The Last Bell: Great Falls Academy, Episode 9

by Alex Lidell

  Swallowing a curse, he beckoned to Katita, the girl still limping as she came over. She wore her gray cadet uniform now, her blonde hair pulled back into a high bun for battle. “Your Highness—”

  “If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with sending me back to herd the onlookers, you might as well save your breath for the fighting, sir. I’m a trained warrior, more experienced than many of the men here.” Katita crossed her arms over her chest and studied the structure.

  Brilliant. Getting the one person who was able to make humans see reason killed off was going to be a great start to the venture. “There is no need to address me as sir, Your Highness,” River said politely. “And there is likewise little need for your aid here. Keeping the masses contained may not sound glorious, but I assure you that it is paramount. It’s where we need you most, and not because I don’t trust you with a blade.”

  Katita turned toward him, lifting her face, the emotions there hidden well enough for a human to miss—but plain enough for River, who’d spent centuries in court, hiding his own. Desperation. Fear. Bravery. A need to protect what was hers. “I chose my form of address for a reason. As you made clear with your mate, there can be only one commander on a battlefield, and I yield that flag to you. If you are ordering me to go to the courtyard, I will obey. But is that truly the message you want to send to my people after all the trouble Leralynn went through to grant them ownership of the problem?”

  River’s brow tightened, and he let himself rub his hands over his face. “Fine. But stay with Coal,” he said finally, turning back to give the go signal before any more news came his way.

  The ropes slid easily beneath River’s gloves as he rappelled down at Tye’s side, Coal, Shade, and a dozen of the humans sliding in just behind them.

  “Now,” River said softly. He and Tye released the rope despite being several feet from the ground. Tye’s hands rose with shimmering magic before they landed, heating the air, still damp with recent rain. By the time River’s boots landed on the balcony, a thick cloud of fog concealing him and the others, his heart was beating with steady hard beats that sharpened all his senses.

  The light tap tap tap of others landing safely behind him made River nod in approval, though no one could see him—which didn’t mean the Night Guard archers would not loose their arrows, just that they’d not be able to aim. Would not know just how many of them were here to cause trouble.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, the tip of a nocked arrow shimmered with reflected light.

  “Shields!” River snapped, his own magic reacting on instinct. A moment later, the clank clank clank of shafts falling harmlessly to the stone mirrored the soft taps of warriors’ feet landing behind River’s wide back. The second dozen fighters had made it down the ropes, then. Good.

  “Bows!” River ordered, the bowmen stepping forward out of the fog to take aim at the Night Guard below. Unlike Owalin’s archers, who were firing horizontally over the mezzanine, River’s people had the advantage of shooting downward. “Aim.” He held his breath, giving the humans an extra second to acquire their targets before dropping the shield. “Loose.”

  The bowstrings loosened, the arrows whistling as they cut the air.

  In the Great Hall below, Owalin shouted orders dispatching forces to the mezzanine, the magic shield around him keeping him safe from the fired arrows.

  “Remind me to compliment Owalin for that bellowing voice of his,” River murmured to Coal, the dark warrior unsheathing one of the swords strapped across his back. If the humans counted correctly, they’d be making entry thirty heartbeats from now, while most of the Guard were distracted with the mezzanine assault.

  Heart beating a steady rhythm, River pulled out his own sword in time to meet an overhead strike from a newly arrived dark-haired male whose eyes burned with murder.

  Steel met steel in a resounding ring that sent welcome vibrations through River’s bones. Stars, he’d missed this. The feel of the blade in his hand, the way battle made every one of his senses alive and hungry.

  Twenty seconds, then he’d have to go.

  The lingering ache inside his chest faded to a distant, irrelevant throb as the scent of now filled his lungs. Kicking the male away, River grabbed the next assailant, using him as a shield against a straw-thin fae warrior whose eyes widened as he realized he’d sunk his blade into his own comrade.

  Ten seconds.

