Triumph Reign (The Callistra Chronicles #3)

SIX

PART TWELVE — BLADE

To stop Pasiphae of Eo is to entertain a dance with all Deaths.

Chapter Six

"He's fine, Saf," Circe said quickly, making the summation before she had even skidded to a stop beside her sister, before she had reached forward with her fingers and confirmed Seth's lack of pulse. "Saf. Saf, listen to me."

Pasiphae raised her head numbly. All she could see was the golden afterglow of the barrier that stood tall on the battlefield. The Unseelie army remained on the other side, many striking at the barrier in their attempt to pass through, but it was a futile effort. As soon as the light had come down, Morgana knew immediately there was no getting by. They were gathering their retreat back through the gates of Khotadi too.

"Get him up. Get him to camp."

Psyche followed Circe's instruction without hesitation, though her brow was pulled taut. Pasiphae was having trouble thinking clearly—or even thinking at all—past a continuous loop of confusion and worry and...

"Saf, snap out of it."

Pasiphae looked up. "Seth is—"

"Seth is alive," Circe said firmly, closing a hand around Pasiphae's elbow and yanking her firmly to her feet. "We don't know what strange magic he just tapped into. Let him rest. You have more pressing matters right now."

***

Pasiphae tumbled into the tent, out of breath in her hurry to return.

"Any change?"

The witch who sat at Seth's bedside shook his head. Meira had said that he was one of the best surviving doctors in Maesen, but Pasiphae figured he couldn't be that good if he couldn't figure out what was happening with Seth.

Pasiphae nodded, and the doctor took that to be his dismissal, leaving the tent hurriedly to tend to the other wounded from the battle. Psyche, who stood at the foot of the bed, stared after the doctor, grimacing like she was tasting something sour in her mouth.

"I can call for a faery doctor," Psyche said when it was just her and Pasiphae remaining in the tent, both looming over Seth's still body. "Maybe it is different among species. Maybe someone in Airesi will know—"

"Give me a minute," Pasiphae sighed. "Just—one minute, Psyche."

She sunk into a chair, exhaling all that was lurking in her chest but expelling nothing. She felt too big and too small all at once, too mighty for her role and not enough. The Seelie people had listened to her while she organized them into camps; they had reported to her immediately as if she was their highest unit and taken her orders without a single complaint. After all, it was the common people who made up the Seelie army, and when all the havoc had been tearing through Airesi during Queen Evara's path of destruction and Mirza Volos' regent reign, Pasiphae had been the one fighting for their justice. They had wanted her beside their throne. They saw her as a legitimate queen. They held her to the same reverence they held Seth.

Rather, on the issue of her authority, it was the witches who were giving her a headache.

The seven sectors of Medeis had formed a coalition in the assumption that their victory would be fast. Now the war had started but it would continue for far longer, one battle done and dusted but however many more drifting on the horizon. The sniping, the doubt, the friction had begun. The witches wouldn't work with the fae for any longer than necessary and Pasiphae couldn't count on any of them to keep their word in fighting for Eo's front line. Any second now, the Divines would call a retreat, and the soldiers would leave and return to their own sectors to keep their own people safe. It would either come today, once the casualties and the body count came in, or it would come tomorrow, when it was blindingly obvious that Pasiphae didn't know what she was doing.