Chapter 20 Garrett #3
Eirik crosses the distance between them in three strides and strikes her across the face. The force of the blow sends her stumbling into the table.
Everyone freezes.
Lilith slowly straightens. Blood shines at the corner of Morgaine’s mouth. For one terrible moment, the enchantress’s expression disappears, and I see the woman trapped beneath her. Morgaine’s eyes fill with tears. Her lips tremble as though she is trying to speak.
Then Lilith takes control again. Instead of stabbing the Fae King, she lifts the dagger and presses its edge against her own throat.
“Strike me again, and I will open your precious witch from ear to ear,” she says softly.
Eirik’s fury vanishes beneath pure terror. His sword slips from his hand and clatters to the floor.
“Good,” Lilith says. “Now stay where I put you.”
I barely notice their confrontation. All I can see is Wolf standing naked in the center of the throne room without a stitch of clothing to cover him.
I tear the red cape from my shoulders and throw it toward him. It lands beside his feet, something he could wrap around himself.
Wolf does not take it.
He does not even look at me.
Lilith’s gaze turns toward Rhianelle. “Ruthven, kill the queen.”
Ruthven moves at once.
My former Grimsbane guard snatches a fallen sword from the floor and steps between him and Rhianelle. Wolf has no armor and nothing to protect him, but he raises the blade without hesitation.
Ruthven attacks.
Within the first exchange between them, I see the truth. Ruthven is a poor swordsman. His grip is wrong, his balance worse, and he relies almost entirely on his speed. Against an ordinary opponent, it would not matter. His strength alone could crush through any defense.
Wolf is not ordinary. He turns Ruthven’s blade aside and cuts across his arm, but the vampire barely reacts. Ruthven swings again with enough force to shatter Wolf’s guard.
Thormein raises both hands. Ancient words pour from his mouth, and the dead tree behind the throne begins to move. Its branches tear free from the wall and spread throughout the chamber. Roots burst through the floor beneath us, wrapping around ankles and wrists before anyone can escape.
One catches my sword arm and wrenches it behind my back. Another coils around my chest. Shade draws his sword and hacks at the roots closing around him, but a branch catches his wrist and tears the weapon from his hand.
Wolf tries to cut himself free. A root seizes his wrist, another his waist, and the sword is torn from his hand. Rhianelle throws herself over Landon, shielding him as the branches close around them both.
The tree pulls us together. Thick limbs weave around us, forming the curved walls of a vast wooden cage like one built for some monstrous bird. Thorns grow between the gaps, their points turned inward.
“Good work, Cedwyn,” Lilith says.
Thormein’s mouth tightens at the false name, but he bows.
Ruthven hurries to Lilith. “Let me see.”
She ignores him and touches the side of her face where Eirik struck her. Tears of pain and humiliation shine in her eyes.
Lilith summons a small mirror and studies the bruise darkening across her cheek. Her fingers pass over it, and the swelling slowly fades.
Then she looks at Eirik.
“Kneel.”
The Fae King’s body goes rigid. Every muscle in him strains against the command, but slowly, unwillingly, he lowers himself before her.
Lilith steps forward and slaps him across the face.
Eirik does not move. He cannot. His eyes burn with hatred, but his body remains kneeling at her feet.
A king powerful enough to summon the Wild Hunt has been reduced to this.
Lilith turns back to her reflection and touches her newly healed cheek.
“What should I do with them?” Thormein asks.
“Take them away for now.”
The living cage shudders around us. Branches extend beneath the floor and twist together into great wooden wheels. More limbs curve over the top, forming an enclosed carriage built from pale wood and black thorns.
The wheels begin to turn without horses or a driver.
We are carried from the throne room through a set of doors that open at Thormein’s command.
The farther we travel, the weaker I become.
Symbols carved into the branches glow with dull green light, suppressing our magic and draining the strength from our limbs.
By the time the carriage stops, I can barely keep myself upright.
The prison does not release us. Its branches unfold just enough to create more room inside before weaving shut again. We remain trapped behind the thorn-covered bars, packed together within the living cage.
Rhianelle crawls to Rainer at once. He is propped against the wall, his face gray. Black veins spread from the bite on his arm, crawling across his chest and up the side of his neck. The Nevrin poison is consuming him from within. It is one of the deadliest poison curses known to fae mages.
She presses glowing hands against the wound.
