by Claire Luana
Ansel’s Red Badgers fought like demons from hell. They took the front of the assault, and though the Apricans were good fighters, the onslaught left them confused and disorganized. Ansel smashed through the front doors of the palace, sending a mass of men stumbling back. The mercenaries streamed past Lucas, and the battle for the palace began in earnest.
The palace felt like unfamiliar ground, though he’d grown up here, had run through these walls laughing and playing tag in his youth. The faces of the Aprican soldiers blurred together, the tanned skin and blond hair, the sky-blue uniforms and silver swinging swords.
Ansel had instructed two of his men to act as bodyguards to Lucas, and they did their work with grim determination, cutting down anyone who dared get close. Farther behind, away from the front line, were his siblings under similar guard, and their other Guild allies.
The group inched forward slowly, in fits and starts, rounding corners and pushing against new forces of fresh men. In one tall hallway lined with balconies they met a force of Apricans with crossbows, who rained down death upon them as they fought their way through. One of Lucas’s bodyguards fell to a crossbow bolt through his throat, and Lucas stumbled behind a pillar, only to find a legionnaire waiting with bared teeth.
Lucas barely got his blade up in time to counter the other man’s strike, which surged down upon him with tremendous force. Lucas frantically parried two more blows as the man facing him grinned in triumph, knowing as well as Lucas did that the prince was outmatched. Panic surged in him as Lucas found himself out of space to move, backed against a pillar.
The man raised his sword in a triumphant strike when a blade emerged from his chest. The Aprican’s eyes went wide with shock as blood bubbled from his lips like a fountain. He slid to the ground, revealing Lucas’s other bodyguard.
The man didn’t even blink, instead turning and plunging back into the battle.
Ansel was gesturing from behind another pillar to one of his men. They were pinned down by the men above with the crossbows. Gaining any further ground would be costly—bloody.
But then one of the crossbowmen tumbled over the balcony, landing with a crunch in the middle of the hallway. A cheer went up from Ansel’s men as other crossbowmen fell or were felled. More of Ansel’s men were on the balconies. Where had they come from?
Ansel motioned and they surged forward, spilling through the hallway into a circular intersection of several hallways. Griff strode across, a sword in one hand, dagger wet with blood in the other. Her curly, red hair spilled around her shoulder, and her eyes shone with the heat of battle.
“You’re over the wall, I see,” Ansel said with a grin.
“Quite a rush.” Griff let out a breathless laugh. “Your fellows can move, for musclebound brutes.”
“Is that a compliment?” Ansel said with mock surprise. “Captain, I never—”
“Let’s move.” Lucas interrupted their banter impatiently. “Foreign army to subdue? Emperor to capture? Confectioners to rescue? Remember?”
“Ah. To business,” Ansel said. “Which way, Imbris?”
Lucas looked around quickly. The rest of their group was catching up now and he scanned the faces, looking for his siblings. Relief filled Lucas as he spotted Trick and Ella. Olivia.
Bran trotted up, two bloody swords in hand.
“King’s chambers were that way.” Lucas pointed to the right. “Likely to find the emperor there. Not sure about Wren.”
“She’s probably in the west wing,” Ansel said, nodding towards the left. “It’s where we found the baker. Seems to be where Daemastra likes to keep his playthings.”
Lucas suppressed a shudder.
“We’ll find her, Imbris,” Ansel said.
“We splitting up?” Trick asked, joining the group.
Ansel nodded. “Griff, Bran, ya and half my men go with Lucas. Capture the emperor. Or kill ‘im. I’ll take the rest.”
The floor started to vibrate and Lucas looked about, throwing his hands out for support.
“I thought the explosions were through,” Griff said.
“They’re supposed to be,” Lucas said.
“Then what’s that?” Ansel asked.
It was getting stronger. Louder. It sounded...like the pounding of boots. The thunder of footsteps.
“Uh, guys?” Trick said, his gray eyes wild. He pointed down the hallway straight ahead.
