHAPTER 2

The heady smell of wet earth permeated the air, a sickly-sweet sign that spring was well on its way, but midwestern Axlun had not fully shaken free of winter’s grasp. Piles of slushy brown snow still lay in the shadows around houses and barns, and biting winds still raced across the flat open countryside. A crust of sparkling frost still coated the earth in the mornings, and diamonds of ice would lace the water drawn from wells for at least another month. And yet the grass was sprouting, leaves were budding on the trees, and colourful patches of sturdy wildflowers were stubbornly claiming the fields.

Even the sleepy little townsfolk of Devenbourn weren’t immune to the effects of the changing seasons. The main road through town was abuzz with activity as they planned for some kind of celebration in honour of Yemet, the god of harvest, but as busy as they were preparing their gifts of food and wine in hopes of a bountiful year, they still found plenty of time to gawk at Sevy. Her presence seemed to be causing a flurry of gossip, most of it unflattering, even though everyone was exceptionally cordial to her as she passed them by.

Cloa and Kordan’s parents were at first overjoyed, then confused, and then downright panicked when she arrived on their doorstep with her puffy-eyed, red-nosed deliveries. They apparently thought their children would be proper scholars by now, convincing themselves that the suspicious absence of all the letters they’d been expecting to receive had merely been the result of studious minds.

What’s the matter? they anxiously asked Sevy. Are they all right?

She nodded. It was kinder to lie. The evil she’d seen in that brothel, the mottled bruises on Kordan’s baby-soft skin, the tear-smudged kohl running down his chubby little cheeks as he cowered in the corner like a rabbit in a roomful of foxes… These memories were a curse, and it was better to block them out and push them down to where they could do no more harm.

Besides, it really was none of her business. If Kordan and Cloa wanted their parents to know what happened, they would tell them eventually, so all she said was that Eloria’s boarding houses weren’t an appropriate environment for unattended children.

Once they had recovered from their initial surprise, they bent over backwards thanking her, though the payment they provided was just as disappointing as she feared. It didn’t even come close to covering the expenses she incurred travelling with those two brats, but regardless of this, she pocketed the tiny bag of coins they handed her without argument.

What the hell’s wrong with me? she thought after they’d exchanged their goodbyes. That wasn’t just soft. That was stupid. I probably could’ve held out for at least another piece of silver or two.

Continuing to lecture herself, Sevy left town and walked into the farmlands, passing the occasional team of oxen industriously plowing the fields. The well-beaten path she followed ran straight for miles with an endless sky stretched out on either side, an immaculate blanket of blue that enveloped the earth, making one feel conspicuous and insignificant all at once.

Soon a familiar pair of slumbering lilac trees rose up against the horizon. In a few more weeks, their purple splendour would enliven the scenery, but until then, they simply stood bare but proud, marking the entrance to a plot of meticulously tended lawn where rectangular stones of differing sizes and hues poked out of the ground in tidy rows. She skimmed her fingers across the tops of each one she passed before eventually reaching the stone she’d come to Devenbourn to see, the one that tipped the scales in Cloa’s favour when Sevy was deciding whether or not to help her.

Hello, love.

Kneeling beside it, she kissed this stone, letting her lips linger over the name carved into its face, and then admired the vase of white and yellow flowers someone had set in front of it. What a nice gesture. And how oddly comforting it was to know she wasn’t the only one to visit this humble grave.

Sorry I haven’t been back in a while, but I promise I’ll come more often now that the snow’s gone. You’d be proud of me, Jarro. I did a good thing today. Sort of. I did take money for it, but a girl’s gotta eat, you know.

She had so much to say to him, but words felt clumsy and out of place here, so instead, she just sat in quiet contemplation. A gentle breeze blew by, ruffling her hair, and she closed her eyes to better remember all the times he had teasingly done the same.

I miss you.

Footsteps sounded on the grass behind her. Instinctively, she stiffened, her hand slipping to the hilt of her blade.

Hello, Sevy, a woman whispered.