“Heal the fae first,” Rainer says. His voice is weak and strained. “Do not waste your blessings on me.”
Tears slide down Rhianelle’s face as her light sinks into his arm. “I can stop it.”
We all know she cannot. Nevrin poison usually kills within a day. There is no known antidote.
Rainer coughs, and blood flecks his lips. He glances at the blood without surprise. “I am a servant of Kvatosh, the god of war. His blessings will keep the poison from killing me.”
Rhianelle’s hands tremble. “That curse has killed gods before. I cannot lose you too. You are the only family I have left.”
Rainer reaches for her with his uninjured hand. His fingers close weakly around her wrist.
“You are not losing me. I promised I would never leave you.” His breathing is shallow, but his voice grows firmer. “You are not ready to manage without me yet. How could I possibly go anywhere?”
A broken laugh escapes Rhianelle through her tears.
“I will not leave you.” Rainer nods toward Landon. “Go on. Heal him.”
Rhianelle finally moves to Landon. She kneels beside him and places both hands against his chest. Golden light spills between her fingers, spreading over his battered body, but he does not open his eyes.
Through all of it, I cannot stop looking at Wolf.
Shade has given him a length of dark cloth to wrap around his waist. He accepted that without hesitation. My red cape still lies abandoned somewhere in the throne room.
Wolf of the Sylverin clan.
I imagined what I would say if I ever saw him again. I would demand to know why he left. I would tell him exactly what his silence did to me. I would make him look me in the eye and admit that whatever passed between us meant nothing to him.
Now he is only a few feet away.
Alive.
Real.
And every carefully rehearsed accusation deserts me.
What happened to him? What enchantment trapped him inside the body of a wolf, and how long has he been living that way?
“Wolf,” I try.
The Grimsbane does not look at me. He stays beside Shade and Rainer, studying the black veins spreading beneath Rainer’s skin as though he never heard me call his name.
It should not matter. We are prisoners. Rainer is dying, Landon may never wake, and Svenn has betrayed us. Yet his silence stings more than I want to admit.
I take a step toward Wolf, but Rhianelle makes a broken sound behind me.
She is bent over Landon, pouring blessing after blessing into his ruined body. Golden light spreads beneath her hands, but he remains still. My attention keeps shifting between my queen desperately trying to call her mate back and the elf I have spent years trying to forget.
Shade stares at Wolf with his dull gray eyes.
“What the fuck, Lucien?” His gaze moves over Wolf’s elven form. “It was you this entire time?”
Wolf gives a single nod.
Lucien.
At last, I have a name for the one who walked away with half my heart.
Lucien turns back to Rainer before I can speak. He crouches beside him and studies the black veins climbing toward his throat. Shade kneels opposite him, his hands hovering over the poisoned wound.
“Can you still steal from the guild’s infirmary and Shepherd’s stash?” Lucien asks.
Shade gives him an incredulous look. “You know I can.”
“I need silverroot tincture, ground moonwort, fever salts, and clean bandages,” Lucien says. “Infirmary first. Shepherd keeps the fever salts on the second shelf.”
Shade raises one hand. A summoning circle opens in the air before him, pale symbols revolving around its edge.
He reaches through the glowing center. His arm vanishes past the elbow.
When he pulls it back, he is holding several glass bottles.
A second circle appears beside the first, then a third.
Shade reaches into each one and pulls out folded packets of powder, jars of salve, and a roll of bandages.
Shade is a summoner.
Just like Rhianelle.
Lucien takes the bottles one by one, turning them to the light until he can read their labels.
“Not this.” He passes one back. “It will slow his heart.”
He selects another and presses it into Shade’s hand. “Give him half of this now. Mix the powder with water.”
Shade obeys without question.
I want to speak to Lucien so badly that the words ache inside my chest. His name rests at the back of my throat, but there are too many things I want to ask. None of them belong in this cage while Rainer is poisoned and Landon lies dying beneath Rhianelle’s hands.
So I watch.
Lucien steadies Rainer while Shade pours the medicine between his lips. Rhianelle continues feeding her blessings into Landon, her shoulders trembling from the effort.
“Please,” she whispers. “Come back.”
The golden light flickers.
Landon draws a ragged breath. His body shifts beneath her hands, and his eyes slowly open.
Rhianelle laughs through her tears. She bends over him, one hand cupping the side of his face.
Landon’s remaining hand rises weakly and strokes her hair. His eyes close again, but his breathing remains steady.