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Properly chastised, Gunnar tilted his head, and offered for Niklas and Junie to go first.
I sprinted ahead. Nerves rattled in my skull. All I could think was that Ari remained at the whims of our protection. He’d hate it, but right now, he was utterly helpless.
I hadn’t deduced which of us Davorin wanted most. If Hawthorne and Yarrow wanted to keep playing their bleeding games, then they were surely here for one of us. It wouldn’t be Ari, not if I had anything to do with it.
Tonight, I needed to be the queen. I needed to command. If not for the innocent people in the Court of Blood, then for my husband.
I took the wooden steps leading to the newly built center tower, two at a time.
“Raise your blades!” I shouted. Blood fae warriors met their commanders’ calls for attention. They lifted their bone blades, their silver axes, their arrows. I leaned over the rail, breathless. “Defend your people. Those who come against us here, mark them as enemies and never let them escape your sights.”
Blood fae bellowed a cry, and the heavy thud of boots over the rocky soil shook through my bones.
I shoved my way into the box tower and nearly slammed into Gorm’s thick body.
“My Queen.” Gorm tilted his head, then pointed into the night. “Serpent horns sounded a call.”
“They’ve come to fight?” I squinted into the darkness, unable to make out anything but a faint gleam of what seemed to be a swinging lantern.
“At this point,” Gorm said, “best to believe everyone wants to fight.”
Along the platforms that stretched between the watch towers, those closest to me spread out. Gunnar and Eryka both lifted bows with arrows at the ready. Calista leaned lazily over the spiked posts, a knife gripped blade down. Stefan, all at once, stood like a warrior. Where he’d gotten a bronze seax, I didn’t know, but the way his stance was wide for a firmer foundation, the way he gripped the hilt, proved he knew how to use it better than I thought.
Frey, Stieg, and Niklas stood in a row. The Elixist had a pouch in his hand, no blade, but for a man like him, steel wasn’t always needed.
“Movement,” Gorm said, pointing toward a cluster of evergreen trees. “There.”
“Hold steady,” I called out.
Down the line, commanders repeated the words. The shuffle of boots faded. The clang of swords ebbed. The scrape of leather guarders waned. Heavy quiet enveloped the blood court. All that could be heard was the soft intake of breath, followed by slow exhalation.
I leaned forward. I didn’t blink; the air stung my eyes. I didn’t breathe; an ache burned in my chest. Then, the lantern light broke through the branches.
A child? I slumped slightly as breath flooded from my mouth. A girl with ears furred on the end and wild knots tangled in her dark hair emerged from the shadows. Behind her, another child escaped. A boy, similarly disheveled, missing one boot, and dirt tracked on his face from tears.
More children appeared. Some older, some younger. Sobs and hiccups drifted to the gates, until I recognized the final face, a young man, all skin and bones, with golden whisps of curls around his pierced ears, and a bundle of furs in his arms.
Magus lifted his eyes, the dark slits down the shocking green pulsed at the sight of weapons aimed at the horde. He looked like a weakened, battered Hawthorne. When he found me in the crowd, the heir of the serpent court winced.
“Please.” His voice broke. “Let us in.”
“Lord Magus,” Gorm answered in my stead. “Why not seek refuge in your own court?”
“Lord Gorm,” Magus said, holding the bundle in his arms a little tighter. “I beg of you, grant my brothers and sisters refuge. If you do not trust me, please, at least take the littles.”
“No, Mag!” The boy with one boot rushed at his brother and clung to his leg, sobbing. “Don’t go.”
Magus shifted the furs to one arm and held his younger brother against his leg with his other. He cleared his throat and looked back to the blood lord. “The Court of Serpents has . . .” Magus paused, he blinked too many times. “The Court of Serpents is lost to the isles.”
Blood heated my face. The brood of Hawthorne and Yarrow huddled together, crying or comforting each other. Magus hushed an infant’s tiny whimper. Three hells, Yarrow’s child had been born. It could not have been more than a few days ago.
“We cannot know if you are tainted by our enemies,” Gorm said. To others it would sound as though the blood lord was being practical, unfeeling as a leader must be at times to defend his people.
This close, I heard the difference. The rattle in his throat, the way his pale eyes tracked the dirty, exhausted faces of the serpent heirs.
“Saga.” Niklas pushed his way through the warriors to me. “These littles, what do you think of them? Who are they?”
“They are the children of the Lord and Lady of the Court of Serpents,” I explained. “Their parents are the ones who . . . made it so Ari and I had no choice but to take vows.”
