Page 206 of Fallen Nocturne

One by one, the gathered elves lower themselves to their knees. Even the wounded try to bow their heads.

When Rhianelle turns back toward them, I see what she cannot.

Hope.

It shines through their grief as they look at her. They have lost their homes, their families, and nearly their kingdom, but they still believe in their queen.

Rhianelle sways when the ceremony ends. I catch her arm and guide her away before anyone can see how close she is to collapsing.

“Come on,” I murmur. “You’ve given them everything you have. Let me take care of you now.”

I bring her back to the empty tent and lower the flap behind us.

“You need to sleep,” I tell her. “Just a few hours. You need rest.”

“I can’t,” she whispers. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Siofra. Darstan. All the dead.”

“Try,” I plead. “Please, Rhianelle.”

She lies down on the bedroll. I lie beside her, pulling her against my chest.

“Sleep,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She closes her eyes and her hands start shaking. I hold her tighter. Cyntefin tries to calm the tremors with warmth. It doesn’t work. She cries in her sleep. Soft, broken sounds that tear at my heart.

I lie awake, watching her break.

In just a few hours, she has to be whole again. Rhianelle has to be strong again.

She has to win or we all lose everything.

Chapter 30 Svenn

Morning comes too soon.

The sky lightens from black and gray to the pale pink of dawn. The time of new beginnings or endings.

Rhianelle didn’t sleep, not really. She dozed fitfully for maybe an hour, her body shaking, her face wet with tears even in unconsciousness. Then she woke before I could convince her to rest longer and began preparing.

She stands before me in full armor and my breath catches.

The armor is mine. Silver plate that I forged weeks ago, shaped to fit her perfectly. Every curve, every angle designed to protect her while allowing movement. It gleams in the dawn light, polished to a mirror shine. I worked through the night to repair the damage from yesterday’s battle, to make it perfect.

She looks like a goddess of war.

At her hip hangs the sword. Hrolf’s masterpiece. Golden-hued Starfall steel with a moonstone pommel. The blade seems to glow from within.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, because I can’t help it.

She tries to smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m terrified,” she admits.

I know that. Her hands won’t stop shaking.

“You’re going to win,” I say in one breath. “Because you’re Rhianelle Wiolant. You crossed the realm of death for me. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

I pull her close, careful of the armor, and press my lips to her forehead.