Chapter 47 Terrifying, Beautiful, Dangerous
Terrifying, Beautiful, Dangerous
“Pray for your queen. She weeps for her late husband, while his kin turn their grief to sin.”
— Kolson Strange, Minister of Spirit
Door to door and window to window, Amzee’s rebels snuck along the alleyways, clinging to the shadows, slipping notes into homes. They’d spent all week prepping the messages, waiting until the very last moment to distribute them to ensure a traitor wouldn’t ruin it all.
When dawn crept into the sky, every single family in the Waywards had been informed of what was to come.
There are ships set for Castivian waiting in the bay. Make it to them. Stay only if you wish to be fed to Sapphires. Fight if you wish to be free. When lightning strikes, it’s time to leave.
The people had a choice, and I prayed they would make the right one.
Orange and pink light peeked over the horizon as I sat crouched on top of the highest building. Beck and Amzee did the same at my side, each of us waiting for the light to hit the sea. If the ships hadn’t arrived as planned, this would all have been for nothing.
Singer was clasped in my hands, and I was thankful the Drakers hadn’t bothered removing my boots to find the stone club.
Hope soared in my chest as the sun illuminated our saving grace. As Lord Regby had promised, there was a daunting fleet of ships just beyond the obsidian walls, waiting in the bay.
With the touch of withering shingles under my palm, I held steady as Amzee lifted her hand to give the signal. Fire flickered from her palm.
We watched with bated breath as Riven led his Rogue Drakers to the gate. They swallowed up the command—snapping necks, slicing throats, and dragging the bodies of the gatewatch away.
“Brilliantly done,” Beck said, voice hushed.
I grinned as Riven and a few other unmasked rogues pushed the gates wide open.
Amzee held her hand high once more, this time towards Keeper’s Street. She opened and closed her palm, flashing fire three times. We waited. One second. Two. Three.
Lightning illuminated the skies before striking the wall. Blue and white glowed within it, followed by blaring thunder. The wall held, but the signal was loud and clear.
Rushing from homes and rumbling the ground below, came hundreds of Dark Natured, running for the gate. My pulse skipped a beat as the hysteria began.
Families carried everything they could. Small children were dragged along by their wrists, desperate souls racing for their lives through the streets. Bumping into and bickering amongst each other. It was madness.
“I’ll be back,” Beck announced, shadowing away.
Beck, Riven, and the Rogues shouted over the crowds, a late attempt to form lines and stop the pushing, but it was no use. The Dark Natured squeezed out of the Waywards, the gate not wide enough to be practical. It would take far too long to get everyone through.
A horn sounded, echoing through the ‘Wards.
The Witchlords were coming.
Amzee and I lay flat on the roof, consumed by panic at the sight of mothers pushing through crowds with crying babies in their arms, and the elderly dragging behind, their families begging them to move faster.
“The wall needs to come down,” I muttered. She silently nodded, but we both knew there was no way to do it; otherwise, it would’ve been done already.
Crowds came from the far end of the Waywards, while true Drakers rushed from their barracks in the east and west.
“Send the signal,” I ordered. This was the last thing we had planned.
Everything after was up to Fate, the Mother, our Nature, and blades.
Standing now, Amzee did not flicker a flame signal. She instead held a small, black bow with an arrow drawn back, the tip infused with her Nature. She narrowed her eyes, target in sight.
Amzee released. The flame-tipped arrow left a smoke trail as it soared over buildings and crowds. It flew straight through a third-level window of the barracks, meeting its mark.
I held my breath.
One second. Two. Three.
Explosive flames erupted from the windows. Half-dressed Drakers leapt from high stories in an attempt to escape death by fire.
As bodies splattered against the ground, rebels armed with the weapons we’d supplied raced to the posts and remaining barracks, prepared to protect those who could not protect themselves.
Civilians screamed as the living Drakers charged with swords held high, rebels meeting them with roaring cries of vengeance as they fought for their freedom.
Blood painted the Waywards.
I rotated slowly, taking in the carnage and chaos.
The Dark Natured were not prepared to wield swords, and it was horrifically telling.
At the gate, Riven was forced to abandon his post to help with defence and pushed his way through the crowd.
Just a few streets over, Drakers sliced through the Dark Natured like feeble mice. The people crammed around the exit, trampling each other as they realized the fate coming for them. Riven yelled over their cries, warning them to stay calm, but his words were washed away by the frenzy.
