Songbird's Cage

Chapter 28

The door opened. Rory broke away, almost forcefully, nearly knocking over the chair as he stepped back. He was staring at Lark, disbelief on his face. Then his attention flicked to Bastion, who stood in the doorway.

"Doesn't anyone know how to announce themselves?" he swore, anxiously pushing back his hair. Bastion raised a brow, but said nothing to their closeness, to the heat Lark could feel against her cheeks.

"The Weald are waiting, Captain," he said. "There's a reason that you're still alive."

"Now?" Rory demanded. Bastion folded his arms across his chest.

"Do you forget what you are?" the Sylvan said. "That you're expendable?"

Rory glanced at Lark briefly, then back to Bastion.

"I'll need a sword," he said. Bastion inclined his head.

"And a troop of guards, I'll wager. I've seen you fight, Coraan. I'd be a fool to trust you with a blade."

Rory stared at the floor for a long moment. Then he turned toward the druid.

"How many men?" he asked. Bastion shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Lark could see the way Rory watched him, the way he seemed to evaluate the other man's every motion.

"Men and women," Bastion corrected. "We're not so small minded as Esarians. We value skill in any form."

"How many?"

"Two platoons. You'll train an initial elite force, then move on to the rest of the battalion."

Rory shook his head slowly, but Lark couldn't read the emotion on his face.

"You plan to take Esaria with what – a thousand men?" he questioned. Bastion rested his hand on the ever-present sword at his hip.

"Only one battalion resides at Selaith at any given time. All others are performing their duties as Weald and as Sylvans, or are with their families."

Lark watched the two men stare at one another. There was something between then that she didn't understand.

"Don't make me ask again, Rory," Bastion said quietly. "Very few things stand between you and the Oblivion."

Rory's hazel eyes flickered across the Sylvan's face.

"Would you be the one to deliver me, Bas?" he asked, his words hovering in the silence. "You've come so close before."

A breath slipped out before Lark could stop it, and both men looked to her. Bastion inclined his head slightly.

"Forgive me, Princess. But you must understand."

Rory turned to her, and slipped his hands into hers, gripping her fingers tightly.

"I'll be back soon," he told her. "I promise."

"I want to come with you," she pleaded. "I don't want to be here alone again."

"Caradoc would have my head, Princess," Bastion broke in.

"Or the rest of your fingers," Rory murmured, turning back. Bastion looked thrown off for a moment, quickly moving to cover his maimed hand with his opposite palm.

"I won't ask again," he repeated, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. Rory stepped forward, and the Weald grasped his shoulder, pulling him out the door.

Lark sank into the notch of stone where the window was, drawing her legs to her chest, watching the field below.

***