Chapter 38 Breath Before the Plunge
Chapter 38 Breath Before the Plunge
“I don’t like it—" Aizurah’s snort interrupted Zeidan’s statement of disapproval.
“You don’t like it from a tactical perspective, husband, or a personal one?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow at him and crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. The men around them looked uncomfortable as she questioned him so blatantly. Zeidan stared at her, his expression stony and unblinking.
“Fair enough,” he responded after a long, awkward silence around the table. No one else said a word, clearly hesitant to involve themselves in a lover’s quarrel. With nothing else to offer, the meeting convened.
The tension throughout camp was palpable as they waited for sunset. The men had gone still and silent, the prospect of battle weighing heavily on each soul. Zeidan was visibly upset and refused to speak to Aizurah after their council.
And worse, Arden seemed to share her husband’s sentiments over her plan. For hours, he watched her with a worried gaze, his lips set in a tight line.
“Go ahead, speak,” she sighed, picking at her bowl of stew.
“A battle in the dark is extremely dangerous, princess,” he told her, “Night patrols in Dawnport were dreaded among the city guards. There are too many variables. Vision is impaired in the low light, but if you add the glare of torches to the mix... The eye strains to focus. I don’t like it, princess.”
“We’re attacking just before dawn. The light should break on the horizon long before any of the real fighting begins.” Arden shook his head, still looking worried. “You and Zeidan both…” she finally muttered, kicking the dirt in annoyance.
As the sun sank over the horizon and the light faded, Aizurah readied herself in the tent, anxiety coursing through her. There were hours still until the attack, but she was unable to remain still.
The armor was cold and felt foreign on her body as she struggled to fasten the plates on her own. Aizurah regretted not training in it more often. She felt ill-prepared in so many ways. Still, she refused to cower down now. After a while, she joined Zeidan by the fire. He remained quiet, contemplative.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, “You don’t think it’s going to work?” If her own husband didn’t believe in her, how would anyone else follow her command?
“Your plan is sound, princess—and a better plan than many of us could have come up with so quickly.” He turned to her, a haunted look in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” he asked, gripping her suddenly around the waist and pulling her close.
She opened her mouth to respond, but Zeidan continued, “You understand that if you fall… I will follow?” he asked solemnly. Her stomach clenched at his words, and she threw her arms around him, biting back tears. She knew the risks of battle, but hearing him speak so plainly broke her heart.
“I’m not going to fall, Zeidan, nor are you. We’re going to win this stupid war, and when we’re done, we will fortify the islands, and the Summer Isles will belong to us permanently. Have faith. And I love you too…” she added in a whisper, pressing her lips to his.
Neither of them spoke again, clinging to one another and enjoying what might be their last few minutes as lovers. Aizurah ran her fingers gently over his temples, relishing the heat of his skin. Zeidan, in return, kissed her anywhere he could reach skin—her cheeks, forehead, eyes. It was a bittersweet moment, the importance weighing heavily on both husband and wife.
“That’s… cute, cousin,” Maerus teased as he took a seat, snatching up her helmet. Aizurah and Zeidan broke apart, settling on the thick log they used as a bench.
“I didn’t make it!” she snapped defensively, ripping it from his grasp. The black helmet was embellished with sharp, jagged points, like the rough scales that adorned Starlyght’s back.
“It looks like a tiara…” he stated with a grin. “I suppose it’s fitting for the future queen. After all, your husband’s helmet has scales adorning it, too.” Aizurah grinned and rolled her eyes at him, putting the helmet on. She loved the design; her only worry was that it might make her an easy target for their enemy. Surely, a pirate that came from nothing would love to make a name for himself by slaying someone of importance. And Aizurah’s armor marked her as someone very important.
The hour of silver doves approached, and the men readied themselves as Aizurah, Zeidan, and Maerus walked down the beach to find their dragons lazing in the sand. With a wince, she sliced the meat of her palm, smearing blood along Starlyght’s snout. When blood had been successfully offered, they mounted their respective drakes.
“Fly well, my sweet.” Zeidan had whispered, kissing her fiercely before he climbed on Varynx. Maerus and Aizurah flew in opposite directions, readying to circle back just as the light of dawn could be seen over the horizon.
Starlyght flew high over the islands, and Aizurah hoped it was enough to avoid detection. As they hovered over Jewelpointe, Aizurah counted the fires and torches, noting where the majority of the enemy camp seemed to be filled with bodies.
The princess was grateful that her armor was black, like Zeidan’s, as they soared around the islands, scouting the landscape. The blackened metal wouldn’t glint as brightly as steel if spotted by spyglass.
Aizurah peered into the darkness, searching for Maerus or Zeidan. She caught sight of a vague flash of red in the sky across from her. Varynx…
Holding her breath, she waited for them to come closer, waited for the nod of approval from her husband. She urged Starlyght into a dive and, as they closed in on land, Varynx lit one side of the enemy camp ablaze with dragon fire.
“Starlyght, attack!” Aizurah ordered, and the violet drake set the area in front of them alight, streams of silver lightening spilling from her maw.