Two of his branches lash out for me, and using concentrated bursts of water, I manage to block two of them. But I’m unable to stop the third branch that reaches for Aleta. Feeling my heart clutch in fear, I fumble a feeble stream toward it, but it’s like throwing a pebble at a wall—ineffectual.
It reaches Aleta, twines its way around her waist.
Then it bursts into ash.
There must be some sort of a mind—some sort of a soul—left in Everett because the face in the trunk blinks in shock, eyes wide.
His strikes become more erratic as he disregards me almost entirely. I’ve become an afterthought, blows coming for me on their way to her, branches soaring over my head en route to land a strike on Aleta’s form.
Aleta takes slow, measured steps toward him. But, try as he might, Everett cannot touch her. Every time a branch comes close, every time it manages to touch her, it can’t hold her, either withdrawing from the heat or burning when it encounters the flames that covers her.
Finally, Aleta reaches the trunk, reaches Everett’s face, and bends down until their eyes are even. His jaw is agape.
Her hands land on the wood that passes for his cheeks, and she speaks. “I cannot say it’s been a pleasure.”
She doesn’t give him a chance to reply. With a soft exhale, flames spiral down into his open mouth.
Makers… I nearly take a step back from them, watching what happens next. Smoke builds from Everett’s orifices. His eyes shoot wide and glow red at their edges. The tree’s trunk turns gray, heat curling red along its roots. He screams, the first sound he’s uttered since we’ve come upon him in the garden. It sounds too human, with the loud pops of a burning campfire behind it.
I have never seen something bake from the inside before. But that’s unmistakably what’s happening to Everett.
Until the screams end; the sounds stop. His face is indistinguishable from the rest of the charred wooden trunk surrounding it.
The great man-plant is dead. At last.
Without Everett to hold them, bodies drop from the branches like dead weight. Caden and Tregle stir, and Aleta, no longer enflamed and looking a bit unsteady on her feet, is at Tregle’s side instantly.
I take a moment longer, studying the face of the Shaker who has landed at my feet. It’s Olivia. Her eyes are closed. Her features, drawn and bloodless. She doesn’t stir. My eyes travel the other bodies, none of them moving. Langdon and Everett drained their Shaker abilities to power Everett’s, and then, when that wasn’t enough, they’d pulled at their life forces.
There will be no waking them. I close my eyes, stealing a blink of time to mourn them all. They may still be alive if the king hadn’t gotten his claws into them. Langdon has much to answer for.
I set my mouth determinedly and walk through the field of bodies to reach Caden.
Thirty-One
Caden
Bree’s eyes are there to greet mine when my vision is restored. I am tree no longer; a man, once more.
Gradually, my senses return to me. My muscles tremble with fatigue, and my heart beats feebly in my chest. I flex my fingers, instinct driving them into my pocket. The Underground token—the Makers’ favor—is still safe inside.
Bree’s cool fingers rest on my wrist as I shove to my feet. “Easy,” she soothes. “You’ve been through an ordeal, Caden. Don’t push yourself.”
I shift her grip, clutching her wrist in my hand. “My father,” I rasp.
Emotion, hot and molten, flickers in her eyes. “Alive,” she says shortly.
The “for now” that she doesn’t say is implied.
This can only end one way, after all. My hand spasms on Bree’s wrist. Father has to die. I’ve grappled with it for a long time now, knowing it needed to be done, but not wishing to dwell on it. But now, I’m finally ready to make the sacrifice Kyrene spoke of. And I’m not willing for that sacrifice to be anyone but him.
I waver on my feet, striding to the garden’s exit. Bree’s hands fall on my shoulders. I let her stop me.
“Caden. You’re in no condition to fight.” She moves to stand in front of me and hesitates, biting her lip. “And…is the destruction of your father truly something you’d wish to witness?”
The question throws me. I can’t help it; I falter. My response is quiet. “Of course not,” I say. “But it’s something I need to see.”
