Song of Shadows

Chapter Twelve

Elain

The day dawns bright and clear, but the groans of the injured Illyrians and bustle of the war camp has me hesitating to leave my tent. What place do I have here among these warriors? Eventually, my growling stomach drives me out in search of food. Feyre and Nesta sit around a fire, balancing plates of gruel and a meat of some kind on their knees. The males are nowhere to be found.

"Elain!" Nesta gasps when she catches sight of me. "I didn't know you were awake." My older sister looks... disheveled. Her usually pristine gown is rumpled, and the knot of her hair has come loose. She pulls me into a strong hug, squeezing the air from my lungs.

"I'm fine, Nesta," I assure her. Both her and Feyre study me with their sharp blue eyes. "I... feel better."

Feyre approaches me and embraces me as well. "I'm glad to see you up and out of your tent. I have a meeting to attend with Rhysand in a few minutes."

"What can I do to help?" I ask firmly before either can suggest I return to my tent. My sisters exchange a look that instantly irritates me. "I am fine. I'm not going to break."

Feyre looks guilty, but Nesta continues to study me with her steely gaze. I meet her eyes and stare right back. After a few moments, she nods. "I... I think I'll return to help the healers today. I feel I'm in the way everywhere else. Would you like to join me?"

"I don't know anything about healing," I admit.

"The healers could always use extra hands to carry water or cut bandages," Feyre assures me. "You won't be in the way there at all, Elain."

After a quick breakfast, I join Nesta at the healer's part of the camp. The groans of the injured grow louder as we approach, but I steel myself against the bile rising up in my throat. The day passes quickly. When the sun begins to set, Nesta leads me back to the tents. I slip into my tent, half hoping to find the shadowsinger inside, weighed down with exhaustion.

The next few days pass in the same pattern. I catch a few glimpses of Azriel, but Feyre tells me everyone is busy planning our next steps in this war. My heart skips a few beats every time someone mentions his name, but I ignore the sensation. On the fourth day, Feyre leaps to her feet during breakfast and races towards the command tent at the center of camp.

My sister returns a few hours later reporting that we are moving camp. Hybern's forces managed to sneak past our scouts and have marched north. As the sun sets, we begin our trek north. Mor clutches tightly to mine and Nesta's hand as we winnow through the sky beside the flying Illyrians. Hybern's camp comes into view, the light of their fires shining across the field. Our camp is hastily erected by the exhausted soldiers. The warriors sleep before the battle the next morning.

I stand atop a hill, a dark army stretching towards the distant horizon. I recognize the armor as Hybern's, but the surrounding hills and forests have vanished. The king strides towards me, his face set in that arrogant smile. A familiar object skims along the ground beside him. The Cauldron.

My blood freezes at the sight of the abhorrent thing... the wrongness of it reaches me even from here. The army vanishes, leaving me alone in a blank world with the King of Hybern. "Come and find me if you can, seer."

I move my gaze to the Cauldron, my fury melting the fear away. "I will find you. You can't hide forever."

The king's laughter echoes around me as the world fades to an unfamiliar forest. A towering, cloaked figure darts between the trees, always staying just out of my sight. The Suriel.

I snap back to my body with a sharp gasp. The sound of fighting and screaming males reaches my ears as I race out of my tent, searching desperately for Feyre. I see Nesta standing atop a hill, pacing and gazing out across the battlefield. "Where's Feyre?" I pant as I reach her.