20. Keira
Chapter 20
Keira
I grip the edge of the parapet, trying to breathe through the nausea. To drag in each gasp of air slower than the last. Bile rises in my throat, but I will not vomit. My body shudders with the effort. Aldrin’s hands are pulling back my hair and rubbing my back in slow, soothing strokes. He is the one piece of calm standing strong within the storm of my mind.
War.
We are going to war.
How did it come to this?
The image flashes in my mind of Finan’s face twisted with fury, his eyes crazed. I can’t get his snarled words out of my head. Innocents will die and it will be your fault. My brain stutters, unable to get past the shock of today’s disaster of a negotiation.
“Slow it down, Keira,” Aldrin murmurs in my ear. “Slow your fretting thoughts down. Focus on your breathing. The way your chest expands with each inhale and every long breath out. On what you can feel, see, and smell. Is the stone of the parapet cold beneath your touch? Gritty as the mortar crumbles away? What can you hear? The boots of the soldiers scurrying on the lower ramparts? The calls of the birds?” He kisses the side of my neck, just beneath my ear. “You are safe here.”
I cradle my head on the parapet wall and do exactly as he says, focusing on each sensation around me until the thoughts slow and my heart rate lowers bit by bit.
Aldrin’s strong hands massage the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders, and with each deep stroke of his thumbs, it feels like he untangles the knots of my thoughts as well. I probably shouldn’t let him touch me like this out in the open, but no one can see us on this turret top, and I am so incredibly sick of hiding the love between us. I almost want to be caught.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he says gently.
I turn around in his arms, and they loop around my lower back. “How do people do this? Stomach the decision to go to war?”
Aldrin sighs. “For some people, it is easy. They are fueled by their greed or the sense of superiority that a successful conquest gives them. They only think of their own needs and see soldiers as tools meant to die for the glory of their ruler. For others like us, guilt can eat us alive. We only choose war when there are no options left. When to decline the call would put our people at greater risk, and to accept and win benefits us all. Now you understand why I hesitate to start a civil war to win my throne back.”
He lifts my chin with a long finger and forces me to look into his amber eyes.
“This war is larger than you or me.” Aldrin leans in and places the softest kiss on my lips.
Footsteps ring in the stairwell that leads to the rooftop. Aldrin takes a step away from me as my father and grandmother approach. I expect them to turn murderous at the sight of us alone together, but for the first time, they don’t glare at Aldrin or comment on it. The dynamic between us all has shifted.
Despite the warmth of the late summer night, a shiver runs down my spine.
My grandmother’s gaze searches me. I must look like a miserable wretch to her. “Enough of that, girl.” Her cold, bony hands grip mine and squeeze them. “You don’t have the luxury of self-pity. Get up, dust yourself off and harden your heart to Finan so he will never make you feel like this again. I know you thought you could convince him to stop this war, that you knew him so well you should have been able to reach him, but the boy has gone mad. The prince you knew is gone. I don’t think he ever really existed. Some people have multiple faces.”
I bite my lip. “Finan always knew the right thing to say to break me down and make me feel worthless. He always convinced me he was the only good thing in my life. It is easy to see through it now, but gods, it is hard to resist that reaction he trained in me to question myself. I would be a mess if I didn’t know what it truly meant to be valued by a man.” I give Aldrin a small smile. He has saved me in so many more ways than he realizes.
He stiffens. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
My father stares at Aldrin as though he has never seen him before. I don’t know what he is searching for, but a weight falls from my shoulders to see that there is no longer malice in his eyes.
“You don’t owe the boy a damned thing, Keira,” my grandmother continues. “But our soldiers need to see you strong and ready for a fight. Their morale depends on it, and they want to protect you and every woman you stand for from the mad king.” Her long white hair ripples in the breeze as her gray eyes bore into mine. “Have faith in yourself.”
“We will give Finan’s army the fight of their lives.” I say. “They haven’t seen what we can do with our magic.”
My father pulls me into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry you have to endure this. You did well in the meeting today,” he says into my ear, then pulls away. “Remember, war is inevitable with a mad king, just like Aldrin said. The catalyst doesn’t matter.”
I laugh, shocking myself and everyone around me. “The meeting was a disaster! I almost set Finan’s entire pavilion on fire, and there was no negotiation of terms before Finan and I tried to destroy each other.”