Behind us, Aleta’s quiet, tearful whisperings to Tregle cut short, and the two of them rise, his arm draped over her shoulders for support. “I’m not certain that’s wise, Caden,” she says. As if she can’t help it, she glances up at Tregle as if verifying that he hasn’t disappeared again. “You and Tregle are clearly weak and need to recuperate. What you’ve undergone killed the Shakers who were captured alongside you. You’d be a liability in battle.”
Bree nods, motioning to Aleta as if to say “you see?” She clears her throat. “I think it would be better if you’d just barricade yourself inside the prison while we—”
I shake my head. “No, I can help. Perhaps my presence will—”
“Caden. See reason,” Aleta says. Her eyes narrow in a dubious fashion. “You were a part of a tree and your father did nothing to remedy it. I’m sorry. It brings me no pleasure to say it, but your opinion no longer holds any sway with him.”
I grit my teeth. The fact that she’s correct doesn’t mean I’ll stay behind while she and Breena dispose of my father. I stand by my words: it’s something I need to see for myself. And they may need the Makers’ favor, which only I can provide.
“I am going,” I say firmly. “And unless you wish me to move through the halls of my own accord, then I am going with you.” I start forward once again.
When I wobble, Bree slips under my shoulder, offering support with a glare. “Don’t take this as I sign that I approve,” she says.
I ignore this. “Besides,” I add. “No one knows this castle the way Aleta and I do. We spent years in its halls searching for secret staircases and passages. The two of us can help you avoid a great deal of the melee as we search for my father.”
Bree crosses her arms, lips tight. “Fine,” she concedes.
Aleta looks to Tregle, worry simmering undisguised in her eyes. “What will you do?”
He coughs and smiles weakly. “I admire the prince’s passion. And I am grateful for the rescue, but I’m afraid I will only slow you down. I’ll do as Bree suggested and barricade myself inside.”
Aleta looks uncertain, teetering between leaving him alone and vulnerable or bringing him into a situation where he may be easy prey. But finally, she agrees.
We help Tregle into the prison, and Aleta rests her forehead against his, staring intently into his eyes. “Find something to barricade the door with. Or lock yourself in an empty cell. I implore you: don’t take any foolish risks.”
“Risks aren’t my area of expertise,” he says and smiles gently. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine—and waiting for you when all of this is through. Go.”
She lowers Tregle back down to the floor, looking over to me and Bree. “What now?”
Bree turns to me, expression grim. “Well, then. On we go, I suppose.”
~~~
When we enter the palace, the halls are nearly empty—of living souls, that is. Bloody corpses litter the passageways and the bodies that aren’t already on their way to the Great Beyond moan in agony.
Bree winces as we walk past them, stepping carefully over the forms that lay sprawled across the floors, limbs and necks twisted at unnatural angles, weapons thrown akimbo, feet away from the bodies. We aren’t healers; we can’t help them. But the sooner we find Father, the quicker we can end further suffering.
I feel extraordinarily vulnerable as we move through the halls. I have no weapons; nothing but the coin in my pocket and my friends to defend me.
But the brunt of the fighting seems to have ceased, and Bree and Aleta’s abilities prove protection enough. They form such a tight perimeter around me that I may as we
ll be wearing armor. Heat from Aleta’s fire warms my cheeks as she cups a flame in her hand, and Bree lets water loop around her fingers, stray drops flicking onto my exposed skin.
They prove a satisfactory deterrent. Some of Father’s soldiers recognize me, but look too weary to attack. The assaults that do still come are half-hearted, at best, and Bree and Aleta combined are more than enough to easily dispel them.
Quick footsteps reach my ears—one of the survivors of this war. I brace myself to stand as still as possible in order to allow Bree and Aleta to wield their elements around me with the greatest ease.
There’s no need: it’s Lilia.
Her clothing is ripped, and there’s a thin slice across her left cheek, the blood still wet and glistening. Her sword is in her hand, but without immediate danger, her arm hangs relaxed at her side. She turns, looking one way down the hallway, and then she glances in our direction.
