Away with the Faeries

Chapter Thirty-six

 We may have been in short supply of warriors but seeing Birdy and her father reunited after a year melted my heart. I sent them home but not before Birdy had happily smeared a thick layer of paste across my face. Now you're a true warrior queen, she had said before wrapping me in an embrace. As Birdy and her father left camp the Nuea Clan of Erde wandered in. Their allusive presence caused a hush to settle over the base.

They fluttered towards my mother and I in a shimmering pack, my eyes steadily widened. There must have been a couple thousand of them all led by a stern-faced lady, bound by leather armor and a halo of flowers upon her fiery head. The only Nuea I've had the pleasure of knowing was Lana and if she was any example of what to expect from the rest of the Clan then I was scared. The flower crown Nuea stopped before us, her dainty black wings flitting gracefully as she gave a respectful bow.

"Your Majesties," she said, "we have come to aid the war efforts. I have brought six thousand of my best warriors."

Warriors, they were all female. Gender inequality, I almost snorted. That was not what I thought Lana had meant.

"Thank you Lady Evadne," my mother said kindly.

"Yes. We deeply appreciate the support," I agreed as my gaze fell on the crowd of Nuea. Where was she? As if on cue Lana sprang from the gathered Nuea, arms wide she flew directly for me.

"Are you proud," she grinned as she plopped down upon my shoulder her leather armor biting into the skin, "I did this." She waved a smug hand across her fellow Nuea.

I was very proud. A smirk captured my lips as I gazed out over the Clan, Nuea's were infamously known for their brutality in war. This may have been the push we needed. As the camp settled with the sinking sun I turned back into the tent where the foreign rulers debated together in rapid French.

"If we invade from the south then Ignis will retaliate by entering into my Kingdom," King Inglor stressed.

"That's why we take control of their allied lands before that happens," my mothers said simply, her French a murmured symphony.

Inglor pinched the bridge of his nose; "Briar that is quite possibly the stupidest thing that has ever graced your lips," he sighed.

"No it's not," I grinned cheekily, hefting my gown before planting myself beside Queen Visha who sat beneath her veil, lost to the conversation. My mother narrowed her burning blue eyes in my direction before continuing on.

"Then if it brings you comfort we can send a party to your borders ensuring that Ignis will not invade," she crossed her arms waiting for Inglor to argue but he never did.

Visha stirred beside me; "I don't speak Fae," she began, "I haven't the faintest clue what we are talking about."

The strategizing Faeries quieted at her words before continuing their rapid discussions in English. Lana ran across the table placing down markers on the map where troops were set to be positioned. Lady Evadne leaned against a dagger that had been set on the wooden table, her arms folded as she attentively listened in on the conversation. Leaning over to Visha my eyes flickered first to her knight who sat still obediently by her side then back to her hidden face.

"I thought we agreed that since you are the only ruler and Bana has no heir you would stay home," I kept my voice a low murmur.

Visha leaned in as well; "Trust me," she whispered, "you're going to want me."

"Why is that," I asked quirking a brow at her haunting tone. After a beat, Visha peeled a glove off revealing honeyed skin beneath. With the gentle brush of her bare hand the grass we sat on wilted at her touch. The once lush green blades curled, wilting black before crumpling to a lifeless spot of ash where she had touched. The color fled my face as I recoiled slightly from the Queen. "Holy fuck," I hissed, "what's the point of a veil if you're so powerful."

Visha was quiet for a moment, "There are a lot of people who would love to see me dead," she answer honestly. "Not knowing the identity of the Queen of Bana is not only tradition but for my own protection."

"I am entirely grateful you are on our side," I breathed inching away from the pool of ash, "I don't want to become that."

Visha's knight smirked silently, his face paling slightly, "No one does," he agreed.

———

It was sunrise when the Bloed herald came, his iffy presence stirring the ranks and waking the camp. I was awoken to address the situation, and there was indeed a situation that came along with the Herald's message. The courier was the same scrawny kid who had shared Otis's message during the games. His hazel eyes widened into saucers upon seeing me, his chapped lips trembling to form words.

"You are dead," he mumbled.

"I get that a lot," I replied stiffly.

Shaking his head clear of thoughts his gaze grew focused; "King Otis requires a private audience with you to discuss terms to negotiate the releasing of your knight, Marcel Benett."

After pulling on leather armor and waking my mother we mounted our steeds and carried off into the dimly lit plains of the waking day. Her own armor seemed to shine beneath the rising sun. Her hand kept drifting up, fidgeting nervously with the gold cuff on her ear.

"Mom," I said nodding ahead of us to where Otis stood with over a dozen Bloed soldiers, in the middle of them standing Marcel. Sliding from my mare my feet landed heavily in the dewy grass, the muscles in my jaw ticking as I steadily walked closer to Otis and Marcel my Mother following a step behind.

"Briar," Otis breathed his deep golden eyes wide, "I thought you had died."

"I hadn't," she replied stiffly.

The Bloed King's mouth twitched into a blood-curdling grin. "Pity," he sang. Waving a decorated hand the small army of soldiers shifted, dragging the Fae forward.

Marcel's head lifted his dark gaze bouncing between mother and daughter, life flashing within the hollow depths. A smirk captured his lips; pine and ash. "I'll be damned," he grinned boyishly, "Briar Villard."

"In the flesh," she smirked giving a mocking bow.

Marcel cocked his head to where Otis stood fuming; "Your lover boy has been using me as a punching bag."

"Why would you let him," she asked, carrying on the conversation as if Otis didn't stand beside us.

"Because he's a loose-lipped fool," Marcel's grin grew, "I know how to win the war."