  Sensing the fight, magic inside River roared for the freedom it had been denied so very long, kicking him like a crazed stallion determined to escape the stall. Tightening his jaw, River gave the magic no leave as he peered over the rail to survey the Great Hall below.

  The place swarmed with predictable chaos, cowering hostages and scrambling Guardsmen. Owalin was in the corner now, an oblique magical shield around him preventing archers from landing a shot.

  “River,” Coal called behind him. “Three, two, go.”

  River vaulted over the mezzanine rail just as the second contingent of his mortal forces rammed down a side door and streamed inside. Absorbing the landing, River rose into a defensive crouch, the sounds of the melee rising around him in a familiar cadence. Clash of swords. Grunts of fighters. Screams of the wounded. The latter were intense but surprisingly few for the numbers involved.

  Out of the corner of his eye, River marked Coal engaging several of Owalin’s minions together, the blond warrior’s sword moving with a lazy precision as it sliced the air, reminding the world of why their quint was feared throughout Lunos.

  On River’s other side, Katita was leading another assault—the warriors with her doing their best to put themselves between the princess and her attackers.

  It was going well.

  It was going too well. River blinked as one of the Night Guard warriors twisted in the air to avoid harming a hostage instead of running the young princess through, while another of Owalin’s warriors actually pushed a confused noble out of the way with an admonishment to stay the hell down. River’s heart started to speed. If Owalin gave orders to protect the hostages, it meant he was certain he’d still need them after this assault.

  Owalin was certain he’d win.

  Cursing under his breath, River forged his way toward where he’d last seen Owalin, the bloodred cloak of the Night Guard leader like a beacon amidst the fog. He had to take out Owalin. Whatever was truly happening—and something was—it would not stop until River had the Night Guard leader’s surrender—or his head.

  River carved his way forward, clashing blades only enough to throw the others from his path. Closer. Closer. River’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sounds around him dulling as he approached his prey. Now he could see the tall body rising above the rest, his back turned to River. Another two steps and Owalin would be within sword’s reach. River could already see the face beneath the deep cowl, sharp and—pleased? One step.

  “River.” His name, said with a sharp desperate inhale, came from a voice so familiar that it stopped his heart. Froze him so completely that someone’s sword managed to leave a long gash along his shoulder before he was even aware of the attack. Because suddenly, the attack, the hostages, the battle, all stopped mattering.

  Because there, in the middle of the ring River had just penetrated to get to Owalin, stood not only the leader of the Night Guard, but also Leralynn herself.

  14

  River

  River’s world stopped. Leralynn stood weaponless, her beautiful face fallen, her shoulders hunched in apology.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “They had Arisha. I couldn’t leave her. Not her.”

  Cold fear wrapped itself around River’s soul, the noose tightening with each heartbeat. His sword arm fell to his side, his fingers still gripping the steel but no longer willing to move. Afraid to make any motion that might threaten the female standing so, so close to the self-satisfied Owalin. The latter’s hood was off now, his long white hair and blue eyes gleaming under the light of the remainin
g chandeliers.

  “And did I do as Krum promised you?” Owalin asked Lera. “Did I let the little sunflower go when you came in?”

  Leralynn nodded, looking up at River with large pleading eyes, beautiful chocolate eyes he was planning to drown in for the rest of his life. Though dressed in her soft fighting leathers, the girl looked anything but ready for battle, her arms hugging her chest, her thick auburn braid mussed as if she’d been in a struggle. “River, I had to,” she whispered. “Please understand. Please forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” said River, though his voice clearly named the words a lie. “We’ll work something out.”

  “Of course we will,” said Owalin, a genuine smile spreading across his artfully sculpted face. “It is all about finding a solution that fulfills everyone’s true desires, isn’t it? You, for example—as much as you want to lead these humans into needless slaughter, you want to keep this little female out of said slaughter just a bit more. Isn’t that right? Because we can work with that. We can make it happen just as you wish.”

