Page 76 of Queen of War and Ruin

No one bothers to disagree. Even Laurance looks uneasy as his army spreads out thinly across the ground, a ragged line of grooms and chefs and attendants all wearing bright, clean uniforms.

“Guards,” Malrik announces, his voice cheerful. “Please tell Lord Varitan we’re ready for him.”

Malrik turns back to Prince Laurance with a smile. “This should be interesting,” he says.

Chapter 40

Zarek

SURRENDER

The guards will probably kill me if I punch their precious Prince Laurance.

It might still be worth it. That fucking idiot, thinking putting palace servants in matching uniforms makes them an army. Is that what he thinks the word army means? Gods above, what does he think war is?

Rage simmers in my chest, and my hands curl into fists. The men of Vsenrog spread across the field as dawn fills the sky. It might look chaotic to someone like Laurance, but it’s clear to me how they’re organized by regiment. How they’re sorting themselves according to a plan.

How the army of Vsenrog is preparing to attack the castle of Ethiria.

I clench my jaw to keep from scowling at Malrik. He doesn’t even need his army, for fuck’s sake. A handful of guards could probably take this whole castle. Laurance’s collection of nicely dressed and poorly trained servants will fold like a house of cards once they’re attacked.

No, Malrik isn’t setting up a battle.

He’s setting up a slaughter.

A murmur rises behind me, and I turn toward the door. A figure approaches the balcony, someone tall, moving with graceful deliberation. I step back, my heart trembling in my throat, and turn to Lilias, wishing there was something I could do to hide her from view.

And then the elf who came out of the mountain’s heart steps onto the balcony. Varitan.

My skin prickles as he walks past me, and nasty memories turn the back of my mouth bitter. Fyrris, the man in white, pulling a silver chain from his robes. The unearthly burn of whatever dark energy that chain held pouring through my body as I screamed. The rock wall melting in front of me. Magic, Fyrris called it. Before the elf murdered him.

I clench my fist until my fingernails bite into my palm. I can’t show fear. You don’t run from a predator.

“Ah,” King Malrik declares, smiling widely. “Welcome, Master Varitan.”

The tall man dips his head slightly. He’s wearing a strange, wide hat, something that covers the long, curving taper of his ears. Still, I don’t see how anyone could mistake him for human.

The cold, calculating part of my mind that’s kept me alive for so long in Vsenrog’s royal court wonders why the damn elf is even here. Varitan said in the Dragon Mine that he bowed to no one. I told him everything I could about Malrik before he abandoned me without so much as a thank you. Still, Varitan clearly joined the king of Vsenrog. Either they have similar goals, or the elf is using Malrik to further his own ends. I’d guess the latter.

Varitan walks to the edge of the balcony and frowns at the scene below him. The wind carries scattered fragments of conversation past us, buoyed on the smoke from Vsenrog’s fires. No one speaks. Finally, Varitan turns to King Malrik with a look that almost seems disappointed.

“I was led to believe,” Varitan says, in his flat voice with its strange, clipped accent, “there would be an army.”

Malrik laughs like this is a fantastic joke. Varitan does not. Prince Laurance looks confused, and his father has gone as pale as the snow on those distant mountaintops.

“Well,” Malrik finally responds. “We have to start somewhere.”

Varitan sniffs, then turns toward me. I shiver as his cold, pale eyes meet mine. His lips curve into a sinister smile before he turns to the guards.

“Who is king here?” Varitan asks.

For a heartbeat, no one answers. The wind howls across the balcony.

“I am king,” Laurance’s father finally answers.

Varitan sniffs again, like he disapproves.

“And do you surrender?” Varitan asks.