by Alex Lidell
“Plans? There are no plans. It’s either submit the kingdoms to me or watch their offspring die one by one. Do you think I’ve not made that clear enough?”
“Crystal, my liege.” Krum scoffed. “No matter. It’s crude work. A brute-force endeavor with no craftsmanship. River was always one for brawn over finesse.”
Owalin grunted. Krum’s craftsmanship snobbery aside, River of Slait was known to lead one of the most powerful quints in Lunos even decades back when Owalin was still in the immortal realm. Back when Owalin had worked with River’s father, Griorgi, toward a partnership with the dark realms. They’d gone their separate ways when Griorgi refused to see the reaping potential in humans, and that broken alliance had cost Owalin time and resources. Now Griorgi’s bloody son was back to blunder up the Night Guard’s plans.
Bloody darkened stars.
Owalin didn’t think the brat and his minions were stupid enough to attack—but if they did, Owalin would have no choice but to shed human blood—possibly ruining the precious ground he’d gained with the royals, or worse—losing the highest-value leverage points for no gain. There were only so many royal children, after all.
To add insult to injury, Owalin could have neutralized River easily just that morning. How in the bloody stars’ name had he not realized that it was an immortal male he’d plunged his blade into? An extra twist of the wrist, a slice across the neck, and the entire problem of River and his quint would have been resolved before it started.
Owalin’s jaw tightened. Yes, the presence of the new king of Slait and his quint at the Academy put a new spin on the situation together. Owalin needed his humans broken, not bloody dead.
“Can you tear this privacy screen down?” Owalin asked Krum. “Let’s see how much the humans think of their tamed fae when we tear their creation to shreds.”
Krum frowned at the spheres in his hand. “Certainly. The visual effect will be closer to melting than tearing, but yes, I believe I can dissolve it.”
“How long will it take?” asked Owalin.
“Thirty minutes, give or take.”
Owalin grunted unhappily. “That’s longer than I’d like.”
“I may know something of help.” Han’s pain-filled voice tugged at the hem of Owalin’s cloak, as if in eerie answer. “Something that might be better than tearing down the shield.”
Twisting on his heels, Owalin stalked over to where Han was strung up to hang off a ceiling beam, the rope forcing him up on his toes. The dark-haired warrior, usually too slick for his own good, was pasty and limp with pain, his pale eyes glazed. Owalin might be forgiven for not noticing a detail in the heat of the moment, but identifying any fae on Academy grounds had been Han’s specific assignment. One he’d failed spectacularly, as his raw back now made clear to everyone in the Great Hall.
“Speak,” Owalin allowed.
“Thank you.” Han swallowed, jerking his chin to the far left corner of the hall, where the last of the straggling hostages had been hauled, the irrelevant ones cowering in the back. “The last girl you brought in, the one we found hiding in the broom closet—her name is Arisha of Tallie. She roomed with Leralynn—the female who set the arena ablaze and who appears to be River’s mate. She might be of use.”
“Thank you, Han,” Owalin said, marking how the punished male flinched even at the polite words. A few more hours hanging by his arms, and he’d let him down. Han’s negligence at having failed to identify the fae on Academy grounds called for punishment, but there was a fine line between instilling fear and repentance and seeding resentment. That Han was actively trying to return to Owalin’s good graces was a promising sign. As was the information. This Arisha might know more than she realized.
“Bring her to me,” Owalin ordered two of his males, pointing them toward a slightly chubby girl in the most hideous dress he’d ever laid eyes on. The ugly little sunflower made a feeble attempt to fight off the immortals, but settled down easily beneath a casual slap. By the time the males deposited the trembling creature at Owalin’s feet, she was as docile as a trembling mouse.
Squatting down to bring himself level with his prey, Owalin made his voice gentle. “It seems your day has become fortunate, Arisha of Tallie. Do you know why?”
The sunflower shook her frizzy brown head so violently, her glasses nearly fell to the floor.
