by Katie Cross
West Guards started spilling out of Chatham City, surrounding the castle by filtering into Letum Wood, which meant we couldn’t determine how many we faced. The Clavas focused their attention on distracting the dragons from the West Guards rather than overpowering the castle.
Papa transported to a different segment of the Wall, fighting the heaviest concentrations of wraiths and bats. He moved from place to place, saving witches when he could and assisting weakened Guardians. Tiberius disappeared from where he’d been pacing back and forth on the Wall and reappeared near Papa, bombarded with a surge of undead wraiths. He roared, fighting with a smooth finesse that looked like a dance. Marten and Stella stood on the High Priestess’s balcony, Marten fighting with a sword while Stella fended Clavas off with spells that sprayed water.
The dragons rose higher and higher, pushing the Clavas back. Just when I thought our luck had changed, a second wave of wraiths appeared over Chatham City, heading toward us. I tightened my hold on Viveet as cries of alarm rippled down the Wall and through the forest. Tiberius stopped fighting long enough to take in the oncoming cloud of death. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Prepare yourself,” he shouted, using magic to project his voice over the war raging in the sky.
“The castle won’t hold long if the Clavas breach it,” Merrick said, lopping off the head of a bat. “Not even with Wolfgang and the Masters defending it from within. And we won’t make it through a second wave with enough strength to fight both the Clavas and the West Guards.”
“I know,” I whispered.
The blue dragon let out a piercing scream of pain when at least fifteen Clavas swarmed his wings, biting and tearing at them. Unable to buck them off, he crashed into the Wall, sending a spray of rocks and rubble into the lower bailey.
“No!” I cried, rushing forward.
Clavas swarmed the dragon, blanketing him in a writhing mass of black. I gasped, frightened by the stunning thud as the blue dragon fell to the ground. Guardians rushed forward, yanking Clavas off the beautiful beast, but it was too late. He died within moments, his blood spilling onto the stones. My heart dropped.
“Let it go, B,” Merrick said, jerking me away. “Don’t think about it now. We have more friends coming in from the West.”
I forced myself to face the oncoming foe, though my heart hurt.
“Ten seconds,” Merrick said, his eyes on the approaching swarm. He grabbed the ankle of a descending wraith and killed it with a swift stab to the abdomen. I sliced a bat in half. Another bat soared by, slicing my cheek and neck with the edge of its wing. I put a hand to my stinging face. Only a small amount of blood dribbled onto my palm, not enough to be concerned about.
“We’ll never make it, Merrick,” I said. “The second wave is twice as big.”
“Five seconds.”
A burst of light streamed from the balcony of Stella’s apartment and broke the hazy fog, cutting through the smoke. Once it pierced the haze, the light grew, spreading outward in little specks. The specks bubbled, forming lines and circles that elongated into witches made of light.
“Papa’s using a counter spell!” I cried, grabbing Merrick’s arm. “Look! He moved up to the balcony with Stella and Marten.”
“Old Guards,” Merrick said, ducking a falling bat. “See the red patch on their left shoulders? That’s only given to Old Guards—witches who died serving as Guardians. They’re buried with the patch as a symbol of honor.”
The witches of light continued to grow and change, taking on the stern faces and familiar half-armor of Guardians. They sent the Clavas screeching and scattering into the sky. The dragons followed, shooting bursts of flame at the fleeing horde. Old Guards marched around Chatham Castle with impressive speed, standing sentry in front of the doors and windows. They moved inside with confident steps, burning vengeance in their eyes.
“It’s the counter magic,” Merrick said. “Mabel has an army conjured by magic, and now so do we.”
“Yes,” I said. “But such a massive force will have cost Papa a lot of power and energy. He can’t maintain magic like this forever. Mabel’s had time to build up her magic; Papa hasn’t.”
Through the brightness, I could just see the outline of Papa on the balcony, surrounded by light. Clavas flailed away from him, shrieking. Every wraith the Old Guards touched fell to the ground in smoke.
“Are they actual Old Guards, do you think?” I asked, watching in fascination. The suffocating globe of wings and wraiths began to disappear, opening the castle up to the sky again. “Were they actually Guardians once? They all look different.”
