I was exhausted. A headache pounded between my temples, and a deeper ache settled far beneath that. I met Moth’s wide-eyed, horrified stare with my own.
“And this is what winning looks like,” I told him. “Still wish you were out there?”
Moth declined to answer, instead handing me a rag and the inventory lists I’d asked for, then ducking away before we could speak again.
Zeryth, of course, was very pleased with the results (though, his letter noted, “I should be, considering how long it took you.”). But I wasn’t sure I was. I threw our resources into healing the wounded. I had both Arith and Essanie’s teams do a thorough record of any dead that they were unable to save.
“I double checked,” Essanie said, sounding a little bewildered, when she handed me the final tally.
Fifty-four. Just fifty-four bodies, including that of Gridot himself. Some dead from falls off of the Twin Serpent stairs, two even slain by friendly accidental strikes. One fell off of the wall as he rushed to get back to the fighting, having realized the initial illusion.
It was a good death toll. An incredible death toll, even, for a battle that involved so many.
“Amazing,” Essanie said, shaking her head, but I felt numb and heavy as I tucked the parchment away.
“Right,” I said. “Amazing.”
Chapter Nineteen
Aefe
It was dusk when we arrived at the House of Reeds. It was located in the marshy, rocky areas bordering the southern isles, known for its sprawling wetlands and the blanket of soupy mist that hung over all of it. I’d visited the House of Reeds only once before, when I was a very small child, and all I could remember was that mist. The Sidnee did not overly rely on eyesight. The Pales, after all, were often dark and shadowy. But the mists here were something else entirely, a sort of mystery that sank into your lungs, and I remember clinging to my mother’s skirts in fear of the beasts I imagined within it.
That was decades ago, and now I was the kind of skilled warrior that little girl hadn’t even dared to dream she’d become. And yet, I felt that same terror.
It was very, very quiet.
The House of Reeds’ territory was surrounded by a grey stone wall, topped with intricate copper metalwork and overgrown with grey-green vines. The roads leading to the entrance were covered with just enough water to creep through the soles of my boots. Tall reeds lined the path and enveloped the wall, flattening the distance into one huge expanse of yellow and green. To the south, glassy still water disappeared into the fog.
From all of this, the gates loomed — two sets of spired, vine-covered iron. The sight of them made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Siobhan spoke quietly as we approached. “It is too similar. Too similar to what we saw at the House of Stone, when we went there after the attack. The silence.”
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Caduan, who was staring off into the distance.
“We were too late,” he said, softly.
“We do not know that,” Ashraia said. His booming voice was jarring in a place like this, even though he tried to be quiet. “The House of Reeds is known for this. They could be hiding, after hearing the news of the Stoneheld.”
Ishqa, who had been leading the group, turned around. The look on his face was grim.
“You and Ashraia should fly over,” I said. “See whether there is movement within the walls.”
“Yes,” Ishqa agreed. He and Ashraia exchanged a glance, and then they transformed. It felt rude to stare, but I couldn’t help it. It took only moments for them to shift. A rolling puff of smoke surrounded them, and when it cleared, where Ishqa and Ashraia stood were now two birds. Ishqa, a beautiful golden owl, champagne gold feathers glistening, and a white face with those same piercing yellow eyes. And Ashraia, a large, black-and-brown eagle, with the same scar and the same disgruntled glint in its eye.
Ishqa turned to me, and even through this wordless, inhuman stare, I understood exactly what he was telling us: Wait. And we shall see.
And then they were off, launching into the air with one powerful pump of outstretched wings. Despite everything, my breath still caught at the sheer beauty of them. It was the sort of elegance my own rough, cursed magic could never capture.
The two of them disappeared into the milky-white sky, and the rest of us remained in agonizing wait. Caduan wandered closer to the walls and placed his palm against the stone. He bowed his head and pressed his forehead to the salty rock.
“What?” I said.
“Sometimes, the land will speak to us if we listen,” Caduan murmured. “But now, I hear nothing.”
When Ishqa and Ashraia returned, they unfurled gracefully into Fey form — so smooth they barely rippled the water on the path as their feet landed.
I had no time to be impressed. The looks on their faces made my heart stop.
“It is empty,” Ishqa said, quietly.
“Not a damned soul, other than the herons.” Ashraia’s jaw was tight. “We should have come faster.”
My fingernails bit into my palms. He was right. We should have acted sooner.
“Humans?” I ground out.
“I cannot say.” Ishqa shook his head. “It would stand to reason, but…” He turned back to the gates. “We need to go inside and see for ourselves, up close.”
“There may be survivors,” Siobhan said.
Caduan approached the entrance. “There are no survivors. But there may be answers.”
I wrapped my hands around the rusted metal. “Help me open this,” I said.
We split into two groups. Ishqa and I paired with each other, while Siobhan, Ashraia, and Caduan veered off toward the shoreline.
Ishqa headed the front and I followed, my Sidnee hearing straining to pick up every ripple of water or rustle of the reeds. I watched Ishqa’s shoulders,
