Chapter 19 #2
Nakir was the first one up, panting as he peered over at Emi, seeming ready to catch her in case she needed to collapse even as he swayed on his own feet.
But Emi hadn’t even broken a sweat. Alethea counted the bodies around them with a slack jaw, her eyes widening in disbelief.
How had Emi managed to obliterate their assailants so effortlessly, leaving nothing but lifeless husks in her wake?
Twenty-five. Twenty-five assassins cloaked in black, daggers and blades at the ready. They lay motionless in the melted snow, their life force drained from their eyes, crimson trails marking their demise.
The sight was horrifying. Who else could wield such immense power except the gods themselves?
Nakir clutched a near catatonic Emi by her shoulders, his grip gentle yet firm as he forced his friend to look at him even as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Hey. Emilia. Hey. You’re here. Right now. With me.” He paused, searching her eyes for any glimmer of recognition. “You did it. Now we need to go. Do you hear me? Emi, we need to go.”
All Alethea could do was stare at the corpses surrounding them.
Balthasar gently nudged her forward. “We need to return to camp to make sure we don’t have a bloody battle on our hands. I don’t sense anything yet, but there could be more of them.”
Emi blinked, finally returning to them. She glanced around warily at the rest of her friends, as if she didn’t see the destruction she’d just wrought from the heavens, and nodded weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “Go... Yes, we need to go.”
But Dawes stopped them with a shake of his head.
“Nakir, you should take Alethea back to the castle. It’ll be safer for her there than at camp if there are any more surprises waiting for us.
Bal, go with them. Emi, Kerrigan, and I will secure the camp.
We’ll send a messenger when it’s clear.” Dawes took Emi by the hand, pulling her close to his larger frame.
Nakir couldn’t argue with him—or he didn’t want to. He glanced between the others before finally nodding in agreement, taking Alethea’s hand. “I want a full report as soon as it’s clear.”
Balthasar was already splitting from the group, scanning the pathway back toward the castle. Alethea followed, her head still spinning.
“How did she not burn out?” she asked, but Nakir just shook his head.
She watched him then—the set of his jaw, the careful way he was holding himself. The sheen was still there at his temple, dripping down his neck.
He caught her looking. Without a word, he took her hand and pulled her along the stone pathway.
The moment Balthasar closed the door behind them, Nakir withdrew the paper packet from his pocket, and tapped the pale gold powder onto his fist. He snorted it without ceremony, without comment, his eyes closing briefly as he straightened.
Alethea watched, unable to tear her eyes off of him.
Balthasar checked him quietly—pulse, pupils, a murmured question—and Nakir swore he was fine. The sheen was still there, faint but present, and his eyes hadn’t fully returned to that familiar amber.
All they could do now was wait.
The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in on them as Nakir and Balthasar paced restlessly and Alethea fretted with her hair, braiding and unbraiding. Each passing moment seemed to stretch into an eternity as the hour passed, their collective worry echoing in the silent chamber.
Lady Yara appeared in the doorway first, her eyes slightly glassy, but overall extremely composed given the late hour.
“Nakir, please accept my sincere apologies. I’ve just been made aware of the attempts on your life,” she said, her face drawn with obvious guilt for not ensuring her guests’ safety.
“I am most ashamed that they were able to get so close under my roof not once, but twice. We were... unable to find any survivors among your attackers. The attendant who gave you the goblet has yet to be found. We do have an angry prince in our dungeons, but we do not currently believe he had anything to do with the attempted hit.”
Nakir glanced at Balthasar, who gave a subtle inclination of his head in confirmation.
The use of nightshade alone was enough to tell Alethea exactly who was responsible for their evening.
The Great Lady sighed before she continued.
“Bringing a weapon to a Revel is a violation of the festival but not strictly against Lenorean laws. Besides, he seems to have suffered for that mistake enough already. I’ll let him stew and sober up tonight, but I have no choice but to release him in the morning. ”
“Of course. I trust your judgment,” Nakir replied smoothly, his mask of composure firmly in place.
“Until then, I’ve stationed extra guards outside these rooms. I’ve also had my Runecaster place charms on your windows. You won’t be able to open them, but neither will anyone else. Call if you need anything else.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, My Lady.” Nakir gave a slight bow of his head, and the Great Lady returned it before she left them.
Another thirty minutes passed before Balthasar stood and opened the door, revealing a worse for wear Kerrigan. Her tailored gray suit was now singed and torn in several places. She entered the room, wincing as she rolled her shoulder.
“Ten more in the camp,” the fire mage shared. “We took care of them, no casualties on our side—although Bernadea had a close call.”
Balthasar did his best to guide her to the nearest chair, where she collapsed in a sprawl of long limbs.
Kerrigan ran her hands over her face and sighed. “We had a handful of our soldiers sneak off to attend the Revel. Dawes was pissed. I talked him down from dishonorable discharge to digging latrine trenches.”
“Thank you, Ker,” Nakir said.
But Kerrigan wasn’t finished. She sat up with a heavy sigh, clearing her throat. She didn’t meet Nakir’s eye. “I heard about Reingard.”
“It was handled.” Nakir’s tone was stern, almost unbothered.
When Kerrigan spoke again, she addressed Alethea.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry. First, for blowing up at you at camp after Hyelea.
It was fucked up, considering... considering all the ways I’ve failed us.
” The raw honesty in her voice struck Alethea.
“I’m not afraid to die for this—to give my life like my father did.
It’s the most noble death a warrior can have.
But the fact you cared enough to...” She stopped, trailing off with a long exhale, running a hand through her hair.
“And second, because... when we decided to attend the Revel, I sent a Sending Ritual to Olympia. I didn’t expect her to even come, let alone bring her asshole brother.
I didn’t really know about your shared history until...
until Olympia told me tonight. I know I shouldn’t have told anyone where we were going to be.
” Kerrigan’s voice wavered. “But Olympia doesn’t scheme like the rest of them. She’s... she’s good.”
Alethea wasn’t used to this kind of emotion as Kerrigan spoke of the youngest Delaney. All the fire in her eyes had been doused when she looked at Alethea. It only lasted for a moment before she cleared her throat, clenching her fists.
“You’re one of us now. And anyone who fucks with you is going to have to deal with the rest of us.”
Kerrigan’s words resonated deeply within Alethea, bridging a gap between them. She could tell this was her extending a hand in the dark in a way that was just as meaningful as a warm hug from Emi or a reassuring look from Balthasar.
Alethea’s eyes swam with tears she refused to let fall as she gave the fire mage a nod. “Thank you.”
Ker nodded as she stood, unwilling to linger any longer. The fire mage murmured a few final words to Nakir and Balthasar before she departed, closing the door behind her.