Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
THE COMMANDER
F ifty-four Protectorate sentinels were marching on the left flank.
Twenty-three on the right.
Honorable, when faced with danger of the Blood Brotherhood Elite.
Useless. But honorable.
I kept my eyes on the ridiculous display of this sham of a union.
Most frightened gazes jumped from us toward the altar, like scared children waiting to be told what to do.
Not by the pitiful groom or the inexperienced bride, but by the woman standing beside her.
Draped in the finest blue silks the Protectorate vaults could buy, she had an unflinching stance that took my warriors years to learn.
People always gave their real leaders away, no matter who wore the crown.
She was the true threat, then. One I had to incapacitate until this entire mess would be over, hopefully without spilling anyone’s blood but Fabrian’s.
The sentinels thundered closer.
I raised my hand, letting my powers loose.
Seeking.
Searching.
My power first found seventy-seven riotous sentinel hearts. Most of them had the sharpness to be scared, others were too young and inexperienced to know who they were truly facing.
I began slowing them down, beat by beat, until they all froze. They would soon crumble to the ground for the next three hours.
They were the lesser danger by far, but I had no time to spare for some misguided show of courage.
The guests who hadn’t bothered with a protective spell got hit next. Under my unseen command, half of the courtyard jolted. Once. And they wouldn’t move again until I allowed it.
The pomp and jewels couldn’t hide the stench of fear, though, no matter how many tense snarls and frightened grimaces they’d thrown our way.
The Serpents looked particularly frightened.
No surprise.
Their vaults were much more powerful than their magic. Always had been, always would be–especially with that heir of theirs.
Fabrian had protective runes etched into his odious snakeskin lapels. A shame. I would have enjoyed freezing him. Maybe grip his lungs enough to make him panic.
He was half-hidden behind his bride’s ridiculous dress, using her stiff spine to hide the fact that he had none.
This is what passed for a husband in the South Clans? Pathetic.
I skipped over the bride–the Lost Daughter who should have remained lost. She needed her wits about her for what came next.
But the other woman at the altar, staring daggers at me and Zandyr…she snagged the edge of my focus and refused to let go.
She wasn’t the bride.
She wasn’t our target.
But I couldn’t move past her without trying to crack that wall of power she’d erected around herself.
Whatever protective spell she’d placed on herself wouldn’t even allow my power near her, let alone inside her. My power circled her like a wolf, but found no entry point.
Like she’d known I was coming and dared me to try. Impossible, of course.
Nobody knew the truth about Blood Brotherhood magic. Especially not mine.
No matter how hard I pressed, my magic slid off her like water over stubborn steel.
Her spine stood straighter than my own daggers’ blades.
Her protective spell held true, the fiery essence of it stubborn, even as her scowl promised me violent revenge for even daring to send my powers her way.
And whatever spell she’d used on herself had been extended to the rest of the Vegheara brats and Alaric, leaving a trace of her essence on them.
Unreachable, the whole lot of them. Her spell was quickly sweeping over the rest of the Protectorate members, but the invisible mark was becoming fainter.
Not even the famed Huntress could protect them all–especially since her blue tendrils seemed to be sparking uncontrollably, not attacking viciously.
But she was dangerous.
Perhaps the most dangerous Protectorate member on this island.
Wild raven hair.
Stormy green eyes.
A look that could–and would, given the opportunity–kill.
I knew who she was.
The Protectorate’s First Daughter.
The Huntress.
From the wild rumors I’d heard about her, I thought she’d be taller.
I thought she’d burn hotter.
But maybe that was just the frost in my hands.
The distraction cost me.
I felt the first tendrils of fatigue setting into my blood as my powers retreated, even as my eyes remained on her.
She’d come prepared.
Unfortunately for her and her Clan, the Blood Brotherhood had as well.
“Done,” I said as I lowered my arm and unfisted my palm. I’d been so focused on cracking whatever charms The Huntress had used, I hadn’t even noticed the tension in my own body.
Zandyr gave me the briefest nod, unseen by anyone other than myself–and Elysia, judging by the way she shimmied her shoulders and reached for her small daggers.
