Chapter 39
Wolfe
Niamh and I raced toward Fairwitch, my head spinning with what I’d just discovered and what I might discover once we arrived.
They’d broken through the barrier. That’s what those women had said, which shouldn’t have been possible unless they’d figured out how to wield magic like the godwitches had.
Not just wield but become magical. That was the only way to break our barrier without needing acceptance. And that thought terrified me.
Then there was the fact that my brother, whom I thought was dead, was the Butcher. He was alive, which I didn’t even understand. Were there multiple butchers? Had the previous Butcher died and my brother took his place?
Lor was working with the enemy.
My other brothers might very well be dead.
It felt like my head might explode with all this new information.
“We’re almost there.” Niamh panted next to me, her cheeks red, hair plastered to her face, which shone with sweat. “I’m only going to hold you back. You go ahead.” She bent over, breathing labored.
“No,” I said, thinking about the brotherhood who might be roaming these hills. “I won’t leave you alone. We trained for a reason, and you can do this. You can make it with me.”
She stood, her chin rising in determination as she nodded, and we took off again, running along the winding cliffside, a sharp pain in my side as my lungs squeezed air in and out.
Soon the muddy path dipped and opened to a sprawling grassy area, and I stopped, heart pounding, sweat dripping down my face.
Niamh stood next to me, chest heaving as she gazed at the area before us with worry etched in her brows. This had become her home as much as it was mine, and if anything happened to Fairwitch, she’d grieve the loss as much as I did.
I swallowed thickly and stepped forward, imagining what I might find on the other side. I looked around the cliffside, not seeing anything but the occasional sheep or rock. Not that it mattered if the brotherhood was lurking, not when they’d figured out how to break the barrier and enter Fairwitch.
I took a deep breath and looked beside me, realizing Niamh wasn’t there. She stood farther back, twisting her hands in front of her.
“It might not let me back in,” she said, “and I’d rather you just go ahead and do what you have to do, then worry about me later. I’ll be okay.” She gave me an encouraging smile.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. “Niamh, I don’t know if I can do this alone. I don’t know if I can face what’s in there by myself.” My voice cracked with the vulnerability this woman tugged out of me.
“You’re not alone. You never were.” She clutched my hand tight. “Let’s go.”
I breathed out a sigh of relief that she was coming with me. She might have had doubts about Fairwitch letting her in, but I didn’t.
We stepped forward, that familiar whoosh filling my ears as we entered Fairwitch, the entire city appearing before us.
Niamh gasped. Smoke filled the air, and it was silent, eerily silent, none of the normal hustle and bustle filling the streets. In fact, I couldn’t see anyone at all, and my heart sank. Where was the royal guard? Surely if they were alive, they’d be fighting the brotherhood, defending our home.
“It’s okay.” Niamh tugged me forward. “Let’s go to the castle first.”
I nodded, unable to move as my gaze swept around Fairwitch, all the smoke making it so hard to see.
Niamh yanked, and I finally stumbled forward as she let go of my hand and we walked along the dirt road that led to the castle. The familiar wood-slat peaks rose high, shooting through the thick smog, and my hand hovered over my sword, ready to pull it from its sheath should someone attack.
We walked up the stairs toward the castle, and Niamh let out a cry, running to the gargoyles, whose heads had been chopped off.
“Barty.” Niamh’s eyes filled with tears as she touched Barty’s head. “Tal.” She reached out toward the other gargoyle.
“Took you long enough!” Barty said, and Niamh shrieked and stumbled back.
“We’ve been lying here like this for hours,” Tal said. “No one comes to check on the gargoyles. All we do is open doors for you.”
“I’m starting to feel undervalued,” Barty said.
“You know, we refused to open the door for those heathens,” Tal added. “That’s when they chopped off our heads.”
“Rude,” Barty added.
She knelt down to touch the stone heads, now on the ground and cracked. “Do you think they can be put back together?” she asked.
“I think that’s the least of our worries,” I said gravely, squeezing my eyes shut, an intrusive image of Cillian’s and Nevan’s heads in place of the gargoyles.
“The least of your worries?” Tal shrieked.