She stiffened even more, although her grip on her sword relaxed. Unsure of the etiquette for encountering your dead lover’s estranged mother in a graveyard, she shifted around nervously before deciding she should probably get up off the ground.

Hello, Mrs. Destan.

Please, dear, call me Didrianna.

She was a pretty little woman, handsome and old-fashioned and sweet. Her fluffy white hair was neatly bundled at the nape of her neck, her doe-like eyes were made even bluer by the pinkness of her cheeks, and her warm smile wrinkled her face in the most becoming of ways, lending her an air of sensitive wisdom rather than old age.

But warm smiles and wisdom notwithstanding, Sevy remained leery of her, and when Didrianna tried to embrace her in greeting, she hastily stuck out her hand. Didrianna graciously accepted this bashfully aloof counter-offer, her mouth quirking almost exactly like Jarro’s used to whenever he’d been amused by something silly or embarrassing Sevy had done.

Thought I might find you here. I heard talk you brought the Schora children home. Oh, don’t be surprised, she said in response to Sevy’s lifted eyebrow. It’s a small town, and this is the most exciting thing to happen in weeks.

That’s…nice.

I’m glad you came. It’s so good to see you again, dear.

Yeah, likewise. But I really should be…

Sevy pointed towards the gate, but instead of stepping aside, Didrianna wistfully gazed down at Jarro’s grave.

I can’t believe it’s already been five years, she sighed.

Well, strictly speaking, it had only been three, though she wasn’t about to upset the poor woman with tales of her son’s unnatural afterlife.

You come here quite a lot, don’t you?

Yeah, Sevy mumbled. Just like to pay my respects, is all.

I’m sure he appreciates it. I certainly do.

Me too. I mean, thanks for, uh, giving him the, you know, the flowers and… Listen, I’ve actually gotta head out now, so…

Oh no, do you have to? Because I was hoping you’d stay for a visit.

A visit? She began scratching the back of her neck, scrambling to find a workable excuse. Well, you see, the thing is, I—

Please? We’ve never really had a chance to talk, even after all this time. Don’t you think we should change that? You were such an important part of Jarro’s life, and I… I’d like to know you, Sevy.

The word ‘no’ died in her throat when she looked down into Didrianna’s expectant face. Cursing inwardly, she heard herself say, I guess I could stay. For a bit.

Wonderful! Now, you must be hungry from your trip, so why don’t we go have ourselves a good long chat over a nice supper?

Sevy smiled, but her expression was an amalgam of the existential dread of the condemned, the giddy anticipation of a virginal bride, and the bloated pressure of someone who’d eaten too much cabbage soup.

Immensely attractive, I’m sure.

Either Didrianna didn’t notice, or she didn’t care. She prattled on about the fields, the town, and other equally mundane topics about which Sevy knew so little she could only murmur vague agreements.

The Roca’s chickens were giving bad eggs? That means someone’s going to miscarry within the fortnight? Mm-hmm. Of course. And the grain merchant’s daughter was pregnant? They’re bringing her to the priest so he can rub her down with clarified butter? Right. Makes sense.

Oh, for the love of Annu-nial, just kill me now!

Small talk like this had always been torturous for Sevy, and she was in absolute agony by the time they arrived at the farmhouse.

She sat stock-still at the dinner table, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed underneath her chair. Only her eyes moved, roaming the room, taking in every detail. The Destans’ home was definitely different than the houses back in Eloria. It was so bright and cheerful and airy. The walls were made with planks of sun-bleached wood; the floor was more of the same. Yellowing lace curtains hung on pristine casement windows, and flecks of light bounced off a cutesy collection of ceramic knickknacks that adorned the mantle above a river rock fireplace.

To calm herself, Sevy pictured Jarro warming himself by the fire, then lying down on the hand-knotted rug in front of it with a stack of old books, but it didn’t help. She was trapped in a state of perpetual unease, so filled with trepidation that the ‘nice supper’ she’d been promised was starting to feel more like heavy labour.