Owalin smiled. “Because you get to tell me all about Leralynn—and in doing so, ensure that we can all finish this business in a way that no one else gets hurt.”
The sunflower glared at him through her skewed glasses.
“Leralynn is the one who set an arena full of people ablaze,” he continued. “Don’t you think it wise to halt her antics before more innocents get hurt? I, for one, think the humans’ safety needs to take priority over all else.”
“Crows take your eyes.” The words rang clearly enough through her shaking voice, though their power deflated quickly as one of the guards raised a hand to administer correction.
Owalin halted the guard, regarding the girl from above. “You seem like a loyal friend to Leralynn. Is that right? A very loyal friend.”
The girl frowned, plainly trying to work through the trap in the question—never realizing that her hesitation had already given Owalin all the information he needed.
12
Lera
“Deep, easy breaths, cub,” Shade says, guiding my magic alongside his across the shimmering screen of darkness.
He and River rigged it to keep the Night Guard from observing the mobilization of the newly formed human army, nearly a hundred strong. They cross the courtyard in neat rows behind us, royal athletes and trained cadets shoulder to shoulder with footmen, strong male and female guards, and even the gray-haired mathematics professor, all armed with whatever weapons they could lay their hands on. Many of them watch the towering wall of earth with wide eyes, mouths open in astonishment, reminding me of the first time I saw River wield his earth magic. Breathless tension fills the silent air, so thick you could cut it with a knife.
The screen is a risk—possibly a flat-out provocation—but River is gambling that Owalin won’t be quick to take new lives with the kings’ allegiance still hanging in the balance, and the element of surprise the shield grants is apparently vital for a successful assault. As for the plan itself, it is as simple to understand as it’s difficult to execute.
A surprise entry made from the balcony, with the males’ shields taking the first volley of arrows from the Night Guard archers and drawing Owalin’s forces toward the mezzanine. A minute after that, a second, larger force will enter through the side doors of the Great Hall, half of them keeping the Guard at bay while the other half focuses on getting the hostages out. River, meanwhile, will seek and take down Owalin. The importance of that last part all the rulers agreed on—a male like Owalin likely holds all the reins himself. Take out the driver, and the team of horses will scatter. Or, at least, stop.
Inhaling as Shade instructed, I savor the calming lungful of his earthy scent. The screen the males concocted is actually made up of bits of sand and dirt, held together by Shade’s silver magic that slides about like honey to keep everything in place. The healer makes the shifting magic look easy, but I know it will take all I have in me to replicate the smoothness.
“Pull the magic, don’t push it,” says Shade. “And don’t focus on the whole thing at once, just concentrate on any holes that start to show.”
“I know. You’ve said it five times.” I try and fail to sound annoyed—though Coal, stepping up beside us, has no such difficulties.
“She’ll be fine,” the warrior snaps, forbidding as usual in his head-to-toe black, his hand wrapped tightly around a sword hilt as he surveys the columns of brave mortals. “And unless you get your ass into position, Shade, the rest of us are going without you.”
When River first outlined the assault plan, my hackles had risen at the notion of staying behind to keep the screen powered while the males entered with the mortal
s, but the indignation settled quickly. One look at the males’ faces made it clear that they’d fight any suggestion of me joining the battle and—more importantly—would be incapable of keeping their wits about them on the mission if their pregnant mate was alongside. And even if there was a chance in hell we could have gotten past that, the fact remained that someone had to stay behind to keep the screen up, and the males were still the better swordsmen.
And less likely to lose control of their magic and accidentally bring the keep down on everyone’s head.
“The threat would carry more weight if the rest of you weren’t all here as well,” I say, pointing behind Coal to where River and Tye are feigning invisibility, their faces tight. For all the battles we’ve gone into together—for all the battles the four of them have had over the centuries—this one feels different. As if the stakes are so much higher.