In the distance was a sight Lucas’s mind could hardly comprehend. Soldiers running towards them. But not soldiers—they could only be described as…gods. Their teeth and blades were bared.
“New plan,” Ansel said, backing up. “Run!”
Chapter 45
Wren stumbled into the cell, falling to her knees as the door slammed shut behind her.
“Wren!” Thom ran to her side, trying to help her to her feet. It was useless. Her legs didn’t want to work. Her body was numb—out of her control.
“Wren?” He brushed her hair back and the tears began to flow. She sprang at him, burying her face against his shoulder. She knew this was a temporary reprieve, that any moment Daemastra’s men could throw open the cell door and drag her back to that place, to kill her and grind her bones into dust. But for this moment, she would take the comfort. Soak it in as if it might be the last bit she’d ever know. Because in truth, it probably was.
“Wren.” Callidus’s voice was gentle. He crouched down next to her and Thom, his elbow on one knee. “I know it’s hard, but you must tell us. What did you see? What do they want with us?”
She let out a wracking sob. She didn’t think she could tell them. It was too horrible even to admit to herself.
Callidus didn’t ask her again, and for a time they sat there in silence but for the sound of Wren’s sobs.
Another explosion punctured the stillness, seeming closer this time, shaking the room about them.
Wren pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“What’s going on?” Thom asked.
“They think someone is attacking. They don’t know who.”
“Could it be friendly?” Callidus asked hopefully.
“I don’t know who,” Wren said. “Everyone’s dead.”
“What did you see, Wren?” Callidus asked.
Wren looked at them with pity in her eyes. She didn’t want to be the one to have to tell them. But maybe if Daemastra took her, he wouldn’t need Thom or Callidus. That could be some small mercy.
“He’s a monster,” Wren said. “Completely insane. He’s figured out how to take magic from us. To turn it into something he can take. Something he can give soldiers. To make an inhuman army for him.”
“How?” Callidus asked, recoiling.
Wren shook her head, closing her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Wren, come on,” Thom said. “Please.”
“Bones.” She whispered the word. “It’s in our bones. When they take me back, they’re going to kill me and chop me up and grind up my bones.” Her voice hitched, growing high and hysterical.
Silence hung in the air. She opened her eyes to look at Thom and Callidus. They wore twin expressions of shock and revulsion.
“We have to get out of here,” Thom said.
“Hale,” Callidus said. “Hale came in here. How could he be a part of this? I don’t like the man, but he never struck me as a madman!”
“I think he’s helping against his will. Daemastra’s poisoned him and is holding the antidote over his head to get him to cooperate.”
“So maybe he can help us,” Thom said eagerly. “Get out of here.”
“I don’t know,” Wren said. “I think...if I could have gotten him alone, I might have been able to get through to him. But now Daemastra is going to infuse his soldiers with some sort of formula with all of the Gifts. To make them supernatural. Then he’s going to take it himself. He’s found a way to make it permanent. When that happens...it won’t matter even if we have Hale’s help. Daemastra will be able to have
his way with all of us. The whole world.”
“What about Pike?” Callidus asked, clearly trying to account for all possible allies. “Did you see him? Is he all right?”
She shook her head, eyes on the floor, a lump growing in her throat.
“What—?” Thom began, but he trailed off when he likely realized. When he took in her meaning.
“Sweet caramel,” Callidus breathed, leaning back, running a shaking hand through his hair. “These really are the end of days.”
A shout sounded outside their door, followed by muffled curses and a clash of blades.
They all stood in a blink, shying away from the door.
“What’s going on?” Thom asked.
Wren didn’t think she could handle whatever horror was bound to come through that door. Whatever fresh hell had been dreamed up for them.
A thunk made Wren jump.
Thom twined his fingers through hers, squeezing tightly.
Keys jangled outside, and then the door swung open, a huge form darkening the opening. Ansel stepped through.
Wren’s knees went weak beneath her. Thom grabbed her, holding her up, blowing out a breath with a shaky laugh.
