Chapter 36 – Vale
VALE
The soldiers parted to reveal the king and my twin.
The former stared us down, his face as cold as the ice and frost already forming on his fingertips.
Rhistel, on the other hand, was the picture of calculated control with his cutting smile.
Far more concerning was the fact that his ice spider silk gloves were off.
I scanned the soldiers, looking for glazed eyes or any sign that they might be under my twin’s power.
Nothing stuck out, but I wasn’t sure that meant they were in their right minds.
Mother could hide her whispering, and clearly Rhistel had been practicing more often than I knew if he could control her.
“Glamour or no, you cannot hide from me.” Rhistel’s gaze dragged down my body, ensuring I knew who he spoke with. “That stance. That arrogance you exhibit when you’re doing the only thing you’re good at. I know who you are. Knew you’d come.”
“Traitor,” the king spat. “Which one is your wife?”
I thanked the stars for Caelo’s glamours. My brother and the king might be familiar with my posturing, but not that of the others.
Unlike Magnus, though, Rhistel did not seem too concerned with Isolde. Instead, his attention drifted to the vampires. “Bloodsuckers. Now that is interesting.”
“We prefer Red Assassins.” Astril twirled a dagger in her hand.
I took devilish pleasure in how Rhistel’s throat tightened despite the fact that he recovered almost immediately.
“Even more villainous.” Rhistel sounded delighted. “Hired killers. Who would have thought the noble Warrior Bear capable of working with them?”
The nickname rippled through the soldiers they’d brought with them. The whispers stopped, however, when a flash of light behind me lit up the corridor.
“Ha!” Rhistel barked. “Was that the first ward or the second?”
“It doesn’t matter when we’re going to break all three,” I growled. “Stand down, Rhistel. We don’t want to shed blood.”
At least, not the blood of those behind my twin. After seeing the state of our mother, I would not balk at spilling a little of his.
“We do not have the same predilections.” The king lifted a hand, and the stagnant air in the tunnel shifted. Move towards us.
Seconds later, I caught a whiff of bitter almonds in the air. Then the vampires’ knees buckled, and ice flew through my veins.
“Come back!” I commanded the Valkyrja, and we rushed back together, out of reach.
The magic I felt didn’t belong to the king, whose signature I was very familiar with. Rather, he had someone in that crowd moving poisoned air. Figuring they’d want the Falk sisters alive, the poison would likely put us to sleep.
“It burns the skin and eyes.” Freyia blinked rapidly to clear the poison.
I stared down the hall at the small force opposing us. None of them seemed affected.
“There must be an antidote that they took in preparation.” I called my own air magic and retaliated by pushing the poisonous air back.
Rhistel scowled. “Harder.”
The force of air coming our way pressed against my own powers. I concentrated and this time detected a few unique signatures. At least five fae were shoving their magic against mine. Together they were powerful enough that, in time, they could overpower me.
“Warders, hurry!” I twisted to see how close they were.
“I’m close!” Geiravor wheezed, the effort she was spending clear. “One more—got it!”
The light flashed.
“Vale, we need your blood,” Yrsa said.
The others cleared the way, and straining to keep my magic fighting against the press of poisoned air, I used a dagger to prick my finger, drawing blood. With one touch of red to the metal, the lock clicked. Before I moved out of the way, Yrsa was there with the keyring.
She tried one key. Two. Three. With steady hands, she moved through each one until she got to the last. The metal entered the lock. Yrsa twisted.
It didn’t work.
Magnus laughed.
My jaw tightened. He wasn’t even willing to come forward and fight. He was allowing others to do his dirty work, and would sweep in to take the credit afterwards. Then, the reason struck me.
He was frightened. Not of me, for the king knew how I fought, and with magic, he was very strong.
No, the fae I’d once called father would never admit it, but I would bet Skelda that he feared the Falk twins.
They were unknowns—particularly their shadow magic.
He would not take a step closer until we were unconscious.
“Move.” Thyra and my mate pushed me aside. “We have the lock.”
I resumed my place in front and motioned for Thantrel and Caelo to join. Than had small air magic. Caelo did not, but he was a knight. They would help buy us time.
Another wave of air magic swept from me, battling with the poisoned gusts. I’d successfully gained us a noteworthy buffer when a bone-deep cold rippled from behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know that Isolde and Thyra were using their combined powers to freeze and then shatter the lock.
“The whore and her sister!” Magnus’s face took on a startling shade of red, and he plowed three paces forward. “What do you say we end this now, Isolde? Thyra? If you two face me like real fae, no one else will die for this war!”
Thyra let out a condescending bark of laughter. “Like you did against our father? We know what you did, Maggy.” The king’s eyes narrowed. “Without her, you’d never have won against my family.”
Thyra didn’t say who, but the king didn’t need a name. His expression turned feral.
“You endangered your mother by bringing them here.”
I shoved a windstorm their way, furious that he would lay such blame on my shoulders. “That was you. Your wounded ego. Your pride.”
The king snarled, but that expression faltered when the lock’s metal cracked and shattered. The pieces fell to the ground.
Thyra laughed, and I looked over my shoulder to find her staring straight at the king, a lazy smirk on her face. “That’s all that you have to keep your greatest weapon in your control? And to think I was worried.”
Yrsa and Isolde were already pulling my mother from her cell. Helping her to move, to stand, but my mother remained limp. Walking, but barely. My stomach pitted.
