Page 151 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Ally was eating herself alive. Like a volcano brewing to burst, her energy seemed to wind tighter and tighter as the days drug on. Whether she got any sleep at all, she gave no indication. The bed was empty when I rose, as she was always already down helping the warriors train and stretch and pack on muscle. And it was empty when I went to bed, too exhausted to stand, as she was helping Saraya and the healers stock poultices, tinctures, bandages, and teas. So many little concoctions they would wait in the wings with, so our wounded would stand some chance at mending. There would be many. That thought soured my meals, my sleep.
The sunlight had long-since faded into moonless black, and the subtle blink of starlight, and sleep still evaded me. The room, eerily silent in the face of the looming battle, seemed to nudge me out the door. As quiet as could be, I padded down the abandoned hallways. The warm snap, according to Ally, would begin tonight back in the lowlands near my lake house. And all the souls that would answer our call had long since retired, sleeping, if their bodies were smarter than our own. The image of that meadow soaked in blood was a permanent resident behind my eyes. Taunting me. The inevitability of it.
I found her in the hall, huddled over the long table of arrows.
“You’ve already counted them, love.”
“I know I just—”
“Come sleep, Ally. We need your strength.” Careful, specific words. Because it couldn’t be about her wellbeing, not for Ally. It had to be for us. For her family. She eyed me, too smart for them anyways. Desperation, vibrating and palpable, seemed to roll from her as those eyes devoured me. “You know Aren would tear you a new one if he knew you were still down here, love.”
“I just. I need to do—something.” She braced her hands on her hips. The knot within her seemed to contract, like a gravitational pull. Supernova indeed. My nerves hitched, reliving the words Ansel had shared with me.
She could, I realized—could break in such a way that she brought the entire world down with the implosion. The power resting in her was literally a force of nature. I took a step into the room, and she tensed but held her ground.
“My little nova,” the words slipped out on a sigh, and she quirked her head as I said, “You need your sleep, Ally. You know as well as I do that with or without your magic, you are our most lethal weapon. We need you rested, and fed, and ready to go, whenever the shoe drops.” Her eyes flicked back to the arrows piled on the table. She ran her leather wrapped finger over the black fletching of the nearest one, and then looked up to me. A gentle nod. I held my hand out. Mercifully, she accepted. As her gloved fingers intertwined in mine, we squeezed each other reassuringly. Okay. We were okay. And we would figure out a way to walk away from this.
Alvara curled herself tighter against me in bed, risking only inches between the skin of her neck, and my chin. Such a ridiculous, stupid thing, to be so close and not be able to touch each other. To comfort each other. To find some damned release when the world was winding us both so tightly. Perhaps we could transmute that into power, strength and magic. But not without the ungodly agitation it gave me to have her so close, to soak in her scent and the warmth of her body pressed so tightly against mine. Selfish, stupid need.
“It’s not selfish,” she whispered the words. “Me too. Deeply regretting not getting inside you months ago.”
I laughed, and breathed in the almond oil in her hair, the sweet summer scent of her. “I think you have that backwards, love.”
She chuckled. “Tell me that once I’ve been in your mind fully.”
I shrugged, knowing she’d feel it even if she couldn’t see me. “I love you, Alvara.”
“I love you too. To the end of this life, and into the next.”
Blinking back the burning in my eyes, I admitted, “It’s not fair. Facing down death when we just finally found each other.”
“It’s not. Not at all. I waited three hundred years for you, August Porter.” She took a long breath. “But I’d do it all again, just to see you smile. To feel you for the one night I got to. It would all be worth it.”
“You’re not allowed to talk like we’re not coming back from this.”
“The odds—”
“Fuck the odds, Ally. Damn them back to Hell where they belong.” I pulled her long locks over her shoulder as she turned to face me. “We do this together, and we fight like hell.”
"Until the very end,” she whispered. The salt of her tears stained the air as they streaked down her fair cheeks. I thought of that night, already so long ago, where I’d kissed each drop off her cheek. She seemed to think of it too, as she wiped them away, the smallest smile tugging at her lips.
“Baby, I’ll be waiting in our encore.”
* * *
As weapons now lined all the long tables, the souls of Grayshell were gathered around them on their feet. Wolfing down scrambled eggs, bacon and porridge, we all stood together, talking, laughing, and keeping each other distracted. We didn’t talk about the numbers, or the fact that our sources on the ground found the snow near my home melted. I didn't tell them I'd dreamt of an enormous bird made entirely of fire. We just soaked up the presence of too many souls packed into a too-small great hall. Soaked up the shoulders we rubbed, and the laughter that filled the bright walls.
Something Fae said across the hall elicited an eruption from the men gathered around her. Even Ajax, the lightest in complexion of The Greek Brothers, and darkest in spirit—threw his face back and howled. She tossed her long platinum hair back over a shoulder and beamed at them, her laughter shaking her curvy frame. Even Lana was grinning, shaking her head at her sister.
Her mate, ever the war general, had found Aren the instant he’d finished breakfast. The two of them were making the rounds among warriors, Aren cracking jokes, and both soldiers handing down words of encouragement. Strategy for our larger opponents—passing along every nugget of information Alvara had gathered from all the renditions of what could come. We might not know when the battle was coming, but we knew it was soon.
It had been the first thing Alvara said when she woke. That she could feel it, even if she couldn’t see it.
My mate, mercifully, had cleared a plate and gone back for seconds, before stepping into Aren’s shadow to encourage the front lines that would follow her into almost certain death. Everywhere The Commander and his second went, they were greeted with that Grayshell Salute—a fist across the heart, brought to the lips, and extended in greeting. The most seasoned among the warriors made jokes that they would welcome a re-circuit, sick of this life, and ready to feel mortality again. She’d sock them in the arm, and demand they come home, and they’d grin, and nod obediently.
Alec was uncharacteristically quiet, contemplative, sprawled across two chairs in the back corner, so his feet could be up. He’d eaten without saying much, his usual humor seeming to be stifled. Perhaps it was how riled up Alvara was. Perhaps it was the fact that Aphaea arrived with her hair in Viking braids to the voluminous pony in the back. She’d chosen the modern, slick suit that looked like black dragon skin, forgoing her usual silver armor. Alvara was in the same uniform, down to the braids through her endless hair, and the thick band of charcoal war paint across their eyes. The painted white skin and red lips.
Most likely though, it was that he, like Ansel, had watched Alvara’s mind like a hawk these last weeks, and knew that Aphaea might not return home with us.