Again, Didrianna was gleefully oblivious to Sevy’s discomfort and heaped her plate with baked beans, mashed potatoes, and a rich beef stew. And that wasn’t all. There was also a steaming bowl of pea soup, a basket of hot rolls, and a chunk of ripened cheese. Overwhelmed and slightly queasy, Sevy did her best to politely decline the freshly baked cornbread that her distressingly generous hostess tried tempting her with, but she was given some anyway.

Now then, Didrianna said, breathing in satisfaction as she finally stopped bringing out more food. Would you care to say grace for us, Sevy?

Oh! Well, I don’t really—

Of course she wouldn’t, Baywyn Destan grunted from the head of the table.

Here was the man from whom Jarro inherited his firm jaw and fetching black locks, but Sevy had yet to see much of his good nature or patience today.

"A city girl like her? I’ll bet she’s never even heard Yemet’s Benediction before, let alone used it. Have you? ’Course not. That’s what city living does to folk, Di. They take the gods for granted."

Really, Baywyn! Is that any way to talk to our guest?

He tossed his head, more mule than man, and Sevy squeezed her hands into fists beneath the table, staring at her plate until she could speak in as even and pleasant a tone as she could muster.

You’re right. I don’t know Yemet’s Benediction.

Baywyn smugly nodded at Didrianna, but Sevy was quick to interrupt his gloating.

And that’s because I’m from the coast. My family worshipped Ulla, and we prayed every night for calm seas and good fishing. I can say that for you if you’d like.

I don’t know if I approve of them foreign gods. Seems to me they do precious little. All you ever hear about is famine here or war there. No, I’ll rely on Yemet, thank you very much.

Baywyn, that’s enough. Go on, Sevy dear. I’d love to hear it.

Sevy manufactured a honeyed smile, but when she opened her mouth, she discovered that the long-ignored childhood recitation had entirely escaped her. Horrified, she coughed, bowing her head to hide this potentially embarrassing fact, then clawed through her memories, frantically reaching back into the furthest corners of her mind. And there she was, sitting at a stone counter, her twiggy legs dangling underneath, chanting in time with her two sisters while her stomach growled with impatience. The words began slipping out on their own.

Without the Mother’s presence, the waters will run dry, the fish will swim no more, and the gulls will cease their cry. And so we beseech Ulla, wellspring of the Blessed Blue, we offer up our prayers and thanks and give our praise to you.

There! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, she thought, smirking at Baywyn, who, for his part, seemed unimpressed.

A priestess couldn’t have said it any better, Didrianna assured her as a proud grin exaggerated her wrinkles. Thank you. Now tuck in. And remember, there’s plenty left when you want more.

They ate in silence. Sevy was painfully aware of her every chew and swallow, and Baywyn stabbed at his food with his free hand propped against the edge of the table as if preparing to storm off at any given moment, but Didrianna pecked away at her dinner, just as happy as can be.

You know, Jarro once wanted to be a priest, she said, evidently still thinking on the topic of religion. Back when he was small. Do you remember, dear? We’d find him in the barn pretending to anoint the horses or bless the cow’s milk.

Sevy smiled. I never knew that.

Well, it didn’t last long. As soon as he started to notice girls, he forgot all about it.

Her smile widened. How very like Jarro!

Damn good thing too, Baywyn said. That boy wasn’t serious enough for the priesthood. Everything was a joke to him.

That’s not true. But even if it was, who cares? There’s nothing wrong with having a sense of humour.

Oh, yes, Didrianna merrily agreed, nipping Baywyn’s next objection in the bud. "Jarro did have a marvellous sense of humour, didn’t he? And I think it would have helped him become an excellent priest because there’s more to the calling than just performing rituals and the like. You have to have a knack with people, which Jarro did, even as a child. His classmates all adored him, and he was just so friendly and charming and… What’s the word I’m looking for?"

Charismatic?

That’s it! He was charismatic.

Baywyn huffed in annoyance. Charis… Please! Priests don’t need to be popular. They need to be strong-willed, they need to command authority. And Jarro? Let’s just face it, Di. That boy was a wishy-washy fool. Always had his head in the clouds, always looking for the next big thing. He didn’t have enough of a backbone to stick things out when the going got tough.

