by Lori M. Lee
But I can’t leave Yandor, nor can I risk him getting killed in the crossfire.
Within moments, more soldiers appear, spilling across the overgrown field, forming two straight lines at either side of an imagined aisle. All of them ride dragules. I look to Prince Meilek, whose expression is inscrutable, and then to the gnarled trees of the Dead Wood.
Everyone is waiting for Queen Meilyr, but the greater threat is at our backs.
I watch the trees shift, their branches twisting and snapping. The soldiers blocking us off from the Dead Wood cast nervous glances over their shoulders. Still, standing within such easy reach makes me uneasy.
The longer we wait, the more those trees stretch ever farther outward. My agitation grows into a sinking sensation accompanied by the constant pressure of the talisman, a vise around my throat. How far behind is the queen? The soldiers’ arrows follow me as I take a tentative step toward Prince Meilek. We can’t just stay here and wait for the trees to grow bold.
Suddenly, Prince Meilek’s chin jerks higher, and I turn to follow his gaze. Crossing the field, looking more harried than I have ever seen her, is Queen Meilyr. Wisps of hair fly about her face, having come loose from her braid. Her robes are wrinkled from long days in the saddle, and her silk train draped over the back of her dragule is coated in dust. Instead of her usual extravagant crowns and headdresses, she wears only a plain gold circlet.
Even after a long, hard ride, the queen’s posture and ease in the saddle speak to her experience. Her face is pale from lack of sleep, but she holds her head high, and she’s flanked by four members of the Queen’s Guard.
To have left Vos Talwyn herself, rather than trusting our capture to her soldiers, she must be livid. Prince Meilek stole half her navy and then sent them to occupy the mouth of Needle Bay so that he could release her prisoners from beneath her nose, all while using the same secret paths they’d taken as children.
Prince Meilek still loves her, though, and if she ever was that girl he spoke of, then some part of the queen still loves him as well.
But love alone isn’t enough to bridge what’s irreparably broken.
A quick scan of those assembled confirms her Shadow isn’t present. I wonder if Yen is all right, or if the queen has decided to move on through Kendara’s dwindling list of pupils.
I dampen my lips. Even with the Soulless’s talisman commanding the attention of my magic, I still sense the Dead Wood at our back, and the creeping menace makes my skin prickle. We’ve been waiting here too long. The trees are close—too close.
The queen passes through the brace of her soldiers and stops only when she and Prince Meilek are paces apart. He meets her fury with his own, both of them every bit a Sancor.
This is a reckoning I hadn’t expected to come so soon. Not until the Soulless was removed from the conflict, leaving the queen to reevaluate her lack of allies. Not until Prince Meilek had secured his own alliances, when he could face her at the helm of an army, not fleeing like a criminal. This is not the way either of us wanted this to go.
“Hello, little brother,” the queen says coolly. “How disappointing you have become.”
Prince Meilek’s hands clench around his reins, only briefly. His expression softens just enough for the pain to break through.
“Mei.” His voice is gentler than his sister’s, the affection there hard to hear. Even the soldiers look away out of respect. “What’s happened to us? It should never have come to this. Let me help you make things right.”
She scoffs, and I marvel at the way her voice catches when she replies. “Help me? You made a promise after they died. Do you remember? You promised that you would always protect me.”
Prince Meilek’s veneer cracks a little more, pain tightening the corners of his lips. “You know me. I’ve no desire to be king. I’ve only ever wanted to support you.”
Her chin lifts even higher, her expression hardening with jagged determination.
“Take the counsel of your reiwyn leaders and end the conflicts outside of Evewyn. Restore the peace,” he continues.
She speaks with an eerie calm that belies the barely tempered emotion behind her eyes. “You are no longer my captain, and your words hold no influence. You betrayed me, your sister, the one to whom you swore to love.”
“That hasn’t changed,” he says softly.
“You pledged your life and your sword to me. You betrayed our family, who valued our legacy above all else.”
