Chapter 32 #2
I swallowed the lump in my throat. I knew that.
We were the last people with any status or title to stand between Jyrard and his new Greenheart wife claiming the entire goblin lands.
But it felt wrong to witness people fight and do nothing to help them.
I wasn’t a stand back and watch kinda girl.
And now that I had my autonomy back, I would use it to eviscerate Cleodora.
Which was hard to do from the top of a wall.
“If they want us, could we lure them away?” I asked, biting the inside of my lip, flinching when bodies collided with the gate further down the wall.
A second battering ram had been formed while our attention was on the carnage below, and now it drove into the heavy wooden gate like a threat and a promise.
“No. Lazankh is a shiny prize that Jyrard wants to take from me,” Kier answered frostily.
I sent a brush of comfort through the bond. “Then what do we do? Can you send a wave of fog to move everyone, like the Haar did with whole towns?”
Kier said nothing for so long that I looked at him. His throat bobbed, a stark fear in his blue eyes. I slid my hand down to his and linked our fingers, squeezing hard. “I won’t know how to get them back. And I could capture our allies, too.”
I moved closer so I could kiss the stubble on his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “If I could do this for you, I would.”
It was a miracle I even had magic as a human.
A harrowing scream of panic rose from below as proof of that, my creatures ripping our enemies apart more effectively than any torture rack.
The sound reminded me of Jakoda’s scream in the forest, and my whole body locked up to fight the urge to run to Cherish and see for myself that she was okay.
“Save Lazankh,” I said, catching his gaze, “and then we’ll figure out how to get the others back.”
Kier’s chest heaved with a rough inhale, and with that sigh, he nodded.
I released his hand when he lifted both in front of him, blue magic lighting up the fog that poured from him, obscuring the sight of the wall and the army in the field.
But I heard the screams; I knew the exact moment the Haar reached the army.
In the back lines, where Greenheart stood close to Bluescale, I watched them realise what had happened and panic. Some fled into the forest. Others flared their magic brighter and raced for the wall. And a chill ran down my spine at the tell-tale crack of the gate coming down.
“Kier.”
“I know.”
I reached for Baby and Valour, urging them to hold the bastards from the gate below us. And as the Haar raced across the field in the first form I ever saw him in—a sea of endless, devouring fog—I thought we could do this. Save Lazankh. Keep it out of Jyrard’s and Cleodora’s grubby hands.
And then the bastard himself spoke, his voice carrying from somewhere in the middle of the ranks. Kier’s flinch travelled all the way through the bond to me, and its ripple went through my chest, my arms. I reached for a dagger and gripped it tight, needing something even if my sword was gone.
“Call off the Haar, Prince Kier. You’ve killed most of our people, but no more have to die.”
I hissed through gritted teeth. Fucking hypocrite. I wanted to send Valour to shut him up, but I couldn’t risk him leashing her like he did last time. We’d only just recovered. Instead, I reached under my shirt for the stone of power Kier had made into a pendant, and wrapped my fingers around it.
Show me Jyrard, I spoke to it like I’d speak to Baby. Find him.
The Haar stretched further across the field, leaving only fog in its wake, soldiers whisked away gods only knew where.
As long as it decimated the army, I didn’t give a shit.
Below, fifty or so soldiers still hammered at the gate, knocking it off its hinges.
Down the wall, the second gate was in tatters, the third not much better. They were practically inside the city.
“Where the hell is he?” I muttered, scanning the mist, the stubborn soldiers who kept marching at the wall, furious at the sight of the fog that had killed tens upon tens of thousands as far as they knew.
Was there any point shouting that they were still alive?
I opened my mouth, clutching my sapphire, but Jyrard beat me to it.
“Only a monster would keep slaughtering innocents, slaughtering their own people. Spare them, Kier, I beg of you.”
Slimy bastard.
And I understood his game all at once. Understood why Cleodora let herself get struck with that spear, why she let us get away.
The sword was her aim, sure, but this was the main goal—spread the word that the Haar was Kier’s doing.
There’d been rumours for months, but here was the proof, Kier standing atop a wall that had been writhing with fire but now only mist, with the Haar’s wicked magic stretching over the field.
“We played right into their hands,” I hissed. “Kier, cover us, make sure no one can tell who we are.”
Plausible deniability was all we had left. Kier? No, no, that was some other guy who looked remarkably like our prince, but definitely not Kier at all.
“Why—fuck,” Kier growled, realising what I had. “This wasn’t about Lazankh or your sword.”
“If they can’t kill you, they’ll turn the people against you.
” Kier and I were all that stood between them and complete domination of the goblin lands—well, between Cleodora and domination, and Jyrard and an early grave, but he hadn’t realised that yet.
Trying to murder us had failed, so they’d concocted this.
The worst part was it was true—Kier was the Haar.
And when people found out, they would hate him.
Vivid turquoise light streaked across the sky, falling to the field like a shooting star, and I squinted until I could just about make out flowing dark hair, black clothes, and a whole lot of magic.
“Is that Nidash?”
“He’s buying us time. Or he’s found Jyrard.” Kier clenched his hands into fists, still spilling fog to extinguish the fire. But Cleodora’s blaze was suspiciously controlled now, barely sputtering.
“We are here to liberate Lazankh from its evil dictator,” Jyrard’s voice called across the field, amplified in a way that would be audible even beyond the walls. Not fucking good. “Reject Prince Kier, and I will protect you from the insidious cruelty of the Haar.”
“He’s laying it on a bit thick,” I muttered, storming across the wall to peer into the city.
My stomach swooped at the height, but I gritted my teeth and held onto the ledge.
The streets were full of people with makeshift weapons and simmering magic, ready to defend their home.
But I watched them glance at each other, confusion a blanket over the people of Lazankh.
The heavy thud of the battering ram against the gates had fallen silent, even the thump of boots marching had quieted, so the disgruntled murmur that became a shout was as clear as Kier’s voice behind me.
“Where is the prince?”
Others were indistinct, but I caught one woman shouting, “He’s fighting the army, he’s out on the field. Look, there’s his dragon.”
Well, that was positive.
“The Mother has come to save us from him.”
Ah. Less positive.
“Find the prince!”
I turned to Kier and grabbed his arm. “Time to go.”
“Where?” His eyes were dark, devoid of hope when he looked at me. “If we leave Jyrard and Cleodora out there, they’ll get into the city.”
“They’re going to get in either way,” I said with a spike of pain I did my best to ignore. “The gates are down, and no one’s rushing to defend them anymore. We need to get you to the castle and pretend we were never here.”
Kier nodded, then nodded again. I hated the hopelessness I felt through our bond, but we didn’t have time for that.
Those bastards out there were trying to take our home from us, and somehow that was worse than meeting them on the battlefield and falling at the end of a sword.
Being shunned, exiled from Lazankh—I couldn’t bear it again.
Valour, Baby, pull back. Meet us at the castle. I sensed their confusion but they complied. There weren’t many people left to rip the limbs off anyway, so Baby quickly relented.
“How do we get back?”
“The same way we got up here.” He held out his hand to me, and I quickly laced our fingers. “This is going to be bad, Zaba.”
“I know.” He wasn’t talking about our mode of transport. “But we’ve got friends and family to back us up, and we’ll recover all the people the Haar sent away. We’re going to be fine.”
I could tell from his nonverbal reply that he didn’t believe me. I wasn’t sure I believed myself.