“He didn’t mean it like that,” Niamh said quickly. “We will get your heads back in place,” she promised solemnly. “As soon as we find out what happened in there.” She pointed into the castle.
My chest tightened, and tears pricked my eyes. I needed to know that my brothers were safe, and I wasn’t sure I could step through those doors knowing what might be on the other side.
“I’m here.” Niamh’s voice broke through my dark thoughts. “I’m right beside you every step of the way.” She stood and moved to the double doors. “I’m going to open the door, okay?”
“You don’t have to rub it in our faces,” Tal muttered from the ground.
My chest constricted, and I couldn’t get any words out, but I nodded, knowing it had to be done. We could be the last defense for Fairwitch, for anyone still alive, and if that was the case, I had to be ready to fight for what was left of it.
She pushed open the door, and it creaked, the sound echoing throughout the silent foyer. Blood trailed across the shiny white tiles, and I followed the trail into a hallway that led to the servants’ quarters, my boots squeaking against the floor.
“Where is everyone?” Niamh whispered. “If there’s blood, shouldn’t there be . . . bodies?”
It was a good question, one I didn’t have an answer to.
A wail broke out next to us, and we both launched backward, hitting the opposite wall. “Oh, it was horrible,” Margaret cried, covering her face, blood spattering the painting where she stood.
“Margaret!” Niamh surged toward the painting of a field of sheep, Margaret standing in the middle of them. “What happened?”
“We were attacked,” she said, voice shaking. “I was in the library with Morton. He arrived late last night and insisted on opening it this morning. I told him to rest, and he told me to mind my own business. So then I said—”
“Margaret,” I cut in. “The attack. What happened?”
“Oh it was awful. They came from the sky, riding these broomsticks that flew through the air.”
Niamh wrinkled her nose. “Broomsticks. They rode brooms?”
Margaret nodded. “Magic ones. I saw them through the library windows, and I tried to tell Morton. He said I was seeing things, and maybe I was the one who needed to rest. And I told him—”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “The attack.”
“Well, the alarms sounded and everyone was ordered to stay in their homes. Of course panic broke out over the streets, everyone clamoring to get indoors and to safety.”
Hope bubbled inside me. Maybe that’s where everyone was. Hiding and safe.
“Luckily it was early in the morning, so no one had come to the library yet. Morton hid in one of the books.”
Relief flooded Niamh’s face, and I had to admit, I was relieved as well. Niamh had lost almost everyone she loved—she couldn’t lose Morton too.
“I can’t hide in books, but I can hide in paintings. You know, I’m very good at staying still and quiet.”
“Never would’ve guessed,” I mumbled, and Niamh elbowed me.
“I heard shouting near the castle entrance, so I decided to travel to the farm painting right near the front doors. You know, I never go into that painting. It smells like an actual farm.” She shuddered. “Paintings have scents, if you didn’t know. That’s why I prefer the fruity ones.”
“Margaret, for the love of the godwitches, please tell us what happened.”
“Oh, of course.” She giggled. “Well, I endured the horrible smell to see those brotherhood scoundrels burst into the castle. No one thought they’d be able to enter, so everyone was in shock.
Servants were scuttling away like little mice.
” She tiptoed her fingers to illustrate her point.
“Then some of the royal guard burst in and started fighting the brotherhood. They had these arrows that could find their own targets. I watched one arrow fly through the air, then stop, turn downward and go straight toward one of the guards.”
“Who?” I barked. “Did they get hit? Where was Cillian?”
“And then,” Margaret prattled on, ignoring my question. “Who awoke, but Sir Arthur!”
“Sir Arthur?” I asked, shooting a sideways glance at Niamh.
“Yes, woke right up from his nap, very grumpy, and he started blocking all the arrows. I’ve never seen him move so fast. He was very upset about the intruders coming into his castle. They didn’t know the password.”
I rolled my eyes at that part.
“But every arrow deflected off his armor. Some of the arrows started denting his chest and arm plates, which made him even angrier, and that made him move even faster. The brotherhood were so distracted by this talking, walking armor that they’d stopped moving to watch Sir Arthur singlehandedly deflect all their arrows. That’s when the chandelier dropped.”