I swallow, forcing a smile for the males. My chest is tight, my heart a thin beat against my ribs. Clearing my throat, I stick my hands into my pockets, lest the males catch the slight tremble at the tips of my fingers. Shade takes complete control of the thick, wavering wall before us without a blink.
Stepping forward, River takes my face in his warm callused palms. “We’ve done this before, Leralynn. But we will be careful, I promise you that.”
“I know you have.” I nod quickly at him. “I’m just worried you’ll enjoy yourselves so much, you’ll forget I’m out here.”
“Verra good point.” Taking my hips in his wide hands, Tye spins me away from River. “I’m easily distracted. Better give me something to remember you by.” Before I can say a word, he lifts me easily to cover my mouth with a thoroughly pillaging kiss that sends a jolt of melting arousal through my core, making me want to purr against his mouth.
I’m still savoring the male’s dizzying pine-and-citrus taste when a knife whizzes by Tye’s ear to impale the ground behind us. I jerk in Tye’s arms, but he holds me closer still as if to make a point before pulling away leisurely and raising a brow at Coal.
Walking past Tye and me, Coal retrieves his knife from the ground and sheathes it inside his boot. “Let’s go. I want to kill something.”
“Evidently.” Tye touches a small cut on his ear, and my eyes widen at the realization that Coal marred more than just the damp ground. Setting me down, Tye traces my chin with his finger, his red hair glowing like fire under the lowering sun. “You did it, Leralynn. The mortals are ready to make entry with us. Together.”
“They’re ready to make bloody entry without us,” Coal growls.
Tye rolls his eyes, and—stealing one more quick kiss—follows River toward where the teams of human warriors are shifting on their feet.
“Keep the shield up, mortal,” Coal says, our eyes locking. The brilliant blue hue in the male’s gaze flickers for a moment, the purple specks there promising he will fight to keep our quint safe. As much of a leave-taking as Coal can manage.
“Don’t show off too much,” I tell him roughly. The male snorts before turning to stride to position.
Turning to Shade, whose attention has been on keeping the screen powered through my good-byes, I put my hand on the healer’s forearm. “I’m ready.”
“I know you are, cub,” he says, the magic he’s been holding sliding over to settle around me like a cloak.
I gasp in surprise, and Shade brushes a light touch over my back, a soft, soothing motion that I dare not let distract me from the task. “Count to one hundred,” he says as my power fills the dark shield. “That is all the time we need to get into position. Then save your magic.”
“Easy.” I force a smile. “I’ve counted to a hundred dozens of times.”
“I love you, cub.” His voice is husky behind me, his damp earthy scent comforting the jagged edges of my mind. “And I will see you soon. I promise.”
I nod, not daring to turn to watch Shade lope off to join the others as I focus all my attention on feeding my magic into the shifting screen, the inferno of the burning arena all too vivid in my mind.
Despite how easy Shade made it look, the screen grows heavier with each heartbeat, as if I’m holding up a bucket of water. No, not just a bucket—a bucket full of living liquid that constantly shifts left and right in an attempt to slosh right out of my grasp. It rises into the sky so high, it almost seems to bear down on me, a thick, shifting curtain of debris. Rocks and dirt collide with small clacks inside it. My body is so tight, the muscles of my core shake with effort, my immortal senses barely aware of the receding footsteps announcing the others’ departure. How can something that looks so effortless be so bloody difficult?
I draw a deep breath, imagining myself in a sparring match with Coal, reminding my body to pace itself while my arms cramp with effort. I don’t bother to count since I’ve no intention of taking down the screen while there is any strength left in me. Shade may have said they’d only need a hundred to get into position, but I’ve listened to enough of River’s battle plans to know that is the best-case scenario. If I can’t be with the males in battle, I will sure as hell give them every possible advantage to come out safely. And victorious.
My thoughts are still on the ache in my arms and core, the strain of keeping my power even and steady making it impossible to know whether I’ve been at it a minute or an hour, when I feel something ripple through the magic screen.