  Bile rose up River’s throat. Around him, the sounds of battle continued in a distant, dull sort of way, the fighters closest to him and Owalin slowly catching on to the change in atmosphere. “What would you have me do?” River asked.

  “Start by telling everyone to stand down.” Owalin gestured to the ongoing battle. “Provided you have some measure of control to make that happen.”

  River’s jaw clenched.

  “No, don’t do anything he says,” Leralynn said, taking a step toward him—only to have Owalin’s arm block her path easily. Weaponless. Leralynn was utterly weaponless, even her boot knife having been confiscated. Bloody stars.

  River’s eyes locked on where the bastard was touching his mate, the magic inside him roaring hard enough to take down the entire keep. Tamping the power down with all his might, he sent a thin pulse of magic whispering through the stone, down into the earth beneath the keep itself. The ground shook, the fine tremor enough to get everyone’s attention without collapsing the structure.

  Beside Owalin and Lera, a silver-haired fae toying with a pair of spheres raised an appreciative brow as the keep quieted in confusion, the occasional groans of wounded warriors and the clash of rogue swords the only sounds to be heard.

  “There has been a change of plans.” River raised his voice to fill the Great Hall, though his eyes could not bear to leave Lera, who now had Owalin’s arm around her. The girl’s own arms had moved down to cross her midsection, her hands buried in the fabric of her coat as if she might use the cloth to hide herself from the dark reality. River forced himself to straighten. “Owalin and I have decided to come to a more peaceful resolution to the conflict. Put down your weapons.”

  “Excellent,” said Owalin.

  “Coward!” Katita’s voice rang out over the room as she limped forward. “I took you for many things, River, but a coward was not one of them. To think you would fold beneath—”

  “He has my mate!” River roared, spinning to the princess. “My mate who is carrying pups. I will protect them over your kingdom. Over the world. Over anything.”

  Blood drained from Katita’s face, Owalin’s laugh in the background salting the wound. “I’m glad you and I are of the same mind,” he told River. “Now then, let us have you set the right example for the mortals here. Clerk! Draw up a contract granting me the right to the throne of Slait.”

  “No,” River breathed, twisting back toward Owalin.

  “Don’t worry,” the male said, striding toward where a trembling clerk was already pulling a sheet of parchment from a pile. “You will still rule Slait in my absence. I am not about to take you—or anyone else—from the throne. You will simply answer to me on matters of coordination. Most importantly, you will have your mate back. Unless—” Owalin spun around so quickly to put a knife against Leralynn’s belly that River’s vision blurred. “Unless you don’t care for her as much as I thought?”

  “Draft the documents, Owalin.” The words on River’s tongue were the hardest he’d ever uttered. “But I want my mate back before the ink touches the parchment.”

  “No!” The yell came from Katita, echoed by voice after voice. By everyone except the males of River’s quint, whom he could feel around him, just as frantic as he was. River ignored them all.

  “We’ll do it at the same time,” Owalin offered, smiling when River stepped back with a bow, allowing Owalin to turn his attention to the writing desk along the nearest wall.

  And turn his back to Leralynn.

  Hands flashing, the girl drew something from her pocket with speed to rival a striking adder. Too fast for a single Night Guard to even shout in warning. River’s throat closed, his heart racing. One minute, her hands were crossed protectively over her midsection, and the next—the next, they were clasping something around Owalin’s long neck.

  The broken pieces of Leralynn’s old amulet, longing to be whole again, clanked together in a blinding flash of flickering light.

  The air around Owalin shimmered, the male screaming as his hands went to his throat. A sizzling sound of burning skin mixed with the sudden scent of sulfur filling the air.

  River blinked, his vision taking a moment to recover. By the time he could see again, Owalin was twisting around in a confused circle, like a dog who didn’t know which way to run.