My father grins and his emerald eyes sparkle. “But you made your father damned proud standing up to him. Not to mention, you put on a good show for our allies. They needed to see that you would fight for yourself and what this family is capable of.”
My grandmother huffs out a breath. “I don’t think I have ever been more terrified in my life than when he pulled a blade on you.”
Aldrin puts a hand behind his head, and a sheepish smile grows on his face. “I don’t think I helped to de-escalate the situation by threatening to kill the king.”
My father slaps him on the back. “Son, if it hadn’t been you promising violence, it would have been me.” He puts his arm around Aldrin’s shoulders and leads him to the staircase. “Now tell me, what did it feel like to wrap your hand around his scrawny neck and threaten to snap it?”
Aldrin laughs. “Good. Really, bloody good.”
My heart swells as I watch the two of them disappear down the stairs.
I take a glance over the parapet before I follow them. Levels of ramparts and watchtowers sprawl out beneath me, from the foot of one mountain all the way to the other.
The lower courtyards and the walkways above the immense gate are a hive of activity, soldiers moving back and forth in their emerald-and-bronze uniforms. Caitlin and Gwyneth rush between them, their voices carrying to me as they bark orders.
Massive cauldrons are being set up along the lower battlements, to be filled with hot tar that will be poured on the enemy if they attempt to scale the wall. Great catapults are being erected atop watchtowers. The sound of hammers striking nails rings out in the night.
For days, we prepare for war, while Drake and Zinnia take turns spying on the progress of the approaching army. There are countless meetings to plan our defensive strategies, but they are brief.
I venture into the killing field beyond the fortress, where Aldrin has planted ash trees in a neat row at the foot of each mountain. They will be a weapon the fae can tap into with their spring magic during the battle.
I pass Hawthorne as he pours raw magic into a juvenile tree, helping it grow, and he smiles at me. The tree beside him is barely a sapling. I place my hands on its flexible trunk and reach for the coiling, churning dam of raw magic deep within me.
I close my eyes to focus.
It is like taking hold of a bull by the horns, a beast of unshaped and chaotic magic, threatening to spill over in every direction.
The fight has me panting, especially as my power wants to destroy the tree, not feed the spring wield of growth already sown into it. It feels like my soul pours into the sapling as the liquid fire channels out of me. I am being burned from the inside, scoured clean, but it doesn’t hurt. The tips of the tree shoot upward as the trunk widens within my grasp.
The dam of my power cracks and magic rips out of me as I lose control. My legs turn weak from the effort of pulling back. A second source of magic abruptly joins me in the channels inside the tree, curling around my essence and separating it. Where my power thrashes with claws and teeth out, this source is as calm and controlled as a mother’s caressing hand.
I open my eyes. Cold sweat drips down my spine.
Hawthorne peers into my face, strands of auburn hair escaping his topknot and falling into his kind eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, averting his gaze and indicating the tree. “It’s easy to lose control for someone learning how to do this.”
“Yeah, I’ll survive,” I say, and he gives me the tiniest smile, then returns to his work. What makes such a reserved and gentle man choose to become a soldier?
I’m taken aback when I find the ash sapling now has a trunk as wide as my waist and is three times taller than me. I fuel the growth of two more trees without needing to be rescued again, then I stumble back toward the fortress on shaky legs.
“What happened to you? Did you lose in a fight against a tree?” Drake calls out as I pass, the bastard still pouring magic into a sapling while cracking jokes.
Klara jogs over to reach me, pulling leaves out of my hair. “I heard the druids are collecting medicinal herbs for healing potions. Apparently, they cast some sort of incantation over them. I tried to pry information out of that one over there.” She flicks her hand toward a druid, who glares at her. “But he won’t talk. I heard your brother is a druid. I want to learn their tricks.”
Pain builds at my temples and I rub my hands over them. “I can ask Diarmuid, but the druids are protective of their secrets.”
Klara scoffs, tossing her lilac braids. “Secrets don’t help the sick or injured. That kind of knowledge should be free-flowing.”
We stop short when we reach the monstrosity Aldrin is working on.
Stretching from mountain to mountain, a massive furrow is being torn through the ground just before the fortress. It slowly widens before my eyes, making the ground shudder.
