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Warriors across the realms secured blades—seax, axes, short blades, bows, arrows. Halvar Atra barked his commands at the Ettan warriors. Kase and Malin were more subtle, tucked close with their thievish kind of people; likely they were trading schemes, ploys, tricks, any sort of idea the Eastern realms might have.
Then, there was Gorm and Cuyler and the lord of the Serpent Court. The skinny young fae who’d pleaded for sanctuary with the Court of Blood so long ago had thickened to a man. A beard coated his face, and he was clearly respected by his forest folk.
Ari and Saga spoke with the Rave. I grinned. Many of the warriors leveled Saga with the respect of their personal royal. She was, after all, once their princess.
Odd to see the crossover. True, the royals addressed their own folk, but there were a great many who had started to behave like our army was one entity.
It was. For we were one, at long last; the people of the fae realms were one again. No jealousy pitted us against each other for having different abilities. No order of who held more power. We were one people, with different talents, different strengths, all of us were fighting for our freedom.
“Archers.” Herja Ferus, donned in battle fatigues and leather straps for her bows and knives, stomped in front of the line of warriors. “We take the towers. We will be the ones defending the palace of Hus Rose. Not one damn sea fae gets through.”
Gunnar Strom followed his mother. Playful and sly in most instances, Gunnar looked closer to a damn assassin. Donned in black from head to foot, his hair was covered in a black cowl, and on his neck was a black fabric that could be pulled over his mouth.
A thieving prince, born of Etta, but Kryv in his heart.
Beside them, Valen helped Elise fasten her sheath a little tighter to her belt. She secured the braids of his hair to ensure nothing fell in his eyes. Valen’s father looked at me across the hall.
My pulse quickened as he approached.
Arvad Ferus looked a great deal like his sons, but for piercings in his ears, and a bit more scruff on his chin than Sol and Valen. “I was told the truth only this morning.”
I swallowed thickly. “Disconcerting, isn’t it?”
“You could say that.” Arvad rested a hand on the hilt of his blade. “I remember the storyteller who guided my mother. I will never forget Greta. Which is the real you?”
“This.” I gestured to my figure. “I have always been me, merely different faces in different times.”
Arvad crossed his arms over his chest. “I never knew such power existed, but I am glad we had you on our side.”
“I am glad for the same now.”
The former king scanned the hall. Time was fleeting. Warriors were in their final leathers. Blades were secure. Soon, we’d stand at the gates.
“How is Lilianna?” I asked.
Arvad dragged a hand down his face, worry written in every line. “Sleeping. But all our cursed fell into a strange sleep when the kingdom shifted. Niklas says we wait to see if his elixir clears the dark glamour in her blood. I am told it takes time. I am told I will need to be patient. Anyone tells me that again, I might kill them.”
I offered a look of sympathy. “I hope when she wakes, her world will once more be safe again.”
I hoped we were all alive.
A horn echoed over the hall. Halvar stepped in front of the doors that would lead us to the gates.
“Four kingdoms have united this day to fight common enemies, but we have always been united. We all know the truth of our world. We all know what has brought us here. Alvers, Night Folk, blood fae, mortals, we all stand together to fight for our kingdom. One land. One people.”
On the final word he raised his sword and the hall erupted into cheers and roars. From the isles of the South to the peaks of the North, folk raised their blades, ready to bleed, to die, for the freedom every bleeding soul deserved.
“Come with me for a moment.” Silas took hold of my hand and ushered me to an alcove in a hallway that led to the staircase to the upper floors. From the narrow space, he removed a blade wrapped in fur. “I have saved this for you.”
“What is it?”
“It was Annon’s. He gave it to me before the king cast his curse, knowing what would happen. He wanted you to have it when you took your place in this fight.”
The blade was made of fine bronze toned steel. Black, polished onyx lined the hilt and guard, and silver lined the edges. A stunning weapon. Not too heavy it would ache in my grip too soon, but made to strike, and strike hard. Behind it, Silas took out a short blade and blacksteel dagger.
“And those?”
He smirked. “These were mine.”
