“I don’t need to. They’re in the darkness.”
Of course. I try not to feel too jealous at the fact that his power allows him to sense anything hiding in darkness.
Out loud, I call, “Come out! We’ve come for a chat, not a stabbing.”
Meda, who no doubt had a much better speech ready, sighs, but my words were efficient enough: I see shapes approach from either side of the woods, surrounding us.
The first creature I can distinguish is a hag, older than anything I’ve seen, if one is to judge by the thousands of folds around her beady, pearly white eyes. Her teeth are filed into points marred by fresh blood, and she wears nothing, other than her veil of thin silver-white hair. Her clawed feet support scaled legs so thin I don’t know how she stands upright.
“Truly, no chance for a little stabbing?” she croaks, her grin terrifying.
“It has been long since we’ve tasted gentry blood,” says a voice full of longing, coming from the other side.
I turn to see a fachan, fixing me with a stare.
"Enough, Gridi," Meda chides. "It's my grandchild you're threatening."
The hag lifts a hand, and a sphere of light bursts out of it. She squints, and then gasps. "Well, my old bones! If it isn't the great Meda. The king will have a thing or two to say about you showing your face here, after everything you did."
Meda did something to the king of the Court of Sunlight? This doesn't sound good. At all.
"You know he'll want to see me." She narrows her eyes. "Without delay."
The hag snorts. "That he will."
Salt and Iron
Nebula
I'm stitching yet another damnable charm to another identical doublet when the high-pitched horn of an alarm resounds through Whitecroft.
I abandon my work and leap to my feet, rushing to the closest window. There's nothing wrong anywhere. The earth folk are redoing the foundations of the halls. For now, we're stuck in Whitecroft Hall, but we're rebuilding six of the seven halls.
"Here!" Poera calls from the other side of the room. She went to a window, but it faces west.
Ronda and I join her, and I curse.
There's an army approaching from the west, led by salamanders. They're coming at us through the Arm of Sea. They know about the weakness under our shield caused by the water.
I don't hesitate, putting on one of the doublets I was working on over my silk shirt and rushing downstairs.
I have to be useful. I know how to fight. Whatever my brother says, I can fight for my people just as well as he.
I reach the entry hall, presided over by a lord I recognize as the old queen's consort, Alven Oberon. He gives orders. Long-range archers to the upper floor; every builder to reinforce the gates; those who can't fight, inside; those who can't do magic, outside with steel and bows; those who can, at the gates.
I take a sword, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and head out, closing my doublet.
I can do this. I can do this. I have to do this.
I follow a company of guards and soldiers to the waterside, and stand guard.
I wait. For what seems like an endless amount of time, I wait. They must have been an hour away when I saw them upstairs, but we have to be here, ready to push them back the moment they appear.
So we wait.
I need to pee. This doesn't seem like the sort of time when bodily functions would constrain me, but here it is. I rush back to the castle and find an empty corner where I can relieve myself, before returning to my position.
By the time I return, the first humans have reached us.
