Chapter 24
GIDEON
Dark satisfaction courses through me as I stare at the human heads scattered on the main street of Hollins.
Over two hundred of them.
The mayor’s head lies among them as well, his jaw slack, his vacant eyes fixed on the night sky.
After torturing the soldiers and their beloved mayor, we severed their heads and left them here as a warning. If Hollins possessed a parapet, we would have mounted them there, as we did in Braemar, but this town is smaller, lacking the protection of stone walls.
So, the heads remain in the street as a reminder, as a promise of what becomes of those who spill the blood of faefolk.
I glance toward the inn beside the bookshop and catch sight of Mr. Sinclair peering through the front window. His expression is twisted with horror and worry.
Has he been watching all this time?
Did he see me cut down the soldiers?
I did not kill them all myself, but I felled more than forty. More than any other soldier who stormed the streets of Hollins as dusk claimed the town. Bloodlust had consumed me, sharp and merciless, as I swung my blade.
I’m about to issue an order to a soldier behind me when something suddenly feels off.
My eyes widen, and I spin in the direction of the cabin.
A strain tugs on the bond.
As though Isabel is scared or in pain.
She needs me. I can sense it.
Yet I can’t hear her thoughts.
I sheath my sword and summon my wings, but as I’m preparing to launch into the sky, Helena rushes out of the forest.
“Commander Ashvale!” she screams, running in my direction.
King Theron flashes to her side in an instant. He grasps her by her shoulders, looking her up and down. When he spots an injury to her head, he holds his hand over it as healing light emanates from his palm.
Frantic with worry, I rush over to Helena.
“What happened?” I demand.
“There was an explosion at the cabin,” she gasps.
“It threw me into the forest. When I got up, I saw a highborn fae male who looked almost like you. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he hurt Isabel.
He kicked her and grabbed her roughly, then he carried her into the sky before I could reach them. ”
A highborn fae male who looks almost like me…
For a moment, I feel as though I’m plunging into an abyss.
Surely it’s not Lachlan.
Surely my own brother wouldn’t hurt Isabel.
And yet… many times, people have mistaken us for twins.
He’s likely grieving the loss of his mate. Surely he knows about Maelissa by now. What if he was so consumed by grief that he directed his rage at my mate?
Oh, my gods.
The night tears around me as I surge upward, snow lashing my face and wings. Wind roars in my ears, but it cannot drown out the frantic pounding of my heart.
As I fly even faster, I lean into the bond I share with Isabel, searching for her, trying to sense her location.
I let instinct guide me as I soar beyond the cabin and several mountains. The bond becomes stronger, more certain, and I fly closer to the trees, scanning the darkness below.
Though I don’t see anything yet, my instincts tell me she’s close. So close. And she’s in pain. Rage flashes through me. Brother or not, I will kill Lachlan for this.
But first, I must save my little moth.
She’s what matters most.
She’s my heart, my soul, my very reason for breathing.
I can’t imagine life without her. I think of our plans to build a house in the snowy mountainside nearby, a cozy cabin with frost-apple trees planted all around, and I send up a thousand silent prayers for her well-being.
I land quietly in the middle of the dark, snowy forest. With slow, careful steps, I follow the bond, and at last, Isabel’s thoughts enter my head.
Gideon, Gideon, Gideon, she says my name repeatedly, a desperate plea for help.
I’m here, little moth, I tell her. Where are you? Describe the location.
A very narrow cave, she says. Look for a light. He lit a single torch. It’s… Lachlan. It’s your brother.
All will be well, my sweet mate, I say through the bond. Please don’t be frightened. I will find you soon. I promise.
I pray that I’m telling the truth.
But as I continue following my instincts, walking toward the warmth that is Isabel, I finally see a glimmer of light in the darkness.
I hasten my steps, though I’m careful not to make a sound.
Voices soon reach me, and I creep closer.
At last, the narrow mouth of the cave comes into sight. I peek inside but see nothing. After withdrawing a blade from my weapons belt, I enter the passageway, my eyes scanning for any sign of my mate. The deeper I go into the cave, the brighter the light becomes.
Eventually, the passageway opens to a slightly larger space.
My heart lodges in my throat at the scene before me.
Isabel is crouched on the floor, her arms wrapped around her center as though she’s clutching an injury. Murderous rage surges through me, but so does a touch of gentleness for my mate.
I send Isabel waves of warmth through the bond, but also a warning not to look up.
Lachlan paces back and forth in the small space, clutching a knife, murmuring to himself.
Every so often, he glances up, and I see the black despair in his eyes.
He’s crazed with grief, that much is certain.
But I can’t spare a moment for the pain he’s enduring, nor can I offer him a speck of mercy.
There will be no second chances for him.
No redemption.
I will kill him.
And I won’t hesitate.
