Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 63: A Final Stand

Tristan stood on the ruined drawbridge.

Dawn trickled over the battlefield. The earth was scorched in some areas, either from his explosives or dragon-fire. The air smelled of winter chestnuts and blood. Tristan fiddled with the lump in his pocket: he'd built six explosives last night, ranging from "an-impressive-display-of-fireworks" to "will-melt-your-bones-into-a-puddle" levels of strength.

He'd need all of them, today.

"Sandwich?" Owain offered.

The faerie prince stood beside him. He was dressed in human armour – brown fighting leathers, laced tight at the back — and his auburn hair shone like polished copper. He was working his way through a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Tristan looked at the thick slab of ham, thought of the soft flesh on the battlefield yesterday, and felt nausea rise in his throat.

Grayson's body had been on that battlefield.

Grayson, who was now dead. Grayson, who would never smile or laugh or bang on about shipping forecasts again.

A lump rose in his throat.

Tristan shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He squinted at the hilltop. "Can you see them?"

He couldn't see anything beyond the clouds hanging low in the sky, but Owain had superior vision. The faerie prince polished off his sandwich.

"They'll be here soon," Owain said.

Tristan glanced sideways. "I'm sorry. I know this must be hard. Your father..."

He couldn't bring himself to finish. They'd watched, shoulder-to-shoulder last night, as a group of soldiers carried the faerie king's body into the throne room. Owain had stood in silence for ten minutes with ghostly flames jumping in his eyes. Then he'd balled his hands into fists and retreated to their bedroom.

They hadn't spoken about it since.

Owain's face hardened. "He made his choices. Just as I'm making mine."

"And your brothers?"

Owain shrugged. "The same policy applies."

Tristan scanned the horizon. "I can't imagine facing my brother on the battlefield." He had no idea where Dex was these days, but it would be somewhere safe. Hidden. His brother was a politician, not a soldier. "He annoys the hell out of me, but I couldn't bring myself to..."

He trailed off. Owain wiped crumbs on his trousers.

"Can I meet him?" he asked.

Tristan blinked. "Pardon?"

"When this is over," Owain clarified. "I want to meet Dex."

Tristan tried to imagine the three of them, happily munching on caviar at one of those ridiculous restaurants that Dex liked, and failed. "Sure. If we make it through this, I'll set up a lunch. You can pretend to enjoy his tangents on the importance of tightening our borders to foreign magical species."

Owain's mouth quirked. "Deal." His gaze flicked back to the horizon. "They're getting closer, now. You'll be able to see them in a minute."

"How many?"

Owain's mouth was a flat line. "Too many."

Tristan glanced back. Three hundred soldiers manned the castle. The rest of their men — just over eight hundred, perhaps — formed three lines in front of them. And Owain was right, he realized; he could just make out dark shadows cresting the horizon. Lucia would be among them. Halson, too.