Page 207 of War Queen
He shook his head as he picked her up and rose to his feet, but he couldn’t speak. He didn’t want her apology. Not when it was for taking the most important person in the world from him, taking herself from Mikael and from Adrian. From everyone who loved her—everyone who needed her.
Her breaths came labored, and he moved faster.
“Salara!” Mikael’s bellow rang out when he saw them. He struggled up and toward them, limping as he clasped the arrow in his side.
Soren laid her down on the ground as gently as he could. Mikael sank down on her other side, his hands shaking as he hovered them over the hilt of the dagger just under her breast.
Mikael’s voice shook. “Salara.”
She reached up and grazed his face with her fingertips. “I told you fate can be changed.” She smiled weakly.
Mikael wept as he looked around them in desperation. The battle still waged as far as the eye could see, but then his eyes stopped, spotting something. Soren followed his gaze to Tahla in the far distance, still on top of Sephir and battling back the Raelean army.
“The Wild,” he said.
Soren creased his brow. “What?”
Mikael reached up and palmed his scarred shoulder where Soren had once hit him with an arrow. “The Wild. How far are we from the Wild?”
What difference did that make? Soren shook his head. “Three days’ ride? Likely more.”
“We have to get her to the Wild. They can heal her.”
Soren glanced down at Norah. Her eyelids fell. “We’ll never make it in time. She won’t last the hour.” His words shook as he said them.
Mikael grabbed him. “Don’t say that!” He looked back down at her as tears fell from his eyes. “We have to.”
Picking up Salara carefully, Mikael moved to a nearby horse and mounted with her in his arms. Calla gave Soren her own mount, and grabbed another nearby for herself, and they urged the animals through the carnage and west.
To the Wild they’d never reach in time.
Chapter fifty-one
Adriansteppedthroughthebodies on the battlefield. Pockets of fighting still remained, but the army of Rael had largely scattered, retreating back as the news of their dead king rippled through. The Mercian soldiers had helped him with Cohen—his friend would lose his arm but keep his life.
He’d caught up to Phillip, who told him what had happened to Norah, and the high of victory came crashing down. He could do nothing—nothing but wait to see if they made it. But in his heart, he knew they wouldn’t. The Wild was too far.
Adrian stumbled through the carnage, numb. In a way, he was glad Alexander had gone to the gods—that he wasn’t there to suffer the loss of Norah. Again. Tears streamed down his face. Adrian would suffer it for the both of them.
There was a rustle to his right, and he looked to see Katya. She was checking the battlefield for survivors. When she saw him, she approached.
“You look like shit,” she said when she reached him. She pulled down her wrap and took a swig of water from the goatskin at her hip.
He knew it was a jest, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile. She offered him the water. He declined.
Her face sobered. “You fought well today.”
“Not well enough.”
She looked out across the battlefield. “Is it ever enough?”
No. No, it wasn’t.
She sighed and looked back to him. “Will you be going back to the North?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. To Kharav. I need to get back to Sevina and Theisen. They’re… they’re all I have left.”
Her eyes glistened, and her lips parted slightly. She stepped closer to him. “Adrian… I need to tell you something…” She paused.