I’d be very careful before saying anything else if I were you, Sevy said, her voice dripping with venom.

Was that a threat?

Oh, I’m sure Sevy didn’t mean—

Of course I meant it.

She stared at him coldly, giving him a look that advised him to stop but dared him to continue, though he was apparently not one to be dissuaded by icy looks alone.

You would threaten me? he shouted, slamming down his fist. At my own table?

"Yes, I would! How dare you talk about Jarro like that?! He was your son, for Koad’s sake!"

Please, why don’t we—

"Exactly! He was my son, and I’ll talk about my own damn son in my own damn house any damn way I want, and no godless little city girl is going to tell me otherwise—"

Baywyn!

—even if she does fancy herself a vigilante or mercenary or whatever it is you pretend to be.

Baywyn, please!

"Pretend to be?"

That’s right, he said, answering her scoff with a sneer. Don’t think I don’t know what you are.

Now this was interesting. This was a conversation Sevy knew how to handle, and the anger flooding through her veins was so much more comfortable than the strain she’d felt during all that phony pretence.

Go on then. What am I?

A thief. A criminal. The same type of lowlife scum our coward of a son became. Playing at being a big-time hoodlum up there in the city. Stealing. Murdering. Yemet only knows what else.

Why, you arrogant bastard, she softly growled. You have no clue what you’re talking about.

Oh, don’t I? You think we never heard what Jarro was doing in Eloria? You think the whole town wasn’t whispering about it? That boy broke our hearts over and over again. Abandoning us, disgracing us… And for what? To end up in the dirt.

And what would you have preferred? Dying alone on a battlefield? Would that have appeased your stupid ego?

This has nothing to do with my ego!

No? So what’s it about then? Why are you more concerned with what your neighbours think than the hell Jarro went through because of you?

Any hell that ungrateful brat went through was his own damned fault! I only did what any good father would—

"A good father? Sevy cynically repeated. More like a bully."

Is that what he said? That I bullied him? Hah! I was strict, yes, but I had to be. I was trying to make a life for my son. I was trying to make a man out of him.

Enough was enough!

She leapt up, knocking her chair to the floor. A man?! she yelled. He was still just a child when you forced him to join the army!

I didn’t force him! He wanted to—

"No, he didn’t! He hated it! He hated fighting, and he hated killing! It hurt him! Just like you did when you sent him away! Because all he ever wanted was this! Arms flying out, she gestured around her to the house and the farm, then jabbed an accusatory finger at Baywyn. He wanted what you weren’t willing to give him!"

And what’s that? he said, quieter now than he’d been before.

"Your acceptance. Your approval. Your…your love. Nothing he did was ever good enough for you, and he spent years living a lie just to make you happy, even though it almost destroyed him! That’s why he never came back here. That’s why he ran away to Eloria. You know what he once told me? He said he’d rather be hanged than face your judgment again. So you can sit here and criticize him all you want, but that won’t change what really happened. Jarro was a good man. A great man. He was loyal and caring and a better son than a bastard like you ever deserved to have!"

Stop it!

Didrianna’s scream shocked both Sevy and Baywyn into immediate compliance. They stared at her, dumbstruck, and although she tried to say something else, she rushed away from the table instead, sobbing like a baby.

Now see what you’ve done? Baywyn muttered as he hurried after her.

"What I’ve done?"

Clucking her tongue, Sevy picked up her cloak, sword, and pack and slipped out the door. The sun had almost finished setting, and the sky was ablaze with ruby fire. Wind rustled through the dried-out remnants of last year’s harvest, its mournful cry answered by the lowing of a dairy cow that was ambling about. It was a beautifully melancholy evening, which suited her mood just fine.

What the hell had she been thinking? Why had she even toyed with the idea of trying to strike up a friendship with those people? There was a reason she’d kept her distance from the Destans these past three years, and tonight had been a stern reminder of that.

Sevy? Sevy, please don’t go!

In the fading light, she turned to see Didrianna running down the road. She had half a mind to keep going but was curious enough to wait for the old woman to reach her.