I blink, the sweat dripping into my eyes, making them sting.
The tug comes again, this time so harsh and deliberate that I’m certain it’s coming from the shield itself rather than some phantom pulse of my own fatigue. I frown, my offended magic lashing back at the intrusion—
And feel it ricochet right back at me. My breath stops, my body tensing as tiny little claws grip the magic cords I’ve been twining through the screen.
“It’s called a mirror weave, Leralynn,” a deep voice says. A male voice that seems to travel through the cords of magic itself echoes inside my core. Inside my magic. Not Owalin—someone else.
Tearing my eyes from the dark screen, I turn to check whether anyone else hears the words, but the two guards standing closest to me seem oblivious. My gut tightens, but I at least mark that the males and the assault units they were leading are well clear of the courtyard the shield conceals.
And whatever this is—whoever this is—I want no part of it.
Stepping away from the screen, I let my hold on it drop altogether, pulling my magic back inside me.
The little claws hold fast, keeping the screen and my magic in place. “Relax, little one. I only want to speak with you,” the voice inside me says.
“Who are you?” I ask, feeling absurd as I speak to the air, one of the guards turning to give me a quizzical look.
“I can see your lips moving, but I fear I cannot hear a word you say, my dear,” the voice tells me. “Fortunately, that is of little consequence. You need not talk to me. You simply need to listen. Nod your head if you understand.”
I keep still.
The claws holding my magic dig in and yank, the pain spreading through my insides like a thousand exploding needles.
Stars. The pups. I nod quickly, breathing a sigh of relief when no repeat demonstration comes.
“Very good. Now then, it seems that I have something you might want. And I am more than happy to give it to you—all you need to do is come and get it.” The magic gripping my core starts burning again, the strands taking shape into an image I see not with my eyes but with my body itself. A figure, kneeling on the floor. A knife above her. A horrid ugly dress spilling around her knees.
Arisha. The bastards have Arisha. The magic image releases and I stumble back, able to stay on my feet only because of the stranger’s grip. “I am more than happy to trade you for her. Please make your way to the back of the keep and I will ensure you enter unharassed.”
The magic’s grip disappears, leaving me on my knees, the dark shield I’d been holding now staying up by the power of the Night Guard male. Keeping anyone inside the
Great Hall from seeing my movements as I start toward the keep.
13
River
On the roof of the keep, River stopped at the edge of the rough stone parapet, the Academy and Great Falls spreading away before him, brushed in dusty pink under the lowering sun. Turning, he surveyed the warriors a final time. A hundred faces looked back at him, scents ranging from excitement to desperation, from steel to sweat. He didn’t envy the mortals who had loved ones inside, who’d be fighting two battles at once—one with their swords and the other with their hearts. It was only the stars’ fortune that Leralynn was not beside him now. That she was safe.
Putting his hands behind his back, River made his movements slow as he turned back toward the wall—and the Great Hall below. Slow was smooth, and smooth was fast. Battle was about being slow quickly, and the few extra moments it took to instill that in the ragtag mortal army before him were worth the time.
The Great Hall’s layout was as much a boon to Owalin’s position as a liability. On one hand, five doors leading inside—including the main entrance and the various servants’ passages—provided five points of entry for the hostage takers to guard. On the other hand, each of those entry points was a killing funnel, allowing one or two of Owalin’s warriors to stanch a whole flow of River’s fighters streaming through.
Which was why the initial force would make entry through the wide balcony, rappelling down from the roof on ropes Coal and Tye had snuck in and set up earlier. It made River slightly unsettled to be taking untested humans through a difficult entry. He needed them here—especially since he intended to extricate himself from the fighting on the mezzanine in favor of hunting down Owalin.
Hoping the rappel would leave no broken necks, River started to raise his hand to give the entry signal when his gaze landed on a pretty girl who was supposed to be elsewhere.