Seeing me, her eyes shoot wide. Her swords drops to the ground with a clatter, and she sprints toward us, slamming into me with a fierce embrace, gripping my shoulders close. My body throbs with the collision, but I do my best to return the ferocity of the grasp.
“I thought you’d died,” she says, barely a whisper into my ear.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I grunt around the pain.
She laughs, pulling away to swat at me and swipe at her eyes. Her attention transfers to Aleta. “Tregle?” she checks.
Aleta suppresses the emotion in her eyes. “Safe.”
“What about—”
“Where—” My question collides with Bree’s, and I motion for her to speak first. “Where’s Jospuhr?” she asks.
Lilia nods back toward her dropped sword. “I saw to that one myself. Langdon must not have cared what happened to him. I found him pounding on the doors of the ballroom, begging to be let inside.”
So Lilia was right about Jospuhr all along, then.
“And my father?” I ask Lilia quietly, studying the cut on her cheek. It’s shallow, but she’ll probably brag over the scar when it heals.
Lilia jerks her head back down the hallway. “Langdon’s in the ballroom. But Caden…” She hesitates. “Something’s not right with him.”
Bree nods. “I forgot to tell him.” She turns to me, eyes searching, and she takes my hand in hers. “Langdon’s figured it out. When we saw him in the throne room, he…” Like Lilia, Bree hesitates, trailing off, not sure how to break the news to me. “Caden, your father Torched. And Threw. Something’s been wrong with him for a very long time, but that sort of bending of someone’s natural abilities is only making him more unstable.”
My heart twists inside of me. I’d expected no less, but, somehow, hearing it is worse than I expected.
A quake rocks the ground beneath our feet, and all of us exchange glances. “Everett?” Lilia asks warily.
“Dead,” Bree says. She shakes her head. “This isn’t him.”
She and Aleta communicate with a single look. “It could be Jospuhr’s Shakers,” Aleta says. Not even she sounds convinced.
“Think they’ve got the time to be causing quakes? Half of them are busy fighting each other,” Lilia says.
“You’re thinking it’s Langdon.” Bree swears quietly. “You think he can Shake, too?”
“Think of Lady Katerine and Elena,” I say. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone possessed powers over multiple elements. Rare as it is, my father has made it a point not to allow the rules to apply to him. If he’s managed to get himself one element, he’ll have given himself the power to control them all.”
I turn and look down the hallway, toward the direction of the ballroom and Jospuhr’s still corpse. “You know my father,” I say grimly. “When has he ever done anything halfway?”
Thirty-Two
Bree
Lilia volunteers to guard the door, preventing anyone else from running to Langdon’s aid.
“I’ll do something with the bastard’s body, too,” she says, nodding grimly towards Jospuhr’s lifeless form. Her mouth works for a moment, searching for words. She shakes her head, failing to find them. She smiles at us without humor and settles on saying simply, “You lot be careful— well. As careful as you can, anyway.”
So Aleta, Caden, and I walk inside, slowly descending the staircase that will deposit us in the ballroom. Our footsteps echo in the empty hall, and I turn, taking in the room that had once been so daunting.
The glass has been replaced. Through its clear shine, the sun begins to rise over the ocean, setting the waves on fire. Smoke from the city drifts through the air—faint, but unmistakeable.
“Could Lilia have been mistaken?” Aleta asks, looking around. She lifts a brow in my direction. “There’s no one here.”
Warily, I continue to turn my head, searching for the king.
Caden pulls a hand through his hair, face drawn. “It wouldn’t be like her to send us on a fruitless hunt,” he says. “If my father isn’t in here, perhaps he’s in the kitchen. Come on. I want to get this over with.”
He heads for the hall and the kitchens and Aleta follows him, but I don’t move.
There’s something…not right in this room. I spin in a slow circle, trying to work it out. The ballroom is empty. The waves at the foot of the castle froth beneath the cliffs, waiting for a command from me.
But there’s water in the room, screaming for my attention, too. And it isn’t coming from my canteen.
