Chapter 21 Locke
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOCKE
There’s a reason I guard the gates.
No, it’s not because I follow my father’s orders and obediently do his bidding like some well-trained hound.
I’m definitely not the most loyal soldier in his ranks, not anymore.
In my two hundred and fifty years of life, I’ve learned that blind obedience is a luxury I can no longer afford.
I learned that the hard way, through blood and betrayal and watching good fae die for causes that weren’t theirs to begin with.
I’m not even the most feared warrior in the Night Court.
Honestly, that title might belong to Rue considering what he can do with a whispered word and a well-placed dagger, though I will never, hands down, never admit it to him.
His ego is insufferable enough as it is.
No, I guard the gates because when something dangerous is clawing its way toward the heart of the realm, when darkness threatens to spill over our borders and devour everything we’ve sworn to protect, I’m the first one they send to kill it.
The forest and I are one, have been since I was barely past my first century, when the ancient magic of Kasamere first recognized something kindred in my blood.
My battle prowess is well known throughout Vanir thanks to my father and his ruthless, unforgiving training that left scars on more than just my body.
My ability to access the forest’s magic, to call upon the very roots and branches as extensions of my will, that is my deadliest secret, the ace I keep hidden beneath layers of stoic silence and carefully controlled rage.
My father knows this, he understands exactly what weapon he forged in me through years of discipline and violence.
Yet, he sent these fae to their deaths anyway, dispatched them like lambs to slaughter with orders to kill the one person who’s managed to crack through the ice around my heart.
Did he really think his final words to me about knowing where my loyalties lie would be heeded?
Did he believe his threats would carry the same weight they once did?
He has yet again misjudged me, miscalculated the very nature of the monster he created.
Now, after two days of evading the enemy through Kasamere’s twisted paths, exhausted and weary from constant vigilance, they are already dead and don’t even know it yet.
Today the forest is hungry, restless with ancient magic, and in desperate need of sacrifice.
I can feel it’s need for blood thrumming beneath my boots, eager and patient all at once.
“Where’s the girl?” A soldier shouts as they close in on me, weapons raised and ready, steel glinting in the filtered light that manages to pierce Kasamere’s canopy.
They all know me, know my reputation, my kill count, the way I move through battle like death incarnate.
So, they step forward tentatively, respect and fear warring in their movements.
A few archers have their bows drawn and aimed at my chest, arrows nocked and ready to fly.
Cloaked figures hang back in the shadows, magic wielders waiting to unleash their power, but everyone waits, hesitates.
Their orders are clear, kill Esme, eliminate the threat she represents to their carefully constructed world. They wouldn’t dare harm the general’s son, his greatest achievement, and his greatest disappointment rolled into one. This is where they made their greatest, most fatal mistake.
“The girl is not your concern!” I shout to be heard across the open expanse of land, my voice carrying through the trees with an authority I inherited from the man they follow in stupidity.
“She is the heir to the Night Court throne and under my protection. It is our king’s direct order, sworn before the court and witnessed by all.
” I lift a tired brow as I slowly open my palms, feeling the power surge up from the ground below us like a tide of fury.
“Or is his word not law anymore?” I question, watching as some of them actually pause to consider my words, uncertainty flickering across their faces.
“She’s not one of us!” Someone shouts from the back, voice filled with the kind of blind hatred that’s been festering in certain corners of the court for decades.
I sigh, bone-deep exhaustion settling into my shoulders.
I’m tired, tired of fighting, tired of politics, tired of watching good people die for the ambitions of those who see them as nothing more than chess pieces.
I’m in desperate need of a drink, a shower, and sleep, in whatever order fate decides to grant them.
I’m in no business of saving anyone who doesn’t want to be saved, anyone who would rather cling to their prejudices than see the truth standing right in front of them.
One of the soldiers feels emboldened by the momentary hesitation of his companions and decides he’s over waiting for orders.
He charges at me with a battle cry that echoes through the trees, sword raised high, boots pounding against the moss-covered ground.
I lift my own sword, muscle memory and years of training taking over, eager for the familiar rhythm of combat.
Kasamere groans beneath my boots, a sound like the earth itself awakening from slumber.
I close my eyes briefly, giving thanks to the magic that flows through root and branch, and the forest answers my call with enthusiasm that borders on bloodlust.
Roots rip through the earth with a thunderous snap that splits the air like lightning, erupting from below with enough force to crack stone.
The advancing soldier staggers back, eyes wide with sudden understanding that this is no ordinary fight, stumbling directly into a gaping hole that opens beneath his feet like a hungry mouth.
The roots continue to burst from the moss like organic spears, finding their mark with deadly precision, impaling the nearest soldier through the gut and lifting him screaming into the air, his cries echoing through the forest canopy.
Another tries to run, panic overriding training, but he doesn’t make it more than a few desperate steps before a branch coils around his throat like a serpent and yanks him backward with a sickening crack of bone that echoes through the clearing.
I watch in dark fascination as the clearing erupts in chaos, arrows flying through the air only to be batted away by branches that move with intelligence and purpose.
Soldiers scream and scatter like startled birds, but it doesn’t matter, Kasamere has already marked them, claimed them as offerings to sate its hunger.
Kasamere knows me, recognizes the magic in my blood that calls to its own. Kasamere remembers every drop of blood spilled on its soil, every warrior who has fallen beneath its canopy, and today the enemy won’t escape their fate. The forest has spoken, and its judgment is final.
I fight off the soldiers that manage to reach me through the carnage, sword bloody and arms growing heavy as I slash and kick them to the ground for the forest to finish what I started.
The ground splits at my feet with each step, soil heaves like a living thing, and hands of bark and moss curl up from the depths below, dragging down the living with inexorable strength.
One sorcerer shouts a desperate curse, launching a wave of fire that should incinerate everything in its path, but it fizzles before it reaches me.
The forest inhales deeply, and all that smoke and flame turns to harmless ash in the air, scattered by a wind that tastes of ancient magic and older promises.
After that, I only hear their screams of torment, growing fainter and more distant as Kasamere claims its due.
A female soldier tries to crawl away on her belly, one I recognize from training sessions in my father’s compound.
Her leg is snapped at an unnatural angle, her hair caked with mud and blood, leaving a trail of red in her desperate wake.
“Please,” she rasps, voice barely more than a whisper.
“Please. . .Locke, you’re one of us, we grew up together, trained together—”
“No,” I say, stepping toward her with slow, deliberate movements, my boots squelching in the blood-soaked earth. “I was. I was one of you, once upon a time. I no longer follow my father’s commands blindly, and neither should you, Suri. You had a choice. You made it.”
She sobs as the ground splits beneath her trembling form, roots beginning their patient work of dragging her down inch by agonizing inch.
“There will be more,” she gasps, nails clawing desperately at the dirt, trying to find purchase where none exists.
“You think this is over? You think the queen and your father will just stop because you killed a few soldiers? You’re a fool if you believe that—”
I crouch low, watching her eyes widen with the terrible understanding of what’s coming as the forest swallows her whole, her final words cut off by the earth closing over her head. “Then let them come,” I whisper to the suddenly still air. “I will be waiting.”
When it’s over, the clearing is unnaturally still, as if the violence never happened at all.
Every trace of the bodies and blood are gone, consumed by hungry roots and absorbed into the eternal cycle of the forest. Only the faint hum of Kasamere settling back into satisfied silence remains, along with the barely perceptible shimmer of magic where death seeped deep into the roots, feeding the power that slumbers beneath our feet.