“Turns out badgers have nine lives, too,” Ansel said, sheathing his sword, flashing his chipped-tooth grin.
Wren ran to him and threw herself against him with as much force as she could muster, crushing herself to his chest. “There has never been a more welcome sight,” she said, her words muffled in the leather of his armor.
Ansel squeezed her back, putting her down gently. “And I ain’t even told ya your boyfriend’s alive yet.”
Wren’s hands flew to her mouth, her heart stuttering back to life. “Lucas...”
“We all made it out. Took some doin,’ but everyone’s okay.”
“Trick?” Thom asked eagerly.
“All of us means all of us,” Ansel said with a wry smile. “But if we wanna keep it that way, we should get ya the hell outta here.”
“Where?” Wren said.
“We’re rendezvousing at the Tradehall. Seems the Guilds have found their senses again and ain’t too pleased about what’s been goin’ on the last few weeks.”
Wren breathed out a sigh of relief. The bread had worn off. Liam’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.
“And where’s Lucas?”
He hesitated. “We...got separated. Hopefully on his way to subdue the emperor. There were some...circumstances we didn’t expect. Now come on,” Ansel said, and they hurried out into the hallway, where a group of Ansel’s men were standing guard, swords out. They started down the hallway, but Wren’s feet slowed, stopping.
Ansel, who held her hand, stopped before her, turning. “What’s wrong? We gotta go.”
Wren shook her head. This was madness. All she wanted was to run, to flee from this place. From Daemastra’s chair, from that jar with Pike’s name on it. Lucas was with Ansel’s men, and Hale...Hale had made his bed. But still, her feet felt like weights beneath her. Could she really leave?
“Wren, we’ve done what we came here to do.”
“But we haven’t,” she said. “We came back to Maradis to free the city from the Apricans. If we let Daemastra do this...it won’t be safe anywhere. For anyone.”
“Daemastra, the cuisinier? You’re not talkin’ sense. I came here to get ya. And I’m gonna get ya out. Now come on.” Ansel grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward.
She took two steps before digging in her heels. “I can’t go. You said you were helping us defeat the Apricans. You can’t leave now.”
“There’s no way. There’re men here—I’ve never seen anythin’ like ’em. They’ll kill everyone in their path. I don’t plan to be there.”
Wren shook her head. “But what about Lucas? Did others breach the palace with you?”
“Forget ’em, Wren. We’ve got once chance to get outta here alive, and this is it. I don’t plan on leavin’ without ya. I ain’t losin’ ya again.” He pulled her towards him, and before she realized what was happening, his arms were around her, his lips were on hers.
Ansel tasted of salt and mint, his mouth firm against hers, steady in its resolve, his tongue parting her lips with a deft flick. Ansel’s hands pulled her tightly against the expanse of him. Surprise warred with something deeper and older within her, something that had longed for just this in the dark recesses of her heart, so many years ago.
Wren pushed him from her with sheer force of will, gasping for breath, for space between them to let her spinning thoughts settle to earth. “What are you doing?”
“Ya, Wren. It’s always been ya,” Ansel said. He crushed her hand in his against his chest, where the tattoo of the wren lay in stark black ink beneath the leather of his armor. “Your world is falling apart. This city. There ain’t nothin’ for ya here anymore. It was a valiant effort the Guilds put together. A worthy last hurrah. But the Apricans’ll regroup and crush ya. They’re comin’ even now. Ya and me—we can build a life together. A new life. Nothin’ but the wind in our hair, the sun at our backs. Free, Wren. I can protect ya. Provide for ya. You’ll want for nothin.’” He was pressing his lips to her hands now, and Wren felt the floor tilting beneath her.
His eager words rang harshly in her ears. Everything was wrong. Once, she would have wanted nothing more than this offer. To hear Ansel profess his love, to promise to take her from this place and take care of her all the days of her life. But something had changed.
“I can’t,” she said with a shuddering sob, pulling back from him. “I can’t leave Lucas. I can’t leave Hale. The other guild members...”