Please, Didrianna said, grabbing hold of Sevy’s hand while she caught her breath. I need to talk to you. I need you to tell me…

Tell you what?

Is it true? That Jarro never came home because he…he…

He knew you wouldn’t understand. He knew he’d be disowned.

But we would never do that to him! Never! Surely he knew that, didn’t he?

Believe what you like. It makes no difference to me. Then, twisting her hand free, Sevy spit out a sarcastic, Thanks for supper, and began walking away.

Oh gods!

Don’t look back. Don’t you dare look back.

But she did, and her chest throbbed with shame. Didrianna was on her knees, bawling, her tears falling hot and fast onto the ground.

Dammit!

When she bent to help her up, Didrianna slumped forward into her arms, and Sevy glanced at the farmhouse, hoping Baywyn would come out to retrieve his distraught wife. No such luck, unfortunately.

Um, there, there, she awkwardly said.

If only I’d known! If only I’d… Maybe he…

What’s done is done. You can’t change the past.

She wanted to lose control, to get as angry as she’d been with Baywyn. Yet here she was, comforting someone that, by all rights, she should despise. This was getting ridiculous! She’d been such a bleeding heart lately, and it wasn’t at all like her to be this agreeable or this…weak. But now was not the time to reflect upon her rash of uncharacteristic conduct because Didrianna was urgently peering up at her.

It’s not too late, is it? Oh, I can’t make the same mistake twice, Sevy! I can’t! Please, you have to help us!

How?

Do you have any children?

No, I don’t, but… She shook her head, disgusted and confused. What’s that got to do with anything?

I know you probably think the worst of us, but what Baywyn said is true. We were just trying to give Jarro a better life than the one we have. That’s all we ever wanted for him.

And sending him to war was a better life?

You don’t understand. He was so clever and strong, we figured he’d be promoted to general before too long. And then he would have a title. And money and land and all the things we could never give him. We were wrong, though. I can see that now, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. Never. But at the very least, I can stop it from happening again.

…What do you mean?

Lon, our youngest son. He was still so little when Jarro left home, but he always looked up to him. He wanted to be just like him and could hardly wait until he was old enough to enlist.

Sevy frowned. And?

The last we heard, he was being sent to a fort in the Northern Jungles. And there’s talk of war!

There’s always talk of war in the jungles.

No, no. It’s real this time. We heard it from a trader. He said the miners are leaving. He said the dark elves are getting violent because they want their lands back. Dark elves, Sevy!

She couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Oh, I know what you must think of me, Didrianna wept. But I don’t care! I can’t lose another son, I just can’t! I don’t want my boy to be killed by savages in some gods-forsaken jungle because he’s afraid we won’t love him otherwise. I want to know he’s safe. I want him to come home.

Sevy had to swallow a lot of bitterness before she was able to reply, Then write to him and tell him everything you just told me.

No, it wouldn’t do any good. Lon won’t leave the army, not by choice. He’s too much like his father. He’s too proud. She grasped at Sevy’s shirt, a feverishly unnerving desperation in her eyes. But you can go get him for us, though, can’t you? You do that kind of thing all the time, right?

…Not exactly.

But you have to! Please, Sevy! Don’t you see? It was the will of Yemet that brought you here today!

And what’s that pigheaded husband of yours gonna say when he finds out you’ve asked me this?

He’ll say it’s a lucky thing the gods have given him such a brave wife, Baywyn suddenly said from behind her.

How much he’d heard of their conversation, Sevy didn’t know, but as he walked to stand next to Didrianna and slipped his arm around her quivering shoulder, she could tell that he’d been crying too.

And he’ll get down on his hands and knees to beg you if he has to, he quietly added.

Baywyn, I…

Her mind was screaming a thousand protests, indignantly reminding her that this was not her responsibility. After all, Lon was a grown man now. If he wanted to die for the King, then so be it. She’d never even met him, and she certainly didn’t owe anything to his parents.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she paced a few steps away. How dare they ask her this? How dare they—the very people whose disapproval Jarro had carried to his grave—expect Sevy to risk her life to assuage their guilty consciences? This went well beyond disrespect. It was outrageously and offensively out of line, and she spun back to them, set to wash her hands of them forever.

