Reed’s next stream of curses are cut off by the path before us finally widening, revealing a cluster of high fae guards huddled together in a haggard state. I don’t take notice of the path or what more of the forest is within the larger space. The moment they turn to face us, eyes wide and manic, their focus centers on my wife and my grip on my sanity breaks at once.
The thrumof my heartbeat in my ears drowns out the sounds of the regent’s guards pleading with the Fates to grantthem mercy as I cut them down. Only the last two have the opportunity to draw their swordsand actually swing the steel in my direction, using their fellow soldiers' deaths to their own advantage but it does nothing for them. No matter of minutes all that is left of the males is the heat of their blood against my face, their throats slit, stomachs run through, and their blood pouring into the earth a sacrifice.
Welcome home,the trees whisper to me,you have brought our Favored Child home, you spillblood of the Betrayers to honor us. Welcome home, Soren Celestial.
Each of the forests speak distinctly, each of the ancient woodlands bearing its’ own history and purpose within the kingdom, but none of the differences are quite so striking as the Blood Valley but deep within Soren’s bones he feels howrightthat is. The purpose of this forest, andthe reason the trees brought forth the coven in the first place, is explanation enough. Why shouldn’t the trees be protected? Why shouldn’t it take the blood and magic it deserves, when those who give it now have taken so much from us all?
Let the blood pour, wash the kingdom clean of the Betrayer’s rot, start anew with fresh blood.
Singing their praises of my work, the trees consume the guards’ blood faster than it pours from their bodies. The churned-up ground is eager to accept the sacrifice I give it, and thoughthe trees accept it all gladly, the ache within the forest doesn’t abate. The high fae have taken so much from the land and from these trees, the price must now be paid.
My chest heaving, and my sword still gripped tightly in my hand, I turn at the sound of more footsteps and the hold on my senses, precarious as it is, keeps me rooted on the spot only as long as it takes to find more of the regent’s guards heading our way. Tauron snarls out my name but with a firm kick Nightsparkis leaping over the bodies of the fallen guards, the trees eager to add more to the piles.
Swing—slash—hack.
Months of holding myself back, even as every fiber of my being demanded I strike, it all comes bursting out of me as a roar of fury echos within the bounds of the shield, and the males who came here today to kill my alliesbear the price of that restraint. My sword is painted red, coated and dripping, as the forest eggs me on with a righteous demand I refuse to ignore.
“What in theasheshas happened to him? What evil has been cast to overcome him like this?”
When the last of the guards fall from my sword before me, I turn to look towards the unfamiliar voice and find more goblin soldiers have joined our ranks. Less than a third of a battalion, it's the female standing in the center who spoke and now stares at me with a guarded expression.
With her helmet tucked beneath her arm and the black steel plates of armorspattered with an unholy amount of gore and mud, Rhosh is everything and nothing like Soren had presumed Gideon’s Fates-blessed wife would be. For one, even sitting atop her horse it's clear she’s at least a head shorter than Rooke. She's also a part blood; with white-blonde hair braided much like Cerson’s falling over her shoulder and a glow to her green hued skin it only takes me a second to hazard a guess.It's clear she has more than a little pixie heritage, the deep purple hue to her eyes is an obvious marker.
While she's busy making her own assessment of me, her piebold maresnaps its teeth in Nightspark’s direction as though looking for a fight. Gage groans under his breath, a deeply frustrated noise, before he whistles through his teeth and the mare straightens back up obediently.
“You're spoiling her again, Rhosh, you'll only live to regret it when Celestial’s beast takes a chunk out of her neck. Nightsparkonly likes his Prince, the Favored Child, and her own mare. Gideon and I learned that well on our return to Yregar.”
She shoots him an irritated look but it's over before it starts when her gaze swings back to me. “I think we have far greater issues to contend with than Pom’s terrible attitude this evening. Like perhaps the trueCelestial heir falling into a blood haze, an act I didn’t think was possible! What dark depths of a wyvern pit have the bloodwitches cooked up this time? Ghastly things!”
Pain blooms in my chest at once, the song of the forest amplifying the ache tenfold, and its edges are sharp enough that I raise a blood-soaked fist to press against the steel of my breastplate, the pressure helping some. From the corner of my eye, I see Rooke doing the same, the golden sword now sheathed at her side.
Cerson pushes her horse forward, catching the goblin soldiers’ attention as she directs a frosty smile at Rhosh. “I must disagree, Briarfrost. I’d be far less concerned with the defense Prince Soren is waging on your behalf and far more mindful of how you speak of witches within their own home, if I were you.”
Gideon glances between the two females as he directs his horse to his wife's side, reaching out to take her hand in his own, undeterred by her gauntlets as they no doubt get in the way. “Beloved, I'm relieved to find you alive and well.”
It takes me a moment to realize he's speaking in the goblin tongue and yet, with our mind connection open the way it is, Rooke doesn't have to translate the words for me to understand them now, the meaning slipping easily between us.
The surly look to Rhosh’s eyes softens a little as she lets out a shaky sigh, but the news isn’t good. “We’ve lost almost a hundred soldiers so far, and a dozen of the fae folk we came to bring aid. The raving armies were easy enough to dispatch once we stowed thefae folk within the safety of Banshee’s Call,but then the regent’s bastards arrived, more of them with every passing hour, andbloodwitches stand within their ranks.”
She lets out another breath, this one long and slow, before she turns back to Cerson and bows her head to her, switching to the Unseelie common tongue once more. “My apology, Mother Elmswyrd, I let my grief get the better of me. Too many good soldiers lost at the hands of witches who can't walk amongst their own trees anymore, such as their betrayal. We were forced to move the fae folk into the Blood Valley because it proved the only place to escape their magic.”
This catches Rooke's attention. “They’re wielding blood magic here? Is that how your soldiers died?”
The female stiffens in her saddle, shifting awkwardly before answering in a halting tone. “Yes, Mother Ravenswyrd, there are a dozen Betrayers amongst the regent’s guards here. Most of them have clearly lost their connection to the forest and their blood magic is waning, but even a scrap of that power is deadly to most.”
The anger that lights up within Rooke almost sends me back into the hazy blood rage, the forest’s demands still running through my own veins. She’s silent and as still as death in her saddle as Rhosh tells her tale of woe over again, only this time with more detail. Tauron and Gage map out where the forces are surrounding us and plan out how to recover the rest of the goblin soldiers and the fae they’re protecting, before finding a way back out of the forest without coming across another bloodwitch.
Cerson and I both watch Rooke carefully, the only two who know of the devastating heartache that bloodwitch has caused my Fates-blessed wife. It's clear she hasn't heard a word said around her when she finally speaks to me.
I would never do anything that would risk your life or our shared fate. I’ve walked the path set out before me by the Fates themselves with steady feet; this decision isn’t a hasty one.Baylor Fray cannot be left wielding blood magic against the innocent fae in the kingdom any longer.
I look up to meet her gaze and find that whatever goodwill I’ve gained with the forests of the kingdom to now hear their songs, they love the Favored Child far more. There's an aura around her now that glows with ancient power, the natural flush to her cheeks thanks to the cold deepens until the possessive heat ignites within me once more, only heightened by the resolve in the silver depths of her eyes. Her decision is made; I can go with her or I can leave her to her task, but nothing will change that she rides to the vengeance of her family.
The Fates may have given you alone Kharl Balzog’s death but I would never leave you to face that son of a pixie-whore on you own. Foryour family’s blood spilled, we'll let the forest take its fill.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
Rooke
