Chapter 26
The screams were the first thing that tore me from sleep.
Malek bolted upright in a single leap, as though he had already been waiting for the chaos. In seconds, he got dressed, his body tense, and his fingers closed around the axe propped beside the bed. The weapon emitted a low hiss when he lifted it.
My mind was still struggling to grasp what was happening when the next scream tore through the air, louder this time.
"Kir’shakur! Kir’shakur!"
The warning made my entire body lock up. Fear paralyzed me, chilling the very blood in my veins.
"What’s happening?" My voice came out in a whimper as I scrambled to my feet.
I reached for my clothes scattered on the floor, pulling them on with trembling hands, still stumbling while my heart hammered so loudly it felt ready to burst from my chest.
"Invasion," he answered, his voice controlled, though the tension in his jaw gave him away. "Stay here."
"No!" I shot back, stepping forward until I stood inches from him, gripping his massive arm. "I’m going with you."
Malek’s gaze was a silent command, a clear signal that there was no room for discussion. He didn't want me to go. But nothing in the world would make me stay hidden while the High Fae attacked the village.
Seeing the determination etched across my face, Malek let out a slow breath and nodded, though he was clearly against it.
"Go to your brother."
I grabbed my axe and turned to leave. This time, he caught me by the arm. The grip was urgent.
"And, krash’uk… be careful."
I swallowed hard and, before panic could paralyze me, pulled him into a quick, desperate kiss.
"You too."
Outside, the village was in uproar.
Orcs ran with their blades and axes, reflecting the torchlight. It wasn't even dawn yet. My heart squeezed at the sight of mothers screaming in fear while pushing their young away, trying to hide them from the threat.
The air echoed with orders, screams, and the clash of metal against metal. Among them, advancing with complete confidence, the High Fae invaded the village, spreading through the alleys like hungry ants swarming over sugar.
My stomach lurched the moment I recognized the banner they carried. The fabric, cream as pale as ivory, was framed by grayish olive-green embroidery, and in the center sat the emblem of a solitary leaf stitched in gold thread.
That wasn't the banner of the Autumn Court. It was the banner of Ceilte. Of my family.
My breath hitched, and I couldn't move; my mind spun in a frantic search for an explanation for the sudden invasion. I knew Alasdair would never attack the Okshai directly this way. He wouldn't do it.
"It’s not possible," I whispered, my voice choked with incredulity.
Malek turned to me, his face a mask of fury, his brown eyes bright.
"They came from Ceilte." The tone of his voice left no room for doubt.
With a roar that unleashed his rage, he lunged toward the battle, his war axe becoming a metallic blur amid the advancing bodies.
I followed him, my fear replaced by a frigid wave of determination. In that moment, I chose a side—and it wasn't my homeland.
The High Fae invading the village were, from what I could see, guards from Ceilte—the very same ones I had seen daily in the castle courtyards. Their moss-green uniforms were immaculate, their faces masked by professional coldness. They weren't here to capture; they were here to destroy.
I fought shoulder to shoulder with Malek in the middle of the square.
His axe spun through the air in unerring strikes, a true reaper of lives.
He didn’t hesitate; he simply did what was necessary.
Some orcs fell beneath the sharp blades of the High Fae, and the guards, in turn, succumbed to the brutal and relentless strength of my Ruk’hai and his warriors.
"Retreat!" Malek roared to the Okshai. "Get the children to the shelter!"
A group of orcs obeyed, organizing themselves into a swift retreat toward the passages that led to the safety of the underground shelters during attacks.
At that moment, a familiar-looking High Fae lunged at me.
His longsword sliced through the air toward me with such precision that, had I not dodged at the last second, my head would have rolled.
I recognized the crest on his chest—two intertwined snakes, one red and one green—along with the dark hair and eyes as cruel as his father's. It was Fenric’s son, Kael.
The very same one whose marriage proposal my father had refused. How ironic.
Fenric had finally shown his claws.
"Get out of my way, you filthy orc," Kael spat, contempt thick in his voice.
I smiled humorlessly and raised my axe in time to block his next strike. The impact reverberated through my arms.
"Now, Kael…" I taunted, holding his gaze. "Don't you recognize your sovereign anymore?"
His eyes widened when he heard my voice, a bit raspier now, perhaps, but unmistakably the same. I didn't give him a second to recover from the shock. With a snarl of fury, I lunged at him.