Aldrin’s eyebrows slant downward as he stares into it, his hand held open before him with his fingers curled inward. Sweat glistens on his face. Silvan stands beside him, and a handful of other fae are dotted around the crevice, drawing back the earth inch by inch.
I near the edge and glance in. It is deep enough for a person to struggle to get back out, perhaps even breaking bones on the fall into it.
“Aldrin? How do we cross?” I ask.
He turns to me with unfocused eyes as he drags himself back from the clutches of his magic. He calls a halt to his people, then stalks to me with the single-minded focus of a predator. Moisture is torn out of the very air, creating a curtain of mist swirling around us.
I rarely witness his magic of a spring storm.
Aldrin wraps a fast arm around my waist and tips me backward, leaning over me and pressing a long kiss to my lips.I am flooded with his warmth and distinctive scent of masculine sweat and crushed vegetation. My head swims as his lips press against mine, parting them ruthlessly and slipping his tongue inside to claim my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me.
My hands run over his chest, down his back and across his ass. I need more of him. I want his fingers all over me, inside me.
His mouth curls into a smile against mine at my passion, then he is pulling away from me again. I find myself utterly breathless in his arms, staring at him wide-eyed like a startled doe.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did you want something? Other than falling into my arms?”
“I—uh…” My train of thought is completely lost.
“We want to cross this damn ravine you have created without falling into it.” Klara walks through the mist, breaking the moment.
Aldrin puts me back on my feet, and by the time we both turn to her, she and Silvan have finished erecting a bridge of roots to span across it.
“I forgot for a heartbeat that we weren’t alone,” Aldrin whispers into my ear, his breath tickling the delicate skin there and sending shivers down my spine. “Using so much magic always makes me revert to something more primal.” He bites my ear, then pulls away and shrugs, a smirk on his face.
Before I can compose myself, Aldrin turns back to his gathered people and starts instructing them on the sharp spikes of roots they are to pull into the base of the furrow.
I cross the bridge in a daze and take Klara to Diarmuid. He has a production team of druids and priestesses cleaning and chopping herbs, ripping bandages from sheets of fabric and stirring cauldrons while incanting spells over them. The space is set up with rows of pallets ready for the injured.
The gravity of it makes my head spin.
Days pass where we labor from sunrise to long after sunset to prepare Fort Blackrock for war.I work with many others to weave layers of air shields over the arrow slits and notches of the battlements to protect our archers against enemy fire. I sway on my feet as I drag out the last drops of my magic reserves.
“These shields won’t hold for long without plinths to amplify and store the magic,” Silvan grumbles, his hands shaking ever so slightly from fatigue.
“It’s better than nothing,” Aldrin mutters beside me. “We can station Mothers of Magic to replenish them during the battle.” He stretches, cracking his neck.
The night is hot and dry, but it’s not the reason sweat runs down my spine. In the far distance, illuminated by the full moon, the camp of King Finan’s army blackens the horizon. It stretches on and on, as far as the eye can see, with hundreds of small fires lighting up patches of the gloom. It is enough to twist my stomach with sickening anticipation.
Gruff curses drag my gaze away from that imposing sight to my father on the far end of the battlement. Red sparks fly out from the fire crystal in his hands. Light flashes as heat and embers burst from it, and a wave of hot air caresses my face despite my distance from him.
Within a heartbeat of the crystal exploding and before its full force expands, my father’s quick wield catches the magic and draws the raw power back into himself, his hands turning a deep crimson as his true form is partially exposed.
Anyone else would burn alive.
I glance nervously at the pile of fire crystals beside him, contained in a large cauldron with visible heat waves rolling off it. The completed crystals are coated in a layer of charcoal to preserve them. They are black balls that could fit in my hand, with cracked veins that glow red and yellow.
The soldiers who will run the specially made catapults built for those crystals will have to wear blacksmiths’ protective clothing during the battle.
I shudder—I don’t want to imagine the destruction those fire crystals will cause when fired upon the enemy. The pain of being burned alive when they detonate in the field below. So many of the soldiers in Finan’s army had no choice in joining this war.
Approaching footsteps and warring voices draw my attention, and I drop the air shield I am weaving for the second time. The many strands of interlacing magic quickly unravel and dissipate. I lean against the parapet as my head spins, and I close my eyes for a moment.