  “Where—” Owalin’s words broke as he clawed at his neck where the broken bits of Lera’s amulet were still melding into his skin, the pattern as deranged as the look in his eyes. Owalin whimpered, the pitiful sound turning to the crazed shouting of a broken-minded man a moment later. “Who are you? What’s going on?” he demanded of everyone and no one, sinking to his knees when no answer came, his red cloak pooling about him like blood. “Where’s my horse? Who took my horse?”

  15

  Lera

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  In mere moments, almost all the Night Guard have shifted into their winged forms, taking screeching flight through the open mezzanine doors. They may be evil, but they’re far from stupid. Without Owalin, they’re mere foot soldiers in a hall of kings.

  Some circle overhead as if indecisive, almost majestic in the warm light, their burnished-gold, black, and tan feathers catching the brilliance of the setting sun.

  But a volley of arrows from some of the human warriors below has them swiftly rethinking.

  “Didn’t Gavriel warn you off playing with broken magical artifacts, lass?” Tye says, swaggering up to me through the bewildered crowd, while River braces his hands on his thighs, his breath heavy. My own breathing is little better, the wave of relief washing over me intense enough to make me sway on my feet. Tye’s pine-and-citrus scent wraps around me a moment before his arms do, the male pulling me against his chest with a desperation that betrays his lingering tension. “By the looks of it, Owalin’s memories of his own self have been destroyed entirely—he may never recover now.”

  A few paces away from us, Coal already has the babbling Owalin in his steel grip, bare muscled arms bulging as he lifts him to his feet. Over the male’s silver-blond head, Coal gives me a look of such desperate fury—mixed with heart-stopping tenderness—that I know I’m in for some sort of reckoning with him later. Shade bends over several of the injured, his silver magic flashing while Katita quietly orders her forces to secure the premises in case any Night Guard decide to circle back.

  It’s over. Almost over. I turn my face to River, meeting his haunted gray gaze. “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I don’t know whether I want to kiss or kill you right now,” River whispers, running both hands through his hair so it stands up in dark spikes. “Do you have any notion how terrifying that was?”

  “A fair good one,” I say blearily, Tye’s hands wide and comforting around my middle. With the adrenaline faded, all I can feel is the exhaustion left behind, pulling at my body and words. “When did you figure out what I was doing?”

  “I didn’t.” River
rubs his face. “I didn’t know what the hell you were doing until you did it—but I trusted you had something in mind. I trusted you.” He straightens, the force of his attention on me blocking out the slowly growing buzz of the Great Hall letting out its breath. In the corner of my vision, I see the doors flinging open, loved ones streaming into each other’s arms—Katita apparently having decided that the Night Guard threat is really, truly finished. Weeping and shouts of joy collide against the Great Hall’s high-raftered ceiling, making my tired heart lift.

  I know that River and Tye and I should go help, talk to the most traumatized hostages, organize food and beds and medical supplies, but I can’t bring myself to move. No matter what River says about having trusted that I had a plan early on, the terror I saw in his eyes when I stood beside Owalin was real enough to hurt us both. To hurt still.

  River holds out his arms toward me, the motion as vulnerable and desperate as the gulps of air I still pull too quickly into my lungs. Tye releases me with a gentle push, spotting me as I fling myself into River, my body savoring his woodsy scent on the heels of the bloody charade.

  When I lift my face to him, River presses his mouth over mine, his tongue sweeping in with a single conjuring stroke that shatters all inhibitions. Twisting my hands through his hair, I push the male back until I have the king of Slait pinned against a marble pillar, his body willingly surrendering everything to the bond between us.

  Somewhere beyond the moment, someone whistles, applause filling the scorching air. I don’t blush. I don’t care. Not about the blubbering Owalin, or the escaped Night Guard, or the entirety of the immortal realms.

  “Not that I’m not enjoying the show,” Tye drawls, interrupting the kiss just as River’s fingers start slipping into my waistband, “but is the rat with the spinning balls anyone of importance?”