The blade of my axe sliced through the air and struck his sword arm with such force that he dropped his weapon by instinct, collapsing to his knees. His scream blended into the chaos of battle, but I didn't care about his suffering.
Malek had taught me never to hesitate.
"Fionnuala? What are you doing?" He actually dared to sound hurt, as though I were the one who had wounded his feelings.
I delivered a punch fueled by resentment and rage for what he and his father had done to my people, both in Oksha and in Ceilte. The snap of his nose breaking echoed in a deeply satisfying way.
"It’s Lady Fionnuala to you."
I looked around, searching for my Ruk’hai.
He was only a few feet away, fighting three guards at once. I watched, mouth agape, while his axe swung and the three High Fae fell with their throats slit.
The stench of blood and death filled the air, but I forced myself to ignore it so I wouldn't collapse and retch.
I ran toward Malek, positioning myself at his side, guarding his back.
"Fenric’s behind this," I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the advancing Fae. My heart ached at the sight of so many familiar faces among the enemies.
Malek simply nodded. His expression carried pure determination to end the battle before it claimed more lives.
"Go to your brother. We're going to need him."
"Right."
I didn't question him, even though part of me screamed to stay at his side and protect him. The adrenaline racing through my veins pushed me forward, forcing me to ignore the chaos around me while I ran toward Leone’s cabin.
The fighting blurred at the edges of my vision, but the sounds—the screams of pain, the relentless clash of weapons, and the roars of the orcs—followed me every step of the way.
I reached the cabin and burst through the door. Leone stood in a defensive stance, clearly expecting someone to attack him.
"What’s going on?" he asked, his voice tight, already braced for the answer.
"Ceilte is invading. Fenric decided to attack Oksha and brought practically the entire garrison with him," I explained, cutting straight to the point. "It was time to improvise, brother."
Leone didn’t hesitate. Even without the longsword or the golden armor he usually wore, he stood ready to fight beside us. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, impossible to suppress.
My brother truly was incredible.
"Let’s go."
The way back proved even more chaotic. The battle had spread throughout the village.
Groups of High Fae stormed the huts, destroying everything and forcing the orcs to fight in cramped spaces to protect their homes.
The scene was pathetic—a perfect example of what the High Fae, my own family, had done to the orc clans for centuries.
Leone and I ran into a group of three guards heading straight toward us, and my brother stepped in front of me as though I needed protection.
"Halt! By whose orders did you invade this clan?" he demanded in his pompous heir voice. Under different circumstances, I would have made fun of him.
It took them a moment to recognize my brother; after all, he looked thinner and far more disheveled now, his clothes filthy and hanging loosely from his frame.
"Lord Leone!" one of them exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I want to know the same thing, guards! Who ordered this attack? Lord Alasdair would never give such a senseless order."
The guard hesitated, glancing toward the other two.
"Lord Fenric assured us that Lord Alasdair ordered the attack after discovering their leader, the Ruk’hai, had invaded our kingdom to kidnap you. We're here to rescue you and punish the Oksha clan."
"And where is Lord Fenric?" I asked, my axe raised and ready to hunt down that bastard.
The guards finally turned their attention to me, clearly uncertain whether they should answer an orc.
"Answer her, now!" Leone bellowed, losing patience.
"He’s… commanding the attack," the guard replied, wavering. "He said it was a retaliatory strike, a matter of honor for the throne of Ceilte."
Leone shot a furious look toward the battlefield as the pieces finally fell into place.
"Is Lord Alasdair in Ceilte?"
"No, my lord. He traveled to the Autumn Court for an audience with King Faélán."
Leone and I exchanged confused glances. The last time Alasdair left Ceilte for something like that, we hadn't even been born. Whenever diplomatic matters required attention, he usually sent Leone in his place. Sometimes, even my mother and I accompanied him.
"And Lady Laurelin?" I asked.
The guard shifted uneasily, avoiding my gaze. My instincts sharpened at the hesitation.
"She… disappeared."
"What do you mean, disappeared?" Leone demanded.
The guard avoided our eyes, his hands clenching in front of him, the truth clearly weighing on his tongue. When he finally spoke, his voice came out low and edged with fear.
"We found no tracks, no sign of a struggle. She simply vanished."
A chill ran down my spine. What had happened to my mother?