“I think so,” he said, his eyes tapered. “Some of them seem familiar. I think … I think they’re Guardians who fought in the Southern Covens. I recognize a few of them.”
“Archers!” Tiberius screamed. “Now!”
Arrows flew into the black Clava cloud and exploded, spraying water. The wraiths recoiled, shriveling and screaming. The Old Guards moved up and out, forming a bubble of light that encompassed Chatham Castle. The wave of Clavas soared away with livid hisses. The tide turned in our favor, the dragons gained ground again, and the Guardians cheered. We battled on until the dying Clavas retreated, leaving the air empty and thin in their wake.
“Don’t celebrate too much yet,” Merrick said, nodding to Chatham Road, which stretched from the portcullis out to Chatham City. West Guards marched onward, sparking black fire that raced toward the castle, causing our witches to flee. The flames consumed those who didn’t run fast enough.
“Archers!” Tiberius called. “Let’s give the West Guards a friendly Central Network welcome.”
Guardians with dark crimson sashes tied around their right wrists stepped forward and formed a line along the outer sidewall. In one synchronized motion, they grabbed their arrows and nocked them.
“Release!”
Despite our distance from the invading army, the first wave of arrows hit their marks, but the West Guards and the Antebellum Army diffused into each other with increasing speed, making it difficult for the archers to distinguish their targets.
“Contingent twenty-three … advance!” Papa bellowed. He stood on the Wall again, near Tiberius. Zane transported next to them, his chest heaving and blood dripping from his nose. Three continents of Guardians transported onto Chatham Road. The black fire split into three directions, heading right and left for Letum Wood and continuing toward the castle.
“Merrick, I’m not waiting up here while West Guards burn my forest,” I muttered, my blood boiling.
“Go. I’ll follow your magic,” he said, and I spat the transportation spell already on the tip of my tongue. Less than a blink later, I was on the ground, Merrick at my back, hiding behind a sprawling tree covered with moss. Thick, humid air greeted us where we stood, halfway down Chatham Road, just within the tree line. A few wide-eyed witches from the Antebellum Army crouched in the bushes around us. They held their weapons with trembling hands.
We fight with you, whispered the magic of the forest, and I glanced up to see the tree tops swaying back and forth, although there was no wind.
“Keep close to the trees,” I said to Merrick and those nearby. “They’ll help. The forest will protect you if you don’t harm it.”
Merrick looked skeptical but knew better than to question me. The members of the Antebellum Army straightened, gazed up at the treetops, and seemed to take courage.
“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to spend a little time together tonight,” Merrick said, forcing levity, his eyes on a group of West Guards heading our way. Four in all. Burly, which would slow them down, and tall, which would give them a higher center of gravity.
“Oh?” I asked. “What did you have in mind?”
“A little sparring. A little gore.” He grabbed my arm and pressed our backs together, swinging his head from side to side as he assessed the oncoming threat. “Maybe dinner afterwards? I hear Fina has stale bread in the kitchens.”
“Will there
be brownies?”
He scoffed. “Of course there will be brownies. Well … eventually. There isn’t much butter these days.”
“Then I’m in.”
Viveet burned bright blue when I lifted her higher. The four West Guards were twenty paces away.
Merrick spun around, grabbed my face, and pressed his lips to mine in a rough kiss. “Make me proud, troublemaker.”
I grinned. “Always.”
The West Guards, their broad shoulders clad in armor of leather and steel, arrived with shouts of violence, and Merrick and I fell into the melee as a single fighting unit.
The battle for Chatham Castle and Letum Wood passed like a dream. Each moment seemed to happen in snatches. Witches fell to their knees, gurgling with death. Vines wrapped around West Guards, plucking them from the ground. Tree branches fell without warning, eliminating whole groups of West Guards. Smoke clogged the air. Dragons roared. Blood dripped down my lips. I existed from one second to the next, focusing on my breath, the sturdy feel of Viveet in my palm, and Merrick’s back against mine. He never faltered, and neither did I.
