Chapter 3
3
A ven struggled under the weight of the pack strapped to her back and, rather than complain, she swallowed hard and kept those thoughts to herself. She pushed forward at a faster clip than the soldiers around her to prove to them she deserved to lead them.
Their destination lay outside the walls of the castle at the base of the foothills in the distance. A far enough distance to make carrying so many supplies by herself a hassle and an exercise in endurance.
Whatever it took, she thought with her teeth gritted, to show her men she took her responsibilities seriously. And although her father wasn’t here, to prove it to him as well.
Her battalion, along with several others, was primed to stage a strategic campout beyond the main field stretching away from the hills. They’d chosen the perfect place to ambush the oncoming army and now had several hours between their moonlit trek and the first rays of light to get their camp set and maneuver their men into position.
The approaching Mourningvale battalions wouldn’t expect it. She and General Hunter calculated that the fae would anticipate the bulk of the Grimrose armies would stay behind the walls of the citadel to protect the royal family. While the majority of their people would stay with the city to defend the borders, it made sense for several arms of their forces to circle the field. They’d cut off the fae to make escape impossible and ambush them from all sides.
The night hid Aven’s secret smile.
The plan was good, solid.
She’d gone over every detail with Hunter before heading down to help her men pack.
In addition to her weapons, her supply pack held extra ammunition for the magical rifles along with medical supplies and fresh water. She’d strapped her wand to the holster on her hip for easy access.
Darkness hid their exodus from the city. A thin sliver of silver moonlight gave them just enough light to pick their way across the field, sticking off the road. Strands of desiccated and dying tree trunks gave them cover, but each step brought with it a sense of foreboding.
As hard as they tried to anticipate their enemy’s movement, no strategy was ever perfect.
There was always a threat of discovery or, if the fae were truly as farsighted as they claimed to be, an ambush of their own.
Aven pushed the worry aside, breath exploding out of her lungs. Her overworked leg muscles forged ahead tirelessly. Another thirty minutes and they’d reach the clearing. She held on to hope of success because it helped her focus, and because she had no choice. This was her plan and she wanted to lead it.
“Do we need to stop and take a break?” Major Stone observed from several feet to her left. His distinctive drawl marked him even though she couldn’t see his face. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, Princess.”
She was tempted to agree with him and opened her mouth to say yes, she’d love to stop for a moment to catch her breath.
But no.
It was imperative they make their way to the camp. If they didn’t make camp, then it would all be a waste, and they risked being overpowered by the enemy.
Aven shook her head, her braid trapped by the pack and pulling at her temples. “We keep going, Major Stone,” she murmured. “It won’t be long now.”
Her battalion was only one of a handful, and she trusted the others to get in place. Mercifully, Major Stone made no more comments on her well-being, trusting Aven to know the limits of her own body.
He didn’t understand. The pressures of war, and the responsibilities to not only the men on the field but to their families, yes; those were things they had in common. Things he knew intimately.
But the pressures of marriage? Of duties to the crown and to an entire kingdom? They marked her for a different destiny than any of the men or officers.
She forced her legs to move when they shook and wanted to turn to jelly. The muscles in her back and shoulders were stiff, yet pausing would cost them time they did not have.
Damn it.
How many more of these battles could she realistically endure? Aven tensed her jaw and forged ahead. As many as possible to prove to her father she could do more than sit on a chair and be a good wife.
By the time they made it to the clearing, the ring of trees opening up to the sky and giving them an impressive view of the constellations overhead, she wanted to drop. Only a few hours of sleep and double that hiking across the ravaged land… how would she be able to don her sword and fight? Or work her wand?
Aven dropped the pack with a dull thud and turned to see the rest of her men staking out the space. They moved as a unit, mechanically. Within minutes, several fabric barriers were erected, hastily risen and just as easy to dismantle once the battle finished.
If it finished.
They anticipated Mourningvale to move with the rising sun, to storm the castle and make an attempt to break the iron gates wide open. With every fight the fae had moved closer and closer, centering their attacks in a clear pattern.
There was always a margin of error with these things. The fae might decide to attack sooner, later… camping made sense, hidden behind fabric that blended with their surroundings.
Several of the soldiers erected a separate blind for Aven, though she preferred to do it herself. There were no subjects here to bow to her every whim. On this turf, they were equal—well, in theory.
She dropped to her knees, bone cracking with the movement, and forced her arms to undo the leather straps keeping the contents of the pack in place.
They stayed ahead of the thunderstorm. Or rather, the ominous clouds promising a bruising rain remained beyond the distant ridgeline of the rocky hills surrounding Grimrose on three sides.
The mountain range made protecting the kingdom easier, creating a funneling effect right to their front gates. At least, it had in the past.
The fae were growing bolder.
She reached into the pack and grabbed a bottle before popping off the lid and taking a giant swig. Cool water calmed the burning in her throat, part exertion, part worry.
Their new wave of attacks, their increased physical strength and their inherent magic made continuing this war almost impossible for normal humans. Not against a magical foe, even with their wands and guns.
Humans like Aven, without a choice, who knew they needed to make the most of their skills while they still had the opportunity.
At once, a shout rang out across the camp.
The sole voice rising in alarm was the only warning they received before an arrow shot straight through her blind and dug a deep groove into the trunk at her back. Blind panic brought white spots across her vision and for half a heartbeat, she couldn’t move.
The fae were here .
Aven scrambled to her feet, reaching for her sword and drawing it before she moved away from the blind. Already, within seconds, the camp had gone from organization to pure chaos. Her narrowed eyes scanned the face, assessing the issue before lurching into battle.
