I watched him work his way through the battalion, his head held high the entire time. He didn’t stop until he was seated at the front of his rebel army. And never once did he look back.
“That was brilliant, Tessana,” Oliver muttered at me in a harsh whisper so those riding around us couldn’t hear.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Fine. That was brilliant, Tess.”
“What?” I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the seedlings of guilt that sprung up in my chest. “He started it.”
“He started it?” He let out an elongated sigh, “He is young,” Oliver noted. “But when compared to you his maturity is staggering.”
“Dragon’s blood, Oliver, what would you have me do? He is not our friend. And he is most certainly not our ally. He has an agenda and until I know what it is, I cannot—”
Oliver whispered. “Cannot be polite? Or at least silent until we arrive at our destination?”
“He intentionally picks fights with me! And he pries too much.”
“You’re right,” Oliver conceded. “But you cannot afford to lose him. We were naïve to believe we could take this journey alone, Tess. I’ve heard the rebels speak of the royal armies and how they patrol these roads. And the whispers of the Ring of Shadows are worse. We are fortunate to have a guard. The Light is shining on us. But you are determined to ruin this, and I don’t know why. You’re a fool if you still believe we can do it on our own.”
I bit my tongue to keep from hissing something foul. And to keep from admitting he was right. But I couldn’t quell the need to push Arrick, to press and press and press until he finally gave way and revealed that hidden thing I knew was there. “Fine, Oliver. If you are so concerned with our safety, I shall hold my tongue in the future. Even if Arrick is determined to infuriate me. I shall be more silent than you have ever been.”
I thought he would react to the subtle dig at his abandoned vows, instead he lifted his brows and smiled. “Arrick?”
“That is his name.”
“Of course, it is.”
“Oliver, it is.”
“I know that’s his name,” he murmured slyly.
Now Oliver was the one picking at my fragile restraint. “Are you arguing with me?”
He sobered unsuccessfully. “No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not,” he insisted.
I narrowed my gaze, unsure exactly what we were fighting about. “His name is actually Arrick.”
His smile broke through and he fanned his face with a distinctly feminine flair. “Arrick,” he sighed, in a poor imitation of me.
“I did not say it like that.”
“Arrick,” he giggled.
“I hate you.”
He grinned at me. “You don’t.”
I didn’t actually hate him, so instead of responding, I leaned forward in my saddle and stared at the road again. The road, not the back of Arrick’s head.
This journey was nothing like I had expected it to be. Somehow, I’d become wrapped up in the very rebellion I would have to squash once I was queen. And while Arrick was an unbearable man, I did not distrust him like I should.
He had grown on me over the last week. I had grudgingly come to respect his proficiency with his men and the way he held himself. He was wise and insightful and hard when he needed to be. But then soft too, or not soft exactly, but warm, even charming.
I clasped the necklace around my throat and enjoyed the weight as the gemstones settled against my chest. For a moment I allowed myself to wonder about the boy that had given me this pendant.
What would he be like? Would he be as fierce when it came to commanding an army? Would he be as stern and direct with his men? Would he have been as playful? Or smile like that?
I closed my eyes and shook my head. No. These thoughts were foolish. Neither man had a place in my head anymore. Arrick was a means to an end.
And the boy from my memories would remain that—a memory.
Arrick and the memories I treasured would disappear eventually. Until then, I would cling to the journey, to the steps taking me closer and closer to my home.
11
A day later we approached a village that could only be described as the exact opposite of happy and peaceful.
Smoke billowed, darkening the sky. The rebel army kicked their mounts into a gallop, sensing danger long before we could see what caused the blaze. Oliver and I hurried after them. We weren’t as skilled on horseback and were forced to trail behind.
Ash fell like snow. My nostrils clogged with the stench of burning wood and oil. And something stronger, something that wasn’t tangible. Something like fear.
Oliver and I arrived in the burning village just in time to watch the rebels dismount with haste, a wall of fire surrounding them from three sides. They moved into action with practiced speed, making it clear that this wasn’t the first inferno they’d extinguished.
Or the first village they’d seen destroyed.
Oliver and I hovered near the edges, coughing through the blackish smoke as cozy homes and centuries-old trees burned. The fire consumed everything it touched, greedy with death and destruction.
From where I watched it, the blaze was a living, breathing dragon that swept high up into the thick-leafed canopy overhead before dropping back toward the ground to eat at grass and horse and men alike.
The great, fiery beast flapped hellish wings and licked with its forked tongue as branches snapped and plunged to the ground, making more kindling for the roaring firestorm. The fire beast jumped from tree to tree, splitting into more creatures, more death, spreading like a plague through this once-picturesque village.
I blinked and the beast turned back into mere fire. Fire that ravaged everything it touched.
Throughout this journey, I’d seen that all the villages in Tenovia were built among the trees of the Tellekane Forest. Houses mingled with shops and temples, all connected by a spider web of