After what felt like an eternity of fighting, a West Guard sprinted toward me, sword held above his head. My legs stumbled clumsily in my attempt to escape, tripping over a dead vine. I hopped around, trying to gain my footing. There wasn’t time to swing Viveet around and block his weapon. Just as I freed my left ankle and prepared to kick up with my right leg, a swish moved past my right ear. The ground moved far away from me. My fingers dug into the rich carpet of the Volare as it carried me above Letum Wood. Merrick whipped around, stabbing the West Guard in the throat.
“Oh!” I cried, holding onto the sides of the carpet. “Good work. But you must take me back! I can’t leave Merrick.”
The Volare hovered for just a second before obeying my command, as if it didn’t want to release me back into the jaws of hell. When my feet touched the ground, it curled back up, sliding back into its case on my magical command.
Merrick grabbed my arm. “What happened?” he asked, motioning to my face. His hair fell in sweaty clumps, sticking to his neck and forehead. Soot, sweat, and blood streaked his face. He panted, just like me, unable to draw breath under the weight of the Almorran magic in the air. I reached up to touch the blood on my upper lip. My nose ached.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t remember being hit. How long have we been fighting?”
He whirled around, fending off an approaching West Guard. I cast a tripping curse to delay the enemy, but the Almorran magic absorbed it. The two of them sparred before the West Guard fell on Merrick’s burning sword.
“I don’t know,” he said, bucking the dying Guardian off. “But I get the feeling we aren’t winning.”
My arms ached, and my lungs hurt. Viveet’s flame wavered, quenched with blood. A West Guard had tripped me at some point, rolling my ankle. A scratch bled down my shoulder, staining my half-armor. I ignored it. I ignored everything but the next fight, the next West Guard, the next threat.
The wings of a dragon soared overhead, cloaking me in a moment of darkness. I glanced up to see the umber dragon. Michelle still rode on top. With most of the Clavas gone, she couldn’t have found a safer place.
“I need to go check on my friends,” I said to Merrick, glancing at the few remaining Clavas flying in and out of Chatham’s windows. “I need to know they’re all right.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” I said. “Now.”
He studied me for half a second before nodding. “I’ll follow.”
We transported to the kitchens to find Camille. Chaos reigned supreme. Pots and pans were flung aside, cluttering the floor. Water coated every surface, caking loose flour into doughy clumps. Three Clavas soared down the stairs and darted toward us. Merrick and I moved into action, ducking their open mouths and slicing at them. A bat flew overhead, screeching with a high trill that raised every hair on my arm.
“Camille?” I yelled, ducking a falling Clava arm. “Camille?”
Merrick and I shuffled through the wreckage to the other side of the room. Two pairs of feet stuck out from behind a long table.
“Bianca,” he called, his uncertain gaze meeting mine. “Come here.”
He swallowed and closed his eyes. My heart leaped into my throat as I darted toward him. Camille lay on the floor next to Brecken. Her eyes, wide and glassy, stared at the ceiling. She didn’t move. A trickle of blood ran out her left ear. Water coated her dress and arms in tiny droplets.
“Camille?” I whispered. I dropped to my knees at her side, shaking her. “Camille! Wake up. Wake up!”
Neither she nor Brecken moved. I stumbled back, my mind screaming. A bundle of rage, grief, and terror unwrapped itself in my chest, reaching around my heart with long, ugly tentacles. The shock paralyzed me. Camille was the best of us. The happiest. The most innocent.
“No,” I said. “Not Camille. Not—”
A firm hand on my shoulder jostled me out of my trance. “Bianca!” Merrick said, shaking me. “Pull it together. This is not the time, all right? We can’t save Camille, but we have to keep fightin’.”
“No! I can’t just leave her.”
“Where will you take her?”
“I … I don’t know! I have to do something. I…”
“She’s with Brecken. She wouldn’t want you to focus on her, would she? She’d want you to win the war.”
“We’re losing, Merrick,” I cried. “It’s not going to matter!”
“Don’t say that,” he said, wincing. He held his sword in his left hand instead of the right. “We have to keep fightin’.”