But once again, her anger failed her. For in Baywyn’s face, she saw Jarro’s strength and courage, and in Didrianna’s, she saw his kindness and love. At that moment, she knew she couldn’t refuse them any more than she could have refused him.

This might not be her responsibility, nor was it her business, but Lon was their son, and he was Jarro’s brother, and that was all that mattered.

All right, she grumbled. I’ll give it a shot.

CHAPTER 3

The cloying layer of sweat on his skin stripped away the instant he dove into the limpid pool of turquoise water. His belly grazed against the pebbled bottom as he neared the waterfall, but he stayed submerged, propelling himself forward with his legs, using his lone arm to navigate. The water was wonderfully bracing. It revitalized his body before gently numbing it, pacifying the various aches and pains he’d accumulated over weeks of travel.

Finding one smooth ledge of slippery limestone, he sat upon it and poked his head out of the water. He blinked against the mist beating upon his brow, gazing up to the canopy above, a vast cathedral of emerald and jade, a secret realm of beauty known only to the animals and the fairies and the spirits of nature, ever-changing as its branches undulated in a breeze which couldn’t be felt at ground level. It was a world of mud and moss down here, of vines that choked the roughly hewn paths minutes after they were cut and creeping fungus that grafted itself onto cloth and metal to devour any hint of civilization. Yet despite this, and despite the humidity and the stinging insects, Revik was in his glory.

Sighing with happiness, he turned away from the feathery green heavens to glance at the woman pacing to and fro on the banks of the pond. She was wearing what used to be a dress of white linen, but it had been dyed by dirt and was so weighed down by sweat that it now seemed little more than a slick casing designed to accentuate each and every one of her impressive curves. He eyed her appreciatively. The trials of this sultry wilderness could not veil how fine and fair a wife he had.

She gestured to the water, her slender arms waving wildly around, and although Revik couldn’t hear what she was saying, it was clear she was upset about something. Suddenly, a flash of silver sparkled on the water’s surface. A fish. So that’s what had her in such a dither.

After blowing her an exaggerated kiss, he resumed his bathing, but when she began throwing sticks and rocks into the pond, he swam closer to shout over the waterfall’s roar.

Relax, Yy’voury. It’s just a fish.

It’s a big fish, she squealed back. It could be dangerous! Look! There it is again! She fired another barrage into the water. Go away! Shoo! Get away from him!

"What are you doing?" he asked, laughing.

I think it’s a snake!

Well, whatever it was, it’s gone, so you can stop panicking.

Revik, come out of there this instant!

No, he said, paddling back and forth defiantly. You should join me in here instead. It’ll do you good. The heat’s making you cranky.

I am not cranky! Oh, why can’t you ever just listen to me?

Because then I’d never have any fun.

Regret tore through his heart the second his words hit the air. Goddamn it! Why did he always have to say the first thing that came to mind? Especially given his audience. Yy’voury’s skin had never thickened enough to handle his sarcasm, just as he’d never learned to keep his mouth shut. Mentally beating himself in preparation for the tongue-lashing he was sure to receive, he rushed to smooth things over before they got any worse.

Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean it.

Yes, you did, Yy’voury said with a deepening pout. Why did you even bring me along with you if you find me such an awful bore? I should do you a favour and just go home right now.

An idle threat. She must have been tired if that was all she could come up with. Unless this meant that it was Revik’s lucky day, and Yy’voury wanted to save them some time and get straight to the best part of their fights: making up.

Prompted by that titillating thought, he left the pond and sauntered over to her. She had her back to him now, probably hoping to prove just how serious she was, but he’d work that to his advantage.

You’re going to go all the way back? he said, dragging his lips along the nape of her neck. All by yourself?

Don’t take me for a child, little husband. This may be my first wander, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to read a map. I can make it home just fine on my own. You needn’t trouble yourself with me anymore.