“You’re losin,’ Wren. If ya don’t come with me right now, it’ll be all over,” Ansel said, his fingers digging into the flesh of her arm.
He was right. If she ran back into the fray, back towards that chair, she might not make it out of this palace alive. She had thought she was going to die before. When Killian was going to execute her. And she had been saved. Callidus, Hale, even Pike. Just moments ago, she had faced her death again—Daemastra’s needle, that chair with its leather straps. And again, her friends—the Guilds, they had gone to impossible lengths to save her. To save her and Thom and Callidus.
“No one expects ya to die for them. No one is asking ya to,” Ansel insisted.
Wren pulled in a breath, straightening. “They don’t have to. I’d rather die beside my friends than live a life where I only care about myself.”
“Wren—” Ansel’s face darkened.
“I have always cared for you, Ansel, and I always will.” She put her hand to his cheek. “But my place is here. Whatever comes.”
“You’re choosin’ them. Him?” Ansel asked, hurt etched across his handsome face.
Yes. The Guild. Her friends. Lucas. This city. She was choosing all of it. This life. She wasn’t ready to give it up. Not without a fight. “Yes. And I’m choosing to not be afraid anymore.”
Ansel’s face twisted, becoming an ugly thing. “Then you’re already gone.”
“You said you wouldn’t leave me. That you’d never betray me again.”
“This is your choice, Wren, not mine. If ya want to sail off a cliff for your ideals, I can’t stop ya. But don’t expect me to come with.” He turned from her and whistled, a sharp sound that reverberated through the hall. In the distance, a whistle answered back. “What is that?” she asked.
“Retreat,” Ansel said. And then without another word, he turned and jogged down the hallway, leaving Wren standing openmouthed in his wake.
Chapter 46
Hale was done following orders. He was done serving Daemastra. You’d think seeing a dozen men transformed into god-like monsters from a storybook would have done it, but that wasn’t what had broken him. It had been Wren. He needed to get her out of here.
Daemastra had ordered him and Willings to rally the legion and defend the palace with the Golden Guard, and though Willings had protested, he had obeyed. Hale knew the sniveling man would take the earliest mome
nt to circle back to the workshop where Daemastra was perfecting his formula. There was no way Willings would risk being left out in the cold when Daemastra sampled the perfected version.
Hale had slipped through the chaos at the intersection of corridors, men and swords filling his vision. The fighting hadn’t reached through the west wing yet, and so the way to Wren’s cell was clear.
A huge man with red hair and leather armor came into view as Hale rounded the corner into the hallway that held Wren’s cell. He stilled, pressing himself into a doorway. Who was this man? Who did he work for? The guards before the cell door challenged him, and he made quick work of them, felling both in rapid succession with powerful blows from his sword. He kicked one of the men over, reaching down and retrieving the keyring from his belt. So a new friend?
He watched as Thom and Callidus hurried out and as Wren slowed, stopping the man, their hands intertwined. He couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but from their gestures, he could tell that Wren didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go with him. Hale weighed his options. Should he approach?
Then the man kissed Wren, and Hale’s eyebrows raised. She pushed him away, but not as quickly as Hale might have imagined. What happened to Imbris? Was he out of the picture?
The man grew angry and stormed off, and Wren, after pausing a moment, turned and hurried down the hallway towards him. So intent was she on her destination that she didn’t see him. He snaked out a hand and grabbed her arm.
She screamed, jumping halfway across the hallway.
“Shh!” he said. “It’s just me!”
She let out a shuddering breath, a hand to her heart. Then their eyes met, hers filled with wariness, and something else he recognized. A sliver of hope.
“I wouldn’t have let him do it, Wren,” Hale said. “I wasn’t going to let him kill you.”
With those words, she sprang at him, throwing her arms around him.
He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms gently around her fragile body, burying his nose in her hair, breathing in the sugar scent of her. Of Wren. “Gods, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