Ansel, Jaime, and Lord Syler would have to be our saving grace. They were the only Witchlords on our side, but that didn’t count for nothing. They were waiting for the other Witchlords to exit their homes.
Thunder shook me off balance, forcing me to crouch as a dark shade of blue illuminated the sky. Lightning webbed the sky, before striking near Keeper’s Street. The battle of the Witchlords had begun.
Ansel wasn’t the only Dreamsoul here. I’d known that and cursed myself for forgetting.
I scanned the Waywards, wincing at the losses. “It’s time to move.”
Amzee nodded. “Thank goodness.”
We were supposed to wait until Beck and Riven returned, but how could we sit and watch? King’s Mark and Lyons blood or not, Xavian could make his own heir. How could I ever consider creating more lives if I didn’t try to save these?
Scaling down the building, we dropped the last few feet into the madness.
“Please, Fate, help us!”
“Just know I love you.”
“I’m scared.”
I gripped Singer, lip curling at the fear around me.
They didn’t deserve this.
All of this death at the hand of Queen Delaina and the Sapphires. Disgust and rage flowed through me like the blood in my veins.
“Follow us!” I shouted, lifting Singer and cutting through the crowd. Amzee raised her hand, fire leading the way. Side by side, we strode through the streets, not allowing anyone to rush through. Amzee knew the people. They trusted her, and thus they trusted me.
The first group of Drakers charged us, masks on and swords drawn.
Pointing Singer, I released my Nature through the stone club, my poison eating up the distance.
Amzee followed suit, holding her palms forward and shooting flames. The Drakers screamed as they succumbed to fire and darkness. Some rolled around on the ground as they burned, while others slit their own throats.
I turned back. “Take their weapons! We must protect each other!”
“You heard your Princess!” Amzee shouted.
Inspired tears filled eyes across the crowd as lightning collided against its own in the sky, booming thunder.
With this group close enough to the gate, we were needed elsewhere. Hopefully, they would wield the weapons well.
“Let's return to a higher vantage point,” Amzee called to me over the mayhem.
I followed her to a nearby building, scaling the side quickly. As we made it to the top, my heart which had been so full of hope, shattered.
Drakers from outside of the Waywards were on horseback, riding for the port. They were going to kill all of the escapees before they even made it to the ships. My orb flashed at my hip, lightning cracking in the sky. I looked down at it, and there Ansel was, his face in the orb itself.
“Ansel?”
“We lost Lord Syler. We were able to wound one of their Lyonhearts, and they retreated to heal him. We have to spread out. Lord Jaime is already nearing burnout.”
Amzee’s face fell. “So he’s the last Witchlord we have? Against four others?”
I sucked in an anxious breath. Only maybe five percent of the Waywards had made it out of the gate so far, and Drakers were still chasing them down.
More bodies lie dead in the streets than were outside the walls.
One of our Witchlords was gone, the other nearly useless after spending all night healing me.
Ansel couldn’t fight forever.
I attached the orb at my waist and rolled my shoulders back. “Then we spread out.”
Amzee did not appear pleased. “I’ll go east. You go west?”
I nodded, my stomach already twisting. Every corpse on the ground was a tally in my mind for the cuts I would give Queen Delaina. That anger fuelled me as I climbed down, building inside of me and radiating through Singer.
All battle strategies fled my mind as I rampaged through the uneven streets, casting my Nature at every Draker in my path. I had no thoughts of nausea—no consideration for fatigue. They were mostly in groups of two or three, all too happy to have an excuse to kill the Dark Natured.
I was pleased to return the favor.
Screams echoed in my head, so much so that I started confusing real ones with imaginary.
I didn’t know these Waywards well, and although I’d studied the map, it was different now. I’d killed almost twenty Drakers, but I was having a hard time finding them. I needed a higher viewpoint.
Climbing the side of the first building, I scanned below until I found Amzee near the center of the ‘Wards, surrounded by rebels. They protected her as she vomited.
Beck shadowed in next to her, emesis running out of the corner of his mouth. My breathing was unsteady, the adrenaline waning and nausea rising.
I tapped the orb frantically, receiving only a flicker in response. Light-blue lightning struck a building near Keeper’s Street.
I had no idea where Riven was, but I knew we were crumbling.
There still had to be ninety percent