“A legacy of peace and how we can serve our kingdom. I should have been firmer with you earlier, but I’m trying to do right by you now to help you see that the path you’ve chosen is not what’s best for Evewyn.”
“As if you would know what’s best for Evewyn, splitting our navy and sending ships to assault our capital,” she spits.
“Mei—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “I am your queen, and I will see justice against all who oppose me.”
His shoulders straighten, drawing together the broken pieces of him. “What you call justice, our parents would call tyranny.”
She sneers and addresses the soldier at his right. “Arrest them.”
The soldier steps haltingly forward. When I lift my sword, Prince Meilek throws me a meaningful look. I frown and give a quick shake of my head. He’s going to do something foolish to buy me time to run. I reach up, closing my fingers around his wrist.
He is more than just one man or a friend or a prince. He is the future of our kingdom.
“No,” I whisper urgently, but his eyes remain solely on his sister.
A second soldier joins the first as they reach to pull Prince Meilek from his saddle. Yandor growls and snaps at the knees of soldiers trying to reach me from behind.
“No,” I say, more loudly, but it’s too late. Prince Meilek reaches for his sword, drawing it and steering his drake to the side, swiping the soldiers with the drake’s powerful tail. “No!”
“Stop him!” the queen shouts as every soldier draws their sword. Archers pull their bowstrings taut, but they waver, reluctant.
I won’t let him sacrifice himself for me. I raise my sword, guarding his back as the first few soldiers overcome their hesitation and charge.
Someone screams, startling the soldiers back before everyone suddenly scatters.
I turn, breath stuttering, to see several soldiers dragged into the trees. Roots tangle their feet, climbing up their legs, as the soldiers scream, tearing at the tall grass without purchase. Branches dip low, sloughing flakes of dead bark as they snare around another soldier trying to escape on a drake, snatching him from his saddle.
Blades pull Queen Meilyr away, shielding her from the mayhem. I spin, searching wildly for Prince Meilek. For a panicked moment, I wonder if he’s been taken by the trees. But then I hear his voice and turn to find him waving for me to follow. He’s heading back across the field toward the cover of the underbrush.
Swearing, I reach for Yandor, scooping up his reins as soldiers try to wrench me away. I slam my knuckles into the throat of the nearest one and then jab my elbow into the other’s eye. Stumbling back, they spy their companions crying out as their legs are crushed by the roots and then wisely choose to flee.
“Okay, my friend, time to go,” I say. My heart pounds in my ears, and I flinch every time someone screams. Yandor growls in pain as he rises awkwardly to his feet. Limping, he follows as I lead him away from the archers shooting helplessly into the branches.
The trees groan as they strain and stretch, bark twisting and spilling rot. Roots tunnel beneath the high grass, snaring a soldier trying to help another companion who’s shrieking and clawing at the earth.
“Away from the trees!” they shout, as they attempt to flee in terror.
Amid the chaos, I lead Yandor through wildflowers nearly the height of a man. I keep one eye on the queen, who watches the mayhem astride her dragule. Her hair is a wild halo about her face, and her chest heaves with each furious breath. Half of her soldiers have scat
tered or abandoned.
Though the queen will surely view this attack as a betrayal, I wonder if the Soulless willed this or if this is merely the souls’ usual malevolence against fools who linger too close to the woods.
“Find the prince!” she shouts. Two Blades remain at her side as the other two break off to search.
I lead Yandor into the shade of living trees and thick bushes, sheltering us.
Prince Meilek grabs my arm. “You have to go while everyone is distracted. I’ll take Yandor.”
As Yandor lowers to the ground again, easing the weight on his injury, I glance over my shoulder at the Dead Wood. The indecision claws at my gut, but the presence of the Soulless’s talisman remains heavy and oppressive.
I release a quick, frustrated breath as I wrap my arms around Yandor’s neck. “I’m sorry, my friend. I keep having to leave you behind.”
The moment I release him, Prince Meilek takes his reins. “Hurry.”