I looked back to see the glittering pieces shattered all over the floor of the foyer.
“Right on top of the brotherhood! The royal guard had surrounded them while Sir Arthur distracted them. They had nowhere to go, and then boom.” She clapped her hands, and Niamh jumped. “Chandelier drops on them. None of them died,” Margaret assured us, as if that was what we might be worried about.
“So where are they? Where is the high prince? Have you seen Nevan?”
“The high prince is recovering from a fight,” a voice said at the end of the hallway. My head snapped in the direction of both Cillian and Nevan. Blood spattered Cillian’s cheek, and a small piece of tape wrapped around the center of Nevan’s glasses.
I ran toward them, roping them both into a tight hug. “You’re safe,” I said. “You’re okay.”
I pushed them both back at arm’s length, studying them for signs of injury. “Whose blood is that?” I asked Cillian.
“The brotherhood swine I punched in the jaw. Some of his blood got on me.”
“You were fighting?” I was going to have a word with Harriet.
Cillian shot me one of his dazzling smiles. “You know, Lor isn’t the only one you trained.”
“You taught us a lot too.” Nevan crossed his arms. “Even if we didn’t quite become the fighters you and Lor were.”
I swallowed at hearing our brother’s name, at the reminder that I was going to have to tell my family that Lor was still alive . . . and that he had somehow become the Butcher of the Brotherhood. But now wasn’t the right time.
“And look at us.” Cillian spread his arms wide.
“We did okay without you here. We survived while you were”—he stretched his neck out and looked at the opposite end of the hallway, where Niamh stood, her back turned to us as she spoke with Margaret—“occupied. Wanna tell us what happened with Niamh?” Cillian waggled his eyebrows, and Nevan smirked.
“No,” I snapped.
He shot Nevan a look and shrugged. “Well, I tried.”
“Where is everyone else? Where are the brotherhood?”
“We threw them in the dungeon,” Cillian said. “Sir Arthur is currently terrifying them with threats of guillotines and something called a stretching machine? Not sure what that is, but it doesn’t sound pleasant.”
My shoulders slumped and I sank against the wall. “So everyone is okay? Fairwitch is okay?”
“For now.” Cillian’s voice had turned grave. “We think they were able to breach because of those magic brooms they were riding. They got in with the magical item.”
I swore. That was a loophole we’d never considered.
Cillian raised a finger. “But now that we have our library back, we’re learning a lot about this castle, about the magic of Fairwitch.” He leaned forward. “We might be able to move our castle.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
Nevan pushed his spectacles up his nose. “The entire city of Fairwitch. It’s a complicated process but something that is a possibility.”
I scratched my jaw. “It seems there’s a lot of discuss.”
Cillian nodded. “Luckily Sir Arthur is quite the interrogator. He got the brotherhood to admit they didn’t intend to enter Fairwitch. It was a complete mistake. So hopefully that buys us some time while we figure out a plan of attack.”
I raised a brow. “So no more searching for a bride?”
Nevan smirked, and Cillian shoved him. “No. You were right, Wolfe. I’ve been focusing on the wrong thing. Nevan found a book that mentioned only the castle can choose its queen. No one else. So I guess the castle will choose my wife when it sees fit. I just hope she’s as lovely and kind as Niamh.”
Laughter burst out of me, and Cillian and Nevan’s mouths dropped open.
“Is he laughing?” Nevan whispered.
“I think so,” Cillian said. “Or he’s completely losing it.”
“What happened between you and Niamh?” Cillian looked over my shoulder again. “Who are you and what have you done with my guard?”
The words sobered me, and I shoved a hand through my hair, thinking about what I’d told Niamh. “Not your guard. Just your brother,” I said.
“Right. I’m okay with that, actually.” Cillian let out a laugh and clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, we’re glad you’re back. Both of you. Niamh helped save us. If she hadn’t moved Arthur, if she hadn’t discovered that library, we’d be in a much poorer state right now. We’re lucky to have her.”
I looked back at Niamh as she shot a peek at us, her smile shy, her face glowing. “We are lucky,” I said, and I wouldn’t take any of it for granted, not ever again.