Traitors
When it comes time for the secret war, you will know which side you are on.
“Fuck.”
“Where is the God Queen?” Azazel asks, tearing their gaze from the replay.
I glance at them, then at the chaos around us.
“In the video she was on the ground, debilitated. I got her out of there and she’s recovering.”
They stare at me, obviously speechless.
“I can’t tell what face you’re making,” I say, gesturing around. “But we need to do something—fast.”
“For the God Queen?” they ask, voice weak. Clearly the idea of Cass being fallible at all is a foreign concept.
“Yes,” I say, pointing at the screen. “And also, that. Clearly they’re going to run with the narrative of us having killed Damien. Which is bullshit, but whatever.”
“What does she need?”
“More like who.”
“Which one of you is a Remnant?” I growl, my voice harsh through the shadowy form of the revenant.
There’s a handful of groans and one or two slurs, but no one speaks up. Even in the dull light of the Cradle, it’s difficult to even discern who is who.
I grab the first of the men at my incorporeal feet and hoist him by the collar of his Tempest garb.
His fur-covered hands scrabble uselessly at the skeletal fist, and I shake him a little to get him to stop moving.
“Which one of you is a Remnant? I don’t have a lot of time, and I am running out of fucks to give.”
I scan the room, but of the twenty or so men here, they all look like some variant of supernatural. A few werewolves and a handful of dhampir.
“Hiraeth?” I hear Azazel’s voice from the steps.
“Down here,” I call, and hear their footsteps falter as they reach the bottom.
“What is—” Azazel’s shocked voice seems to be their default today.
Could she use a supernatural? If I don’t have any other options, I might have to just say fuck it and grab one of the werewolves. I have no idea if dhampir even have Aether in their veins.
“Hiraeth?” Azazel says again.
I finally turn to face them, and I suppose the cocked eyebrow I try for doesn’t translate.
Since this form has neither eyebrows nor a face.
“Yes?” I ask, knowing my tone is sharper than normal.
I don’t have a lot of time. She doesn’t have a lot of time.
“We have a situation. What are you doing here?”
“Well,” I say, turning to look back at possible sacrifices. “We need a powerful Remnant for the God Queen. And this individual will not be coming back.”
Azazel steps up beside me.
“Who are they?”
I survey the group, taking in the wounds and shadowy spikes tethering nearly every one of them.
“Well,” I say again, pointing to the corpse lying at the foot of Cass’ throne. “Snaggletooth over there was the werewolf I saw leaving the apartment where we found all the evidence of insurgency.”
I gesture to the crowd as a whole. “I made him call his buddies and they all came down here thinking there’d be a grand plan for getting them all out of here.”
“You made him?” Azazel asks, voice somewhere between horror and fascination.
My non-existent shoulders shrug. “I killed him and forced his spirit to tell me how to contact them. I need a Remnant and I can’t tell which of them is.”
Azazel sounds a little unnerved as they point, “that one is a fire wielder.”
I follow the mage’s finger and nod. “Perfect.”
The werewolf in question scrambles backwards as much as he can, but stumbles and falls as shadowy tendrils wrap themselves around his ankles and arms.
“What about the others?” Azazel asks.
As I shift back into my human form, my phone buzzes against my thigh.
I dig into my pocket for the device and press it to my ear.
“Arya?” Cass’ panicked voice spikes painfully at my heart.
“Are you okay?” I ask, dragging a hand through my hair. “I can get Azazel to—”
“No, I am fine. Weak and tired, but stable. No, I just saw the news. Were you going to tell me?”
I let out a long breath and shake out the tension in my neck.
“I was going to after I solved the first crisis.”
“Which crisis?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused.
“The one you’re currently dealing with,” I hiss, and I hear her take in a sharp breath.
“I am fine, it is you that I am worried about.”
I glance down at the contingent of broken and bloodied revolutionaries.
“I have someone I’m going to bring by and we’re going to solve this. I need you here.”
She’s quiet for a long moment and I pull the phone away to check if the line is still connected.
“What did you do?” she whispers.
“I found the rats in our pantry and brought them into the light, Mary.”
I grunt in frustration and level a kick at the nearest. It actually feels pretty good.
The men seem to realize who I’m talking to now—all eyes train on me.
“Arya, you cannot just—”
“Can’t what?” I ask, feeling a bit of the panic start to build again, eating at the annoyance. “We are going to save our people, Mary. Our people. And I don’t care if a few traitors get the short end of the stick in the process. I will do what is necessary.”
“I—” Cass sounds bereft. It shatters my heart, but we need to do this. “They are prisoners are they not?”
Azazel lowers their hand from where it pressed at the communicator at their ear.
“Hiraeth, they are breaching the Casket.”
“When?” I say, hearing Cass take in a sharp breath, too.
“Now.”
“Fuck!” I curse, and the shadows in the room flail a little at the ends. Several men let out cries of pain as the ones still in their body respond.
“I need to go,” I say, turning again to face Azazel.
“Arya, please,” Cass’ desperation pauses me again. “I will be fine. I need time to rest and—”
“My love, we don’t have time. We’re at war and I am going to do the things that keep us safe. This is why you chose me, right?”
Cass takes in a shuddering breath. “Yes—I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say, wanting to feel her hands on me. “Please rest until I can get there with your meal.”
“That is disturbing,” she lets out a hiccupping laugh, which almost certainly means she’s crying. Again. “Be safe and come back to me.”
Azazel the Red Mage is nervous, and Bloody fucking Mary is crying—the end times really have come.
“I would figure out how to beat death for you,” I say it like a prayer and hang up before I lose my nerve.
“What—” Azazel begins, but I pull them close by the shoulder.
“The God Queen needs to drain life force for her power. Damien Roberts is in league with Darkrend. He used a weapon on her and it nearly killed her. I need you to put the werewolf in a box they can’t get out of while I burn these motherfuckers to the ground.
Then we’re going to kick those assholes out of our fucking town. ”
Azazel seems to have gone fully mute. I wish I could see their face because I swear there’s a shudder that passes through my hand.
Then they nod. Just once.
“It will be done,” they say, bowing their head.
The werewolf plops to the floor as my shadows disperse. But just as quickly, a red, glowing cage surrounds him. It floats overhead before hovering just at the ceiling.
“That should do it,” Azazel says.
“Good,” I say, turning to face the remaining men.
Tendrils of darkness sprout from the floor and walls. The room becomes a void as the only remaining lights blink out. Power presses into the walls like the buildup before imminent storm. It’s almost visceral in the way it clings at the gut. The way it pulls at the heart.
In the end, the darkness never really cares who it takes. It's only ever up to me to direct its wrath.
“All hail Tempest,” Azazel says softly, almost reverently.
The shadows descend. Blood splatters along the walls and standing room. The red sharply contrasting the otherwise surreal blackness.
Corpses flop uselessly and their spirits ascend into the next life. Where, just maybe, they might make better choices.
“All hail the God Queen,” I whisper before turning and following Azazel up the stairs.
The war has begun.