“Thank you,” I say. I straighten my shoulders, steadying my nerves and resolve. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword. Then I suck in my breath and break into a run.
I sprint through the high grass, weeds and wildflowers slapping at my legs. Someone shouts, having spotted me. The soldiers who haven’t abandoned their positions converge on me. I ignore them, heading straight for those gray-green trees, their trunks bulging, leaking fresh blood.
“Stop her!” the queen shrieks.
Just as I’m about to crash into the trees, a root shoots from the ground. Gasping, I dodge, falling and rolling once before finding my feet again. The nearest soldier isn’t so fast. The root latches onto her leg. She cries out as she falls, snatching uselessly at the weeds. Her companions back away, too afraid to reach for her.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and frantic, nails raking the dirt. “Help me!” Her free leg kicks at the roots snaring her, but the limb only tightens, making her shriek with pain. “Please!”
“Damn it,” I whisper, rushing forward to grab her hands. Her fingers close around mine. She gasps as her muscles strain, sweat pouring down her face. The roots only pull harder. She screams again, half sobbing as her leg breaks with a sharp crack.
Magic rises from me like smoke from flame, reaching toward the trees, the souls that fill them, and that tantalizing darkness that links them all.
“I don’t want to die,” the soldier says, tears streaking her cheeks. My boots slide over the grass as the roots drag us both toward the hulking trunk of a crooked tree. Hungry faces press through the bark, snapping and snarling, eyes weeping black sap.
Anger flares in my belly. Fear is not a wall, I remind myself. It is a whip. “You won’t,” I promise.
Heart pounding, I let my fear give me focus as I unleash my craft into the trees.
The souls recoil as if shrinking back from fire, shrieking their hatred. Magic pours from me, reaching through bark and decay, snaring souls like flies on a web.
The surrounding trees crumble into ash. Roots collapse. The soldier whimpers as she releases my hands to crawl away, and her companions find their courage, rushing forward to help her. Her leg drags behind her, broken at an odd angle.
My breaths fill my ears with a muffled rushing sound. All around me, the souls linger where the trees had been, caught within the clutches of my magic. Their rage tries to burrow into mine, to find anchor in my soul. But this time, their voices are muffled, their hatred less potent. The talisman in my pocket shines bright and steady, shielding me from their influence.
I can feel my magic attempting to rupture through my skin. Unlike last time, though, my thoughts are clear. At the end of the souls’ tethers, connecting us the way lightning bridges sky and earth, is the Soulless.
His power binds them to the Dead Wood. He uses them to strengthen himself, his magic devouring each soul the way the trees devour their bodies, leaving them forever trapped.
They are a conduit, like familiars, connecting our magic. But just as I feel him there, he can reach me as well. His magic slithers into me, a poison burning up my veins, reaching for the talisman in my pocket. He knows I have it, and he wants it back.
I might be imagining it, but I can almost hear his voice in my head, urging me into the trees, to go to him. His magic is his will, and it infects me with violent persistence.
From behind me, Queen Meilyr snarls, “Arrest her!”
I turn away from the glimmer of souls and face the Evewynian soldiers who’ve gathered to watch. They keep their distance, some of them clutching small wooden idols of the Sisters. When my eyes meet theirs, they look away, held from fleeing by terror or awe. No one moves.
Furious, the queen jabs her heels into her dragule’s flanks. For a moment, I think she means to trample me beneath her mount’s powerful legs. But she stops just shy of me, her dragule snapping at my face, its sharp teeth inches from tearing out my throat.
She looks down her nose at me, unafraid. “You cannot win this.”
Pain presses at my temples. The Soulless’s magic breathes fire through my bones. I let it—I need his power to destroy the talisman, but his will grows as well. I raise my sword with one hand as my other closes around the talisman in my pocket, fingers shaking as I grapple for control.
“Your armies are divided,” I manage to say through clenched teeth. “Lord Phang will turn the whole of the north against you. Your kingdom is fractured. You’ve already lost.”
