Chapter Sixty-Seven
Velunthar apparently is a stronghold that can be shut down from within. The Fae constructed it many years ago. It is said that in times of war, they are able to close it completely, shielding themselves inside. It is impenetrable.
Tabitha Wysteria
Bryn Wynter stood upon the balcony that overlooked the vast expanse stretching before Velunthar, a sword resting at his hip and a deep frown carved across his face.
Below, the witches marched.
An entire army spread across the barren land like a dark tide rolling steadily towards the mountain.
Bryn had never seen so many witches and warlocks gathered in one place before.
Their numbers were far greater than anyone had expected, and he suspected the Fae queen had realised the same grim truth.
Velunthar alone would not be able to stop them.
Hours had passed since Kage had vanished, and Bryn found himself repeatedly glancing at the empty space beside him, wondering where the wyverian prince had gone.
He was glad to know the truth now.
But knowing it had not softened the blow.
Kage Blackburn was dead.
And nothing could change that.
A thought tugged persistently at Bryn’s mind. The next time Kage appeared, he would ask him to search the Underworld to see whether Bryn’s family had reached it safely, whether they were there somewhere, together.
Whether they were at peace.
Bryn’s blue eyes narrowed when a small group of witches dragged two figures into the open.
The first was a Fae man—dark-skinned, with antlers rising from his head. At such a distance Bryn could not clearly make out his features, but he heard the soft gasp that escaped the Fae queen when she recognised one of her own being hauled forward like a prisoner.
Then Bryn saw the second figure.
A young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, with silver-white hair and skin marked by familiar runes.
A valkyrian.
And someone Bryn had known his entire life.
Someone who wore the same face he did.
His twin sister.
Wren.
Bryn surged forward, eyes wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
He watched in growing horror as the witches forced the prisoners to their knees. He watched as swords were conjured in their hands.
Bryn spun, ready to leave Velunthar that very instant, ready to throw himself down the mountain if that was what it took to reach her.
But a hand caught his arm.
He looked up to find the valkyrian woman named Alma standing before him, her golden eyes heavy with sorrow.
‘You won’t make it in time,’ she said quietly, her grip firm.
‘That’s me sista.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Slowly, Bryn turned back towards the field below, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.
He had already believed he had lost his sister once.
And now…
Now he was being forced to lose her all over again.
Only this time, he would have to watch.
Bryn watched as the sword plunged into Wren’s stomach.
Her body arched faintly with the force of the blow, and blood burst from her lips in a crimson spray. From where he stood he could not hear what passed between the two prisoners, yet he saw the way they looked at one another.
There was hope in their eyes.
And love.
And forgiveness.
He watched the moment the light left her body.
And the moment the other prisoner was struck down beside her.
When it was done, the witches withdrew, leaving the bodies where they had fallen so the Fae might retrieve their dead. They retreated across the field, keeping just enough distance to avoid a counterattack.
Bryn turned and hurried back inside Velunthar.
He ran through the great corridors and waited at the entrance until a group of Black Lotus returned carrying the fallen.
Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps it had not been Wren.
Perhaps…
Bryn collapsed to his knees the moment he saw her.
His sister lay upon a great leaf the Fae had used as a bier to carry the bodies. She looked almost peaceful, as though she had merely fallen asleep.
It had been so long since he had last seen her.
More than a year ago, when she had left their home with the valkyrian Freya. Countless times since then he had wondered where she might be, what adventures she had found herself tangled in.
And now…
Now he truly was alone.
His entire family was gone.
Yes, he had not seen Eirwen’s body, but what were the chances his youngest brother had survived? The hope that lingered in Bryn’s chest felt fragile, almost foolish.
The truth was far simpler.
He was the last of his name.
The last Wynter.
Something within Bryn finally broke.
He had expected tears, expected to collapse beside his sister’s body and weep until nothing remained of him but grief.
But instead, a terrible coldness settled over him.
It crept quietly through his chest and hollowed him out until nothing remained at all. No sorrow. No anger. Not even despair.
Just emptiness.
Bryn Wynter was done.
Done with the wars. Done with the endless killing. Done with a world that had taken his family piece by piece and left him standing alone among the ruins. For what purpose, he no longer cared to know.
Caldwell had taken the throne in the north.
He could keep it.
Bryn did not want it.
He did not want anything anymore.
Slowly, Bryn rose to his feet and turned away, leaving his sister lying where she was.
Alone.
Forgotten.
It did not matter, did it?
She was dead. She would not feel anything now.
‘We can bury her,’ Alma said gently, her face drawn tight with concern. ‘I know that wolverians bury their dead.’
Bryn gave a small nod and began to walk away.
‘Where are you going?’ the valkyrian asked.
‘With me wolves,’ he replied.
And Bryn Wynter kept walking.
He never once looked back.