“I will not allow it, Caitlin. It is not just yourself you put at risk,” Gwyneth snaps, her voice rising in volume as she gets closer.
“You will not allow it? Since when do you give me orders?” Caitlin says shrilly. “This battle is to protect my sister ! You cannot forbid me from fighting for her freedom. This is a battle for all women, our daughter included.”
“Our daughter is the reason why you can’t fight,” Gwyneth growls. “Don’t you get that?”
I peel open my eyes as Caitlin and Gwyneth stop before my father, who makes a beeline for them.
“Can you talk some sense into her?” Gwyneth pleads.
My father scowls at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Before he can say a word, Caitlin turns on him.
“I am not planning to throw myself in the middle of the fighting or gallop out the front gate in some valiant charge. I am the commander of the Appleshield forces. It is my job to lead them in battle, and I plan to do it from the top battlements. My pregnancy is not a disease or disability.”
Gwyneth whips her head to my father and snarls, “Edmund! Stop her. Please.” I want to stalk over there and shake her.
He folds his arms over his chest, aligning himself to stand at Caitlin’s side. “While I do not like the idea of my pregnant daughter fighting in a battle, I think she makes perfect sense. The enemy will scale the lowest battlements first if they make it up the wall, which means Caitlin will have the opportunity to organize a retreat if needed from her position. How can I tell her not to risk herself, when I plan to fight on those lowest battlements myself? It is her choice.”
Gwyneth seethes, her eyes darting from my father to Caitlin and back, then she storms off down the wall.
“I didn’t think you’d have my back,” Caitlin mutters.
My father places his hands on her arms and grips her tight. “When do I ever not back my children?”
She shakes her head, then her gaze flashes over his shoulder to me. He didn’t back me when it came to Aldrin.
“Just because I am supporting you in this, it doesn’t mean I like it,” Father says. “If the battle goes the wrong way and you call a retreat, I want you off the wall and leading the first charge back north. You will not clash blades with the enemy.”
Caitlin throws his arms off her. “People keep trying to take away my agency because I am pregnant. Why would you be any different? My baby will be no safer if I hide away and Lord Desmond takes the North.” She turns on her heel and stalks away.
“I can’t seem to win with you girls,” my father grumbles, shooting me a dark look. I wonder if he is acting more like the crazed, possessive fae he accused Aldrin of being.
Long, low horns sound from our army’s camp, and I rush over to the other side of the battlement to view them, my heart racing with anticipation. The tents of our forces stretch out across the grassy fields, split into their houses and flanking either side of the wide road running up to the fortress.
A band of warriors on foot approaches Fort Blackrock from the highway. Many fire orbs float around them and the orange glow illuminates their pointed ears. There must be at least forty of them, ethereal in the dim light with long hair in elaborate designs of braids, parts of their scalps shaven and many glimmering tattoos on faces that are all sharp angles.
Potent relief uncoils a deep, heavy knot within me. These fae are a beacon of hope. I have seen them fight and I know what they can do.
As they pass through the camp, human soldiers gather to line the road and watch them. When they approach the Appleshield Guard, cheers rise up. Countess Lynna’s guards escort the fae, as they arrived through her land’s nearby portals.
Aldrin snakes an arm around my waist, a huge grin sweeping across his face as he looks down at his followers. “Cyprien took his gods-damned time in traveling here.”
He practically drags me down the flights of stairs, and all at once we are on the northern field right as Cyprien’s band reaches the fortress. Aldrin lets go of me and barrels forward, catching Cyprien in a powerful embrace that almost has both men staggering. They wrap their arms tightly around each other and let out choked laughs that I suspect hide half-sobs as they slap each other on the back.
“Gods, Cyprien, I have bloody needed you.” Aldrin holds the man at arm’s length to inspect him.
“Why didn’t you summon me sooner, you bastard?” Cyprien lightly slaps Aldrin’s cheek, cocking his head to the side and giving him a hard stare, then they are embracing again. The orb light gleams off the golden beads in the many thin braids of Cyprien’s black hair, pulled back in a leather thong and shaved on both sides.
I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. Nothing should keep those two men apart, not politics or the laws of two realms.