For long seconds, the queen doesn’t speak. Her lips thin, whatever she’s thinking hidden through years of practice. Then she reaches for her waist and draws her sword.
She looks me in the eye and slashes her blade downward.
But its sharp edge never finds skin. Instead, the queen freezes mid-swing, her soul caught within my grasp. The weapon falls from her hand, her dragule shuffling uneasily at the sudden tension gripping every muscle in her body.
Her soul is a frantic, fluttering thing. Beautiful, like all souls. I’d imagined it rotted with hatred, like the soft, moldering innards of the dead trees.
She’s the real infection, a voice whispers from somewhere far off, the words a mere hint of sound. The burn of wicked magic wells my anger to the surface. Look at what she’s done to the shamanborn, at what she did first at Ronin’s manor house and then at Tamsimno. She needs to be stopped. I’ve had multiple chances to end this, and I’ve been too cowardly to take them.
The queen makes a quiet, whimpering sound as my craft constricts around her soul.
Suddenly, I’m struck by the memory of Saengo’s hand closing around my wrist and her soft, firm voice. Don’t.
With a gasp, I come back to myself. I release the queen’s soul as my hand flies to my chest. My heart beats frantically against my fingers.
The queen collapses against her dragule, gasping, before sliding off the saddle. Her dragule snorts and stomps once before abandoning her. She sinks to the grass, wildflowers crowding around her robes.
I take several large steps away from her and into the empty circle of space where the trees had been. Only their souls remain. I stab my sword into the earth, squeeze my eyes shut, and remove the talisman from my pocket.
I thought I would have to get deeper into the Dead Wood to reach the Soulless’s magic, but his magic is all around me, bound to the trees. It screams within me, and every soul caught within my grip screams with it.
“No,” I say, and pour every drop of magic rushing through me into the talisman. Last time, my craft broke against the talisman’s container. This time, it pries past the cage, snapping through the bone to close around the soul trapped within.
It’s like holding the sun—radiant and overwhelming, burning through me. A high, enraged howl erupts from the Dead Wood, every soul shrieking and raging.
The remaining soldiers flee for their lives as the trees twist with harsh, jerking movements. Roots lash out. Branches thrash wildly, beating against each other in a terrifying frenzy. They reach for me, disintegrating the moment they’re within range.
Nearby, the broken bodies of taken soldiers are heaved out from the depths of blackened trunks. Their bones snap and scrape, blood pouring from their torn lips and crushed skulls as they drag themselves across the grass.
Fear sharpens in my chest, but I don’t release the soul. It feels different from what I expected, less tainted by the darkness that has distorted the Soulless’s magic.
I back away from the bodies crawling toward me on shattered limbs and say, “It’s over.”
And then I close my fingers around the soul. It flares, bright and beautiful and powerful as if to remind the world of what it had been, and then it vanishes in a flash of glimmering white.
THIRTY
Every soul seized by my craft vanishes, their fury and violence draining away.
I draw a hoarse, gasping breath. The weight of the souls’ presence is gone, leaving a resounding silence.
Looking around, I shuffle away from the bodies of the soldiers lying motionless in the grass like puppets with their strings cut. A low humming rises from the quiet. The trees—they’re vibrating.
My skin prickles. Unease ripples down my spine. I brush my craft against the trees’ souls and then withdraw at the eerie blankness. The souls are in shock, and beneath that shock lies a still and undisturbed rage.
The Soulless’s magic is still intact. I shake my head, confused. The talisman held the Soulless’s familiar. Without it, he should be cut off from his magic. Fear trails cold fingers along the back of my neck.
“Sirscha.”
I turn at the sound of Prince Meilek’s voice, my arm outstretched. “Stay back!”
Kneeling where she’d fallen, Queen Meilyr presses trembling hands to her collarbones as if trying to hold her soul in place. My craft burns hot, almost like a warning. I turn again toward the trees, my nerves wrung taut. The vibrating grows into rattling as that quiet rage boils over.
