Reed swallows again and nods. "Roan said the same thing to Airlie on the night of the battle at Yregar, that his mother was watching over them and their small son and that she would ensure nothing would harm them. She waits in Elysium with their first son, holding all of them safely within her magic even now.”
I let the barrier slip away from us, the night clearing around us once more just in time to see the outer gates close behind a horse-drawn wagon. The perimeter of poison has been laid. Shouts ring out through the air, unintelligible to me, but Reed leans forward in his seat as he looks out at the long lines of buildings climbing into the air in the city.
The footsteps of the witches are a low humming murmur as they trample everything within their path. Thousands of raving soldiers, traveling for hundreds of miles, powered by their insanity and ideology.
There are a dozen different strategies we could’ve employed if we had more time and resources but, for now, as I look around, Yrell’s survival hinges on the integrity of the wall. Built a millennia ago by the First Fae, it’s never been breached before.
That's going to have to be enough.
CHAPTER NINE
Soren
The scent of Rooke’s burning flesh lingers in the air, driving me further into my blood-soaked fury as my grasp on sanity slips.
Oblivious to the new danger his household faces, Yrell’s prince dismounts and orders his horse to be tended to, arrogance lacing every word. When a group of his soldiers give up their pretense of respect and chuckle amongst themselves about the state of Rooke’s hands after she touched the poison-soaked iron, Mercer’s lip twitches upwards, and the last of my patience snaps.
I take two steps in the direction of their laughter, my hands already fists at my sides, because I need their blood on my knuckles to slake some of this churning rage, but Roan cuts my advance off to save their pathetic hides.
Tyton curses so viciously that Mercer stops his hasty retreat, pausing on the courtyard steps to look back at what could’ve caused my cousin’s outburst. He can hear his soldiers as well as we can, he just doesn’t find anything wrong with what they’re saying.
As he swaggers toward them with a smile on his face, they all stare at the Snowsong prince with apprehension and thinly veiled distrust. His golden eyes may set him apart from every other high fae, but the strength of his bloodline is indisputable. He outranks everyone in this courtyard except Mercer and I, and even Mercer would hesitate before crossing the heir of Fates Mark.
“I don’t know why you’re all laughing so hard at a female’s injuries, especially when it’s your lives that are forfeit if we choose to abandon Yrell for your insults. The Ravenswyrd Mother is risking her life to protect hundreds of thousands of high fae lives within this city at the risk of her own fate, and for a kingdom that would happily cut off her head merely for the silver in her eyes.”
One of the soldiers is dumb enough to sneer at Roan, his tone dripping with disgust. “The battle isn’t going to be won by a witch! No matter her fate, their kind are no match for the high fae.”
Roan shifts on his feet, a careful and calculated movement as silence falls around him. Slowly, as though we’re not balanced on the edge of Kharl’s siege, he looks each of the soldiers over as though assessing them only to find them all wanting.
With a cold smirk of his own, he says, “How about you step into the sparring ring with that ‘pathetic little witch’ and we see just how superior you truly are against her kind? After the battle is won, of course, by your future king’s command and the guidance of his Fates-blessed mate.”
The soldier rolls his shoulders back, not enjoying Roan’s challenge, but his gaze flicks in my direction as I approach them both before he bows at me in submission. “I would never bring harm to Prince Soren’s Fates-blessed mate or the future of our kingdom. My loyalty lies with the true Celestial line.”
Mercer’s gaze is searing as he takes in every inch of me standing there, dressed for war to defend his home and birthright as though it were my own, but I ignore him entirely.
Instead, a cold smirk stretches over my lips as I lean into the soldier and enjoy the tension that fills him as he fights the urge to shrink away from my ire. “I don't think there’s any risk of harm befalling her in that match. Not even if you clutched your sword and she had nothing but her hands and her wits.”
A ruddy flush slashes over the soldier’s cheeks, the sharp lines of the high-fae bone structure only making the color stand out more boldly, but before his household can react, Mercer lifts a hand for quiet and calls out, “The witches are upon us, and if you waste time standing around gossiping, then Yrell will surely fall. Move as you have been commanded and fight as though every second is your last. If our city falls, all is lost.”
The courtyard bursts back into hurried movement as though the Fates themselves have spoken, the whispers silenced for now, though I suspect it won’t take long for them to begin once more.
I take the stairs up the inner wall two at a time, ignoring Mercer's final calls for attention as he retreats into the castle. Following the soldier who thinks himself good enough to defeat Rooke, I make short work of the trip, and the battlement empties at my arrival. It’s not my intention to kill the soldier, or even to speak to the idiot, but he blanches and scurries away like a gutless worm as I find a good vantage point. Below us, the city prepares to defend itself should the outer wall fall.
“The witcheswane covers everything, Your Highness. Every stone in the city is slick with it, just as you commanded.”
Yrell’s commander stands with his chest puffed out and a conceited grin on his face, the polished and unmarred plate of leatherbound iron looking more ceremonial than functional on the male as he waits for my approval. The rest of the soldiershere are far less jovial, aware that, while Mercer and his most trusted males might be safe enough within the confines of their bloodlines, the rest of them are not. The front lines are a very different task when you’re the ones manning them.
I didn’t need the commander to tell me the poison is everywhere; the stink of it fills my lungs with every breath until I’m sure I’ll never be rid of it. Every surface between the two walls of Yrell glows amber in the light cast by the soldiers’ torches, the darkening of the stones of the walls a warning as clear as the slick danger of the cobblestones beneath our feet. Witcheswane fills every last one of my senses, and a steady beat of dread thrums inside me.
Not for the first time, I push at the barrier Rooke placed between our connection but to no avail.
Frustration burns me, but there’s no time to seek her out or send Roan to check on her. Turning on my heel without dismissing the commander, I look past him at the castle and the streams of high fae flowing into the doors to seek refuge there in the final hours before the siege. Too many wear armor, too many are choosing to hide rather than defend their home and the kingdom.
Mercer himself was eager to relinquish the strategy and warfare to me, though that had nothing to do with my competence or abilities. Any Celestial royal could’ve ridden into the city and taken command of the defense with his blessing, the cowardly prince content to lead his household from the depths of his castle and far from the bloodshed.
As my gaze lingers on those bodies shoving at each other to get into the castle, something brutal and wild wakes within me. This is the true measure of how far we’ve fallen. No remnant of the First Fae and their glory to be seen, great enough that the fae folk followed them into the kingdoms to live under their rule.
Prince Mercer didn't even open Yrell Castle’s great hall to his people.