They’d been ambushed.
Somehow, her plans must have leaked, the enemy getting wind of the human’s plan. Or perhaps the fae were once again blessed with the gift of Sight and already ten steps ahead.
A second arrow whizzed near her head close enough to ruffle her hair. A shudder worked its way along her spine and for half a heartbeat—all she could spare—pure terror rippled through her.
The fae were nightmares made flesh. Their hammered silver and gold armor caught the dim light, making them shine like vengeful gods. Their weapons pulsed an eerie blue, reeking of magic far beyond mortal means. They poured into the camp from all sides and left no room for escape.
Her battalion was surrounded.
Aven’s world narrowed to the warrior before her, bow drawn, arrow aimed at her heart. Their eyes locked. His nostrils flared. The arrow flew. She ducked, avoiding the hit and rearing up with her sword at the ready, all uncoiled strength.
The fae dropped his bow and reached to the holster at his side, drawing his own sword in time to meet her parried thrust. Their blades crossed with a ringing clang of metal against metal. The impact jarred her bones.
Aven grit her teeth and pushed forward.
They struggled together, the warrior cutting the air between them. This close, the sword wasn’t going to be her best option, not when she needed more space. The fighting closed in around them with bodies on top of bodies. Grunts. Screams. The wet thud of steel meeting flesh. Weapons clashed together and from somewhere nearby, one of her men fired off a shot.
The fae might be faster but they were outnumbered.
The fae warrior’s blade whistled past her face. Too close. Her sword was a liability in these tight quarters. Aven dropped it, drawing a dagger from her thigh holster in one fluid motion.
She slashed, the blade finding purchase in the sliver of exposed skin at his collarbone. Blood welled, staining his pristine armor. Her runes pulsed, keeping her protected. A comforting warmth against the chaos.
The fae snarled, all animal fury. Aven pivoted, barely avoiding a strike that would have opened her thigh to the bone. Her skin felt too tight, stretched thin over the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
A blast of fae magic whipped across the clearing. The air crackled, heavy with ozone. Nearby soldiers faltered, stunned.
“Keep together! Watch each other’s backs!” Aven screamed for them. They had to keep pushing against the line. “Use your wands if you can’t maneuver.”
There were more of them, she reminded herself. Even drained from their hike out here, her soldiers should be able to hold their own. This is what they’d trained to do.
The fae matched her blow for blow. Sweat stung her eyes. Her throat was sandpaper dry. She intercepted a punch with her forearm, the newly updated rune there flaring to life. In the beat of the fae’s surprise, she slammed her forehead into his face. Cartilage crunched. Blood gushed.
Aven didn’t hesitate. She hammered at him until he dropped to his knees. The dagger found his throat, biting deep. Blood fountained, coating her hands, her face. Hot. Sticky. Metallic on her tongue.
Her first kill had always been the hardest.
Now she did not hesitate, didn’t even flinch. Once she had the opening, she took it.
Blood coated her blade as she tore through the camp. Major Stone found his way to her side and between the two of them, they cut a path of carnage through the soldiers. She whirled to the left and another fae fell to her blade, her wand in the opposite hand, and she alternated between steel and magic.
She glanced at Major Stone with a flat gaze before sending him off to help the men toward the outskirts of the camp.
“I’m going to be fine,” she assured him. Blood dripped down her fingers and her wrist. Not hers. “Go where you’re needed.”
A scream from the camp’s edge. Two more fae lunged at them. Stone’s sword flashed, stunning the first. Aven moved in for the kill, her blade finding the weak spot in the armor with practiced ease. The body crumpled, twitching.
“Are you sure?” Stone questioned.
“Don’t challenge me again.” Aven shot him a sidelong glance. “Go.”
She killed five more before the air fell silent, the echoes of the battle fading fast. She lingered in the center of the clearing listening to the death throes of several of the fae who were slow to expire. None of them had been left alive and, at her best count, they’d only lost six of the men she led out here.
Her chest rose and fell, ribs constricting and pressing in tighter and tighter with every inhalation.
“This was too easy.” Stone loosed a breath, the strong lines of his cheeks taut. “It lacked the ferocity of previous attacks.”
Aven wordlessly slid her dagger back into the side strap on her thigh and searched for the last place she’d left her sword. “They seemed almost willing to die,” she replied quietly. “Did you notice that?”
Stone swallowed hard and answered, “Yes, I noticed.”
“The kills were easy.” Sure, many of the fae put up a fight, but it did not feel the same as a normal ambush.
Generally, in those situations, the invading army did whatever it took to be victorious. She’d made her first kill within ten minutes and not through any sort of terrifying skill or last-minute save.
Her men had been shocked and yet the tide remained in their favor throughout the fight. For what reason? There always had to be an explanation. The fae were not usually this easy to kill.
“Perhaps it was a suicide mission,” she murmured for only Stone to hear. Her fingers trembled on the base of the wand and she leaned heavily to the side. “The fae were basically already here waiting for us.” The sense of smugness at finishing off the group of attackers faded and concern took root instead.
“Why?” Stone asked. “To distract us? To keep us in this clearing?”
His words ignited a panic inside of her. “Yes.” The word exploded in a rush. “Yes, exactly right, to distract us.”
Why else would they have fallen so easily? The fae never intended to win. They wanted to keep Aven in place?—
“Grab your weapons. Forget the rest.” She raised her voice to address her men. “We’re heading back to the capital, immediately! ” The terrible sensation in her gut told her what she needed to know—they’d been played, maneuvered out here on purpose.