I locked eyes with my mate. “Go. We’ll buy you time.”
“I’ll stay with you.” Qildor stepped forward, a loyal brother.
Isolde’s lips parted. “I’m not leaving you.”
I felt her surge of magic, power capable of doing significant damage, but would invite the king to do the same. Once the two began, where would it end? How many others would die? And if Thyra got involved, it could be even worse.
“Don’t,” I warned. I gestured to Caelo, Qildor, and Thantrel, their weapons drawn.
“The cabal can hold them off,” I assured her. “The rest must go. Get my mother to safety.”
An unfair request. Isolde despised my mother, but everyone could see something was wrong with the queen, and Isolde wouldn’t let an ill fae suffer.
“As soon as you can, follow,” my wife said, all the command of a queen in her tone.
“I’ll make sure they can,” Geiravor said. “The other warder will sense my power. Right?”
Qildor nodded but kept his gaze trained on the soldiers standing with the king and prince. Ever the knight, the protector.
Thyra slid her shoulder under my mother’s, and my mate loosed an exhale filled with conflict.
“Until the stars fall,” she whispered, taking my mother’s other side.
“Until the stars fall.” I went to her and kissed her forehead.
“That one!” Magnus bellowed. “I want her alive!”
I spun to face him. “I’d like to see you try to lay a hand on her.” Through the pounding of blood in my ears, I heard the three pairs of sisters running down the corridor to the hidden exit.
“Forward!” the king roared.
The soldiers ran at us, their swords bearing down.
I palmed my daggers and diverted some of the air away from us, protecting us from the encroaching poison to the closest adversary.
The air slammed into his chest, lifting him off his feet, up, up, and up.
His back collided with the stone ceiling above, and the soldier’s eyes shuttered closed.
I allowed the air to drop him gently, but teased a single current from the stream and dragged the fallen’s sword to me.
Before the metal met my palm, the second line of soldiers intercepted us, four already down, so many more to go.
I ducked as the next came for me, spinning out of reach and landing on one knee.
A slice from one of my daggers cut through the tendon above his heel.
He fell, groaned, and I grinned as Thantrel darted over, relieving the male of his sword and hitting him over the head with his own hilt.
Just in time, I dropped one dagger into my boot and caught the sword I’d eased my way.
Good weight. Shorter than I like, but usable.
The onslaught continued, but not a single soldier felled us, nor made it past our line. We maneuvered and struck and brought down each opponent.
And then, the arrow came, arching above the stream of air and sticking in Caelo’s thigh. My friend roared and fell.
“Warder.” I was careful not to use Qildor’s name, to give the king that knowledge. “Get him out of here!”
Caelo could still move using his wings, but to unfurl them and stay here would only make him a larger target. And once the arrows began, they continued to come.
But from where? I used one of the downed soldiers as a shield and stood to search. The oncoming forces had thinned, giving me a clear vantage all the way down the tunnel.
In the far back, a bedraggled soldier stood in a perfect archer’s stance. Practiced though she was in shooting, the archer couldn’t hide that she was breathing so heavily. As if she’d just run here.
Fates. More are coming.
“Fall back,” I said. “Warder and injured lead. We’ll hold them off.”
Losing Qildor hindered us greatly as it left us with no shield, but the warder would need his own magic to protect both him and Caelo.
Thantrel and I could remain armed, and I was able to make a rudimentary barrier of air to protect us as we fled.
Therefore, we were the ones to stay. To thin the onslaught, and to give Qildor time to follow Geiravor’s trail.
“I’ll wait at the door.” Qildor helped Caelo to his feet, stabilizing our friend until he could use his wings. A ward materialized around them, and then they were off. I continued dodging arrows and fighting, casting glances behind me. Soon, they were out of sight.
Just a few more seconds. A minute tops and—another arrow whizzed by me. I pivoted out of the way and slammed my shoulder into the stone wall. Pain radiated.
Two more soldiers came at us. Both fell in rapid succession, and I took the opportunity to look beyond, to find the archer, our biggest opponent when we made a break for it. Her bow lowered.
Out of arrows.
Good, because I, too, was faltering. Not physically, but magically. Throughout the fight, I’d continued casting back the poison. Now I would have to pivot, to use my magic as a barrier that allowed us to run. Did I have enough left in me?
“Than, now.” I twisted as I gave the command and rerouted my magic, condensing the air into a defense.
The temperature in the dungeons plummeted. Cries of fae far beyond the isolation corridor rang out. The king would do anything to capture us.
“Run!” I shouted to Thantrel, but it was too late.
Icicles as long as stiletto daggers raced at us, their points deadly. They ripped through the barrier of air I’d created as though it were mere parchment.
“Down!” I fell to my hands and knees as Thantrel screamed in agony, right before a shard of ice slammed into my shoulder. The size and weight of it knocked me on my back. The sword I’d taken skittered away.
I tried to get up, only for something hard to strike my temple. The world darkened.
“Vale! Get up!” Thantrel shouted only to scream again. Ice shattered to the ground. Another onslaught. Had he been hit again?
I attempted to focus my vision, but everything remained blurry.
Focus. To be safe, I pushed air back, trying to keep the poison away. Through my efforts, I felt someone moving our way, barreling towards us.
I inhaled. Did my best to force my blurred vision to clear, and it did, barely. Enough to catch motion, to squint and find Rhistel, five paces away, his ungloved hand outstretched.