Oh, so she wanted a bit more coaxing, did she? Revik was only too happy to oblige. He wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her against him as she tried to storm off. Nearly half his size, he could crush her if he so chose. He could squeeze her, position her, have her any which way he wanted, but this was only worth doing if she wanted it too, so when she arched into his kisses, encouraging his efforts, she captured his undivided attention.

Do you realize, he asked, smiling onto her shoulder, that we’ve had this same conversation at least nine times since we left the Ullydrans?

Well, perhaps this time I mean it, she replied, her demeanour delightfully less severe than it previously had been.

Why don’t you take off those clothes and come into the water with me?

No. What if someone sees us?

Like who? The fish?

Spinning her around, he kissed her roughly. The taste of her, the scent of her… She was irresistible, and yearning spiralled through Revik’s abdomen when she opened her mouth to his.

She broke away moments later. We can’t. There might be people nearby.

Yy’voury, you wanted to know what it’s like to wander, and I am going to make sure you get the full experience. Now take your clothes off, or I’ll do it for you.

You wouldn’t dare.

Oh, wouldn’t I?

He pulled the pins from her milky white hair so that it cascaded down her back. Much better. He wanted to feel that hair sweeping over his face, again and again, bouncing in time with her body as she…

Easy there, boy, you’re getting ahead of yourself.

But even though she’d been slow to start, Yy’voury was hurrying to catch up with him. After a few more nibbling kisses and a few more seconds of deliberation, she kicked off her shoes and ripped her dress over her head. Modesty got the better of her then, and Revik chuckled while she demurely crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself from the unseeing eyes of the jungle. Sweet and sexy all at once.

Together, they waded into the water until they were deep enough to fall back into its embrace. Their kisses were like fists, tongues battling, lips bruising, teeth grazing. The perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. Growling her name against the hollow beneath her ear, he slipped his hand between her thighs.

What about the fish? she wantonly gasped.

They’ll just have to wait their turn.

P

We’re lost.

No, we’re not.

Let me see the map again. I think we’re headed in the wrong direction.

Yy’voury, just relax, all right? I know where we’re going.

He could hear the irritation in his voice. No doubt she heard it too, which was probably why she sullenly fell into step beside him. But if he was irritated, it was hardly his fault. The humidity was rising to unbearable levels, putting pressure on his already-exhausted lungs, and he was fidgeting in his sweat-soaked tunic like a changeling cursed with a roaring case of mites. Above them, the canopy darkened, heralding an impending storm, and Revik prayed it would come sooner rather than later to break this impossible heat.

And to shut Yy’voury up too.

We should be there by now, she said less than a minute later. Let me see the map.

Oh gods, give it a rest, will you?

Don’t you take that tone with me! And don’t say, ‘Oh gods.’ That’s human talk. You’ll offend the ancestors.

Yes, dear, he mockingly replied.

Why aren’t we there yet? We’re lost.

We’re not lost, we’re late. Maybe if you didn’t stop to complain every five seconds, we’d actually be able to make good time.

Just give me the map, Revik!

Fine!

Throwing his pack onto the ground, he yanked the worn piece of parchment out, then thrust it into her hands. Yy’voury glared at him before carefully spreading it open and staring at it, her angry eyes moving over every inch of the inked sketch of the jungles. He tapped his foot to hurry along this excruciating process, but it didn’t work, so he stabbed the map with his index finger.

See? Waller Dorge is there, and we crossed the Opo River here about an hour ago.

Just let me… I can read it myself, she said, blocking his view with her shoulder.

Revik spun from her, stifling a yell, and kicked at the nearest tree root. A fat droplet of water splashed against his face. Another hit the top of his head. He looked up just as thunder rumbled through the sky.

Yy’voury—

Give me a moment!

Put the map away. It’s about to…

The onslaught came pouring down.

…rain.

Yelping, she tried unsuccessfully to fold the map back up until Revik plucked the paper from her hands.

Careful! You’re wrinkling it!

Either it’s crumpled and dry or folded and wet. Take your pick.

There was nowhere to seek shelter, but it was better to keep moving anyway because hordes of little black leeches crawled out from the earth and up their legs whenever they stopped to rest. Revik