He starts to walk toward Isabel, and I call upon winter magic that I rarely use. I disappear from where I’m standing, only to flash between them a moment later, my blade held high.
Lachlan’s eyes widen.
“You,” he says. “You’re just in time to watch your mate die. And then, I will kill you too.”
“No, Lachlan.” I firm my grip on the knife as I decide where on his body to strike first. “I am sorry about Maelissa. But you are mad with despair, and it will cost you your life.”
“You were in the arms of your human whore when Maelissa died in the snow!”
His body fades in and out, becoming temporarily translucent as he tries to flash from one location to another as I just did, but he doesn’t succeed.
Eventually, his body becomes entirely solid, and he leans over, panting.
He quickly forces himself upright and holds the knife higher, though his hand trembles and perspiration glistens on his brow.
Then he screams and crashes into me, rushing at me so quickly that he knocks the knife from my hand. Isabel screams and I hear her trying to move around behind us, probably to get out of the way, but she emits a soft, strangled sound, and I sense her pain through the bond.
Her ribs. Her ribs are cracked or perhaps even broken.
Lachlan. He kicked her.
Gods, how badly did he hurt her?
Before I can reach for the knife that skidded across the stone, winter magic crackles from Lachlan’s outstretched palm.
A blast of ice-blue light slams into my chest.
I’m hurled backward.
My body crashes against the cave wall hard enough to crack stone. Pain detonates through my ribs and shoulder as the force knocks the breath from my lungs. For one terrible, disorienting moment, the entire cavern spins around me.
Gods.
I try to rise, but agony lances through my side.
Lachlan is already up and moving. He rushes toward me, rage burning bright in his eyes. Before I can manage to push myself upright, he drives his knee into my chest, pinning me to the ground. Pain explodes through my body, and his hand closes around my throat.
“I suppose I can just kill you first,” he snarls, his face twisted with grief and fury. “Then I will slice your human whore to pieces.”
I bare my teeth, but my vision begins to blur, and his fingers tighten.
Air. I need air. I never knew Lachlan possessed such physical strength, as I always bested him as we sparred in the fields of Frostfall, but it would seem that rage and grief have given him an edge of power I never imagined possible.
Try as I might, I am unable to throw him off.
Through the bond, Isabel’s terror crashes into me, loud and frantic. Gideon! she screams inside my head.
Hearing her voice in my mind helps cut through the haze. I grasp Lachlan’s hands, trying to pry them from my neck. Blood roars in my ears and my vision keeps blurring, but I won’t let myself pass out.
Suddenly, Lachlan glances over his shoulder.
Through the bond, I sense Isabel is moving. She’s pushed herself to her feet. I can’t see her, since Lachlan’s blocking my view, but I know she’s walking and clutching her ribs.
Finally, she appears on the left side of the cave, kneeling on the floor, her hands searching for something. The blade, I realize. She’s looking for my blade.
But before she can find it, Lachlan releases my throat and rises in one fluid motion. Ice fills my veins as he pivots toward her, the knife flashing in his hand.
“For Maelissa,” he hisses.
For one terrible heartbeat, I fear I am too late.
He lunges.
Nooo!
With a roar, I surge upright and summon every shred of winter magic I possess. I flash between them just as Lachlan’s blade slices across my forearm instead of Isabel’s throat.
Ignoring the pain, I seize his wrist and twist hard. His bones crack, and his agonized screams echo off the cavern walls. The knife clatters to the floor.
Before he can recover, I withdraw a smaller blade from my weapons belt, driving it beneath his ribs, plunging it straight into his wicked heart.
His eyes widen in shock, then all signs of life leave his face. He collapses at my feet. My brother. My only sibling. Dead.
I turn at once to Isabel. She’s on the floor again, holding her center, her hands pressed against her ribs. I drop to my knees before her, already holding out my hands, already summoning healing light.
After flashing twice in quick succession, I’m nearly drained of energy, my reserves of magic fading. But I draw in deep breaths and think of the ussha on the snow-covered mountain. The forest is teeming with it. The lifeforce of fae magic. It’s here. So close.
Isabel whimpers, then winces.
Gods, I cannot bear to see her in pain.
If I could take all her pain upon myself, I would not hesitate.
I continue drawing upon my powers, and finally, the blue light emanating from my palms becomes brighter. She sighs softly, a sigh of relief, and through the bond I sense that her chest is no longer aching, her ribs and bruises healed.
Still holding my palms over her chest, I look her up and down. Her clothes are dirty, her dress torn in several places, and her hair is disheveled. Thankfully, I don’t see any visible cuts or bruises. Cautious relief rises from within.
But then, through our bond, I sense the ache at the back of her head, and I quickly direct the healing light all over the area, not stopping until I sense the discomfort has faded.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No, I’m not hurt anywhere else,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. Tears fill her eyes. “Oh, Gideon.”
“Little moth,” I breathe, gathering her into my arms. “I have you.”