I may have missed it once or not known what to do, but I’ve had training now. The water is human-shaped.
“I see you’ve worked out how the Nereids stayed hidden all these years,” I say loudly. Aleta and Caden look startled, turning back toward me.
“Breena, what—” Aleta starts as I make a fist and pull.
The water drops to the tile floor with a splash, puddling around Langdon’s feet. He smiles, adjusting his crown and straightening his cape. “Lady Breena. You have been studying, haven’t you?”
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
Langdon ignores this. “Son,” he greets Caden. His eyes move lazily over Caden’s form. “Your color has returned. You look well.”
No thanks to him. He would have left Caden to rot like an old apple on Everett’s tree until the crows came to peck him apart.
Caden’s hand spasms at his side. “Father,” he returns.
“Have you come to surrender?” Langdon blinks and cocks his head to the side.
“No.” Aleta steps forward. “It is our hope that you will choose to. Your city lies in ruins. Bodies are strewn about your halls. Prevent further casualties and cede your throne to Caden.” She says the next part with difficulty. It’s like rocks weigh down her tongue and clog her throat. “If you surrender, we will allow you to live out your days in incarceration.”
Langdon has the audacity to laugh. “Allow me? I am the King of Egria.”
“You should count yourself lucky I don’t Torch you where you stand,” she hisses, losing the shred of composure she’d maintained. “Caden will be ten times the king you ever were.”
He lifts his chin. “That boy isn’t worthy to inherit my kingdom.”
“You were never worthy to rule it,” I spit.
“The people of Egria deserve better, Father,” Caden continues. “Do right by them now.”
“All of us deserve better,” Aleta says. Her eyes stab at Langdon. “And if you won’t step aside to give the people what they deserve, then you will leave us no choice but to take it from you by force.”
Langdon’s lips curve. “You may try.”
His palm whips out, fire flung free of his palms. I leap back, startled, Aleta diving in front of me. I hadn’t expected him to make such an abrupt attack. Aleta furrows her brows, fingers working in a fury to return the flame to him.
The lash of fire wisps away into smoke as Langdon dodges the blow.
So that’s why he sits in this room, unescorted, I think, gritting my teeth. He thinks he doesn’t need any guards. That he can
protect himself.
I look forward to proving him wrong.
I turn to Caden, and he gives me a nod, his eyes filled with an emotion that I can’t even begin to fathom as he looks at his father. But Caden knows his limits in the wake of his return to consciousness. He pulls back to the edges of the empty ballroom to let Aleta and I engage with his father. He can’t hope to be effective in a clash of the elements, and Langdon won’t hear anything from him.
He’s here as a witness. That’s all.
Langdon disregards our small preparations and addresses me directly. “You recall this room, Lady Breena?”
I ignore the trembling of my insides as I meet his cool gray gaze. “I do,” I say shortly.
“You recall what happened here?”
“What will happen again, if you don’t surrender,” I say.
My fingers twitch at my hip, itching for action. I could never forget what happened here. In the midst of a birthday banquet supposedly for Aleta, I’d Revealed as a Water Elemental. The ocean had crashed through the glass, soaking the ballroom in the dead of night. The waves had reached for the banquet’s attendees and attempted to drag them to the rocks below.
“The glass can’t stop the waves, Langdon,” I tell him. “I broke it once. And that was when I was untrained. I’ve come a long way since then.”
“‘The glass can’t stop the waves,’” he repeats, a finger to his lips in thought. “Strange.” His gaze lifts to the ceiling, and then he tilts his head at the restored floor-to-ceiling windows. “Can’t it?”
Langdon does nothing without a reason. I follow his gaze beyond the glass to the sea, painted red with the rising sun. Langdon knows something I don’t, but I reach for the waves anyway, drawing them to me like I’m pulling slowly on a rope.
A bolt of shock goes through me when the waves heed my call, only to be blocked by the glass. The water beats fruitlessly against the glass, like tapping on a door.
Ineffectual. With no one to answer it.
Fall of Thrones and Thorns Page 19
