Page 18 of The Mercy of Dawn

The tree canopy sprawling in all directions was impossibly dense. Its rich, verdant shades interrupted only by a handful of roads twisting and curving between settlements that rose from the trees and the haze.

Off in the distance that she had to squint almost painfully to see, Cyril could just barely make out what had to be the palace. An expansive compound built of pale stone nestled into a valley, with spires and towers peaking through the fog that settled into the valley floor. At least a few long days away still, if she had to guess.

Back in Northern Helia, they had their fair share of forests and greenery, but where she frolicked as a child seemed like some sort of sad mockery of the landscape laid out before her. At home, the forests were painfully sparse by comparison, and quickly gave way to the plains and grasslands that encompassed most of the other territories of Southern Carinae, the dry and usually hot place that it was.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it?” Dion mused to no one in particular.

Ren and Tyr said nothing, their eyes wandering through neutral masks.

Bron gave a mildly conflicted hmph.

She was supposed to hate Reykr, Cyril reminded herself, as she fought to clamp down on the awe that pulled at her face beneath her cowl.

The moon-fae were lunatics.

Reykr was full of moon-fae.

Reykr was a dangerous place full of lunatics.

Cyril repeated those words to herself for the next few hours as they worked through the cragged descent of the northern face of the Stygias. Just because she found herself weary did not mean she could let her guard down.

Even over the winds that still howled, Cyril could hear the grumbling of her stomach. The itch to dig through her saddlebag for remnants of dried fruit was hard to ignore, tempered only by the amount of effort it took to peel her damn tongue off the roof of her mouth.

With more hospitable terrain so fucking close, she didn’t want to risk anything that might slow them down for a moment, and the I accidentally drank all of my water conversation definitely would have.

One of her uncle’s curses of relief overtook her whimper when their descent finally brought them below the tree canopy. The crude, loose rock beneath them yielded to a mixture of stone and packed earth. Those merciless, high-altitude winds ceased almost entirely, with the temperature settling into something cool but comfortable.

Cyril would have been perfectly happy if they stopped right here and let her sleep in the dirt. The side of the trail looked awfully inviting. But they continued for another short distance until a marker of civilization came into view—gates.

Just as the last ragged remnants of the mountains mixed with trees yielded to the dense forest, the looming steel and stone structure halted their group. Dion seemed unfussed, but her other uncles bitched and grumbled under their breath.

“Dion—” Cyril started, but the grating squeal of metal on metal had her clenching her teeth.

“Lord Rhodea! You made good time. The road treated you well?”

A man wearing a black military uniform with accents of rich royal blue and silver pushed the gate open the rest of the way. The short, neat cut of his sandy-brown hair left the elongated points of his ears well on display, and his eyes were dark enough that she couldn’t quite make out what color they were. A deep green, or hazel maybe.

Whatever they were, Cyril lost every bit of focus when he grinned at Dion.

She knew double canine teeth were a defining trait of the moon-fae—hells, she even had a scaled-down set herself—but she had never seen them on anyone else before. Especially someone who had to be a full-blooded moon-fae. They looked sharp and vicious and left no questions about the blood-drinking Cyril’s governess taught her about.

“Weather cooperated, half-decent riders.” Dion tossed a look back at her and the others. Cyril scoffed. “Our early arrival won't be an issue, I hope?”

“Not at all! I’ll send word to the palace so they are ready for you.”

The guardsman studied the group for a moment before he turned back to Dion.

“In a couple of hours, straight down this road, you’ll want to fall off to your right at a warped, old willow tree. There will be a glen a few dozen feet in that should serve you well for camp tonight. If you leave at first light on the morrow, you’ll be at the palace in two, three days at most.”

Three days at the most. Relief sagged through Cyril’s body.

Part of her wasn’t convinced they would actually make it to the palace when they left their estate…six days ago. Or was it seven? She wasn’t even sure how long they’d been on the road anymore.

“Much appreciated.” Dion inclined his head in thanks.

The guard smiled again and stepped to the side, waving them through with his other hand pressed to his chest. “May the rest of your travels be safe and swift.”

After the days spent traversing the mountains, and a night spent camping in the rift, their first night in Reykr almost felt luxurious. Almost.