Fight for what? I thought, gazing at the dead bodies littering the ground. Fight now just to die in a few hours?
“For what?” I snapped. “What’s left? They’re killing everyone.”
“We just … we have to keep fightin’,” he said, sounding wooden and uncertain. “That’s what you’re supposed to do in war. Just keep fightin’! Camille died fightin’! Are you goin’ to give up? Do you think she’d want you to do that?”
I remembered Camille’s words. Brecken is here fighting, and he’s my husband. I won’t be parted from him. I will fight. We will win.
“No,” I said, my eyes stinging. “She wouldn’t.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t think. You can’t afford to think right now, B. You have to fight.”
His sharp tone jolted me back to reality. He was right. This was war. I didn’t have time to think. I only had time to act. I mentally shut the door to my throbbing heart, forcing my concentration away from my best friend.
“Then let’s go,” I said. “Transport back to where we left. We can keep helping the Antebellum Army.”
I transported away, but instead of going directly to Letum Wood, I went to the middle of the ballroom. The makeshift hospital teemed with chaos. Old Guards stood at the windows to prevent Clavas from breaking in. They walked behind the Apothecaries and their Assistants, watching over the witches who kept their brothers-in-arms alive. Wounded Guardians trickled in from the battle in a near-constant stream. Apothecaries ran from patient to patient, frantic and harried, blood staining their clothes. Injured witches were draped over every surface, taking up every spot on the floor.
“Make way!” a thick voice shouted. “Make way!”
Wolfgang and two other North Guards bolted into the ballroom, a thin figure held in their arms. My heart nearly stopped when I saw a familiar, bloodied face.
Stella.
“She was fightin’ in the West Win’ with the children,” Wolfgang said, panting as they set her on a cot. Apothecary Assistants swept dirty bandages aside to make room for her. “A few West Guards approached the windows with those smoke bombs. Her Highness stopped them, but I don’t think she’ll make it.”
I turned away, unable to bear it. Not Stella. Not Camille. Not the blue. Not any of them.
Don’t think. Don’t think.
I grasped for something good, somet
hing to fight for when everything seemed to be crumbling. In the distance, Leda hurried from cot to cot among the dying, still in the dark about Camille. An Old Guard followed close behind her, a young man with a head of familiar white-blonde hair. My vision went blurry. Her brother protected her.
The sight sent a jolt through my body. I had to go back; I had to keep fighting. Grasping Viveet, I balled the seething wrath in my body into a tight bundle right at my heart, ready to unleash it on the West Guards and Clavas that had taken Stella, Camille, and the blue dragon.
As soon as I landed back in Letum Wood, Merrick grabbed my neck and pulled me to the ground. A potion bottle soared over our heads, right where I’d been standing, and exploded in putrid smoke on a nearby West Guard. He screamed as the liquid burned through his skin. I turned away, suppressing the need to retch.
We stood at the edge of Letum Wood, right next to the Wall. Snatches of the castle were visible through the trees. Falling bodies, screaming Clavas, black smoke, livid dragons. It all looked the same. The foul blood of the Clavas streaked the ground, making it difficult to walk without falling into the hot black acid. The war spun with wild abandon around us. I could hardly bear the stench of blood, death, and fear.
A group of West Guards shot ten arrows at a yellow dragon all at once. Two struck her heartscales, bringing her down. The red screamed fire when a horde of Clavas headed for her two children. Gypsies attempted—to no avail thanks to Almorran magic—to spout fire from their fingertips as West Guards stormed through the front doors. Even the smallest fireboys scampered over fallen bodies to recover unbroken arrows for the archers.
Where had Papa gone? Could he stop this death with the counter magic?
But this isn’t just Almorran magic at work, I realized. This is war. Bloody, filthy war.
While Merrick and I had been helping the Antebellum Army, the Almorran fire had almost completely consumed the section of the Wall beneath the Gatehouse. Burning stones teetered precariously on unstable ground, groaning as they started to sway. Once it gave in, West Guards would pour into Chatham Castle, unconstrained by the portcullis or stories-high Wall.