“Such a darling little wedding.” Zandyr stepped forward, now fully in his threatening Dragon demeanor.
Better to cower them through fear than weapons.
Nobody wanted a Clan war or the Clan Council to intervene.
I reached for my own daggers, the blood and stones embedded in them reminding me why I was here.
This mission needed to be clean and efficient.
Crash the wedding that threatened the Clan contract.
Kill Fabrian in a way that didn’t arouse suspicion.
Hopefully leave without the Vegheara brat bride trailing after us.
Unequivocal proof that the Blood Brotherhood did not stand idly by while its name and reputation were threatened, even by breaking a measly arranged marriage contract.
I wanted this done even more than the Protectorate and Serpents.
Today was a Blood Moon, an occasion my own people took as seriously as funerals. I should have been back home, overseeing the rituals, not cowering two Clans who thought they were above the Code. But as the Blood Brotherhood Commander, it was my duty to stand by our heir, Zandyr.
Especially in this, a slight against his honor.
As Zandyr prowled toward the altar, “The Mountain” Brawd jumped to his feet, fists glistening with faint blue tendrils. The Huntress’ spell had gotten to him before my powers.
Zandyr didn’t even turn around.
The garden was so silent, even the hiss of his blade landed like thunder as it stopped only a breath away from the man’s wife’s pregnant belly.
“I’d reconsider if I were you, Orion ,” Zandyr said. “The midwives said you’re having twins, yes?”
The woman nodded and squinted her eyes shut, twin tears streaming down her cheeks, while her husband shook with rage and powerlessness.
“Sit down,” Zandyr said. “Or this ends in more than one grave.”
My eyes sparked.
The courtyard was too quiet.
Our arrival should have cowered the humans, not the birds which had been chirping in the trees.
“Pay attention,” I whispered to Calyx and Soryn, two of the Blood Brotherhood’s best-kept weapons. The rest of the Clans only saw Calyx’s muscles, without knowing he was our weapon’s specialist, and Soryn’s brains, when he was perhaps our best magic-wielder in generations. “Something is wrong.”
A current of fierce understanding passed between us.
We were prepared for the worst, as always, and had the heir coffin on the Blood Brotherhood war ship to attest to that. But whatever happened, Zandyr–the future of our Clan–needed to survive.
I swept the crowd with a narrowed gaze, looking for danger.
The Serpents were dead weight. Those who hadn’t been frozen kept snarling and showing their alcohol-yellowed teeth, but not much else. The Protectorate were frightened, but stoic.
Waiting.
Biding their time.
Dangerous.
As Zandyr marched forward, the silence brimmed with unspoken threats.
At the altar, The Huntress kept flicking her right palm, fingers twitching, but no blue tendrils shot out–
One beat.
Three beats.
Dragging her middle finger against her palm, those fierce green eyes focused not on us–the bloody threat crashing her cousin’s wedding–but on her family.
I clenched my jaw.
She was sending a secret message to her father and cousins, in front of us all.
The absolute cheek of this Vegheara brat.
I would have been impressed if I hadn’t been annoyed that she had the gall to do it while facing the Blood Brotherhood Elite. Like we weren’t the danger they only dared whisper about at night.
Her audacious plan was broken by Fabrian.
He pulled out a dagger.
Of course he did. Cowards never went down quietly, did they?
Then he made the mistake of aiming it at his bride’s neck.
Godsdammit.
Now we had to make a show out of killing him–if The Huntress didn’t beat us to it.
Her fingers twisted, this time not with calculating agility, but with violent precision.
Her eyes sparked with the hunger all warriors knew well–revenge.
The frost in my hands cracked. A warning, deep and low in my blood.
She would kill Fabrian, Code be damned. Of that, I had no doubt.
No.
Protectorate First Daughter or not, she couldn’t be the one to snuff out Fabrian’s miserable life.
He was our kill.
She wasn’t supposed to strike.
I wasn’t supposed to intervene.
But then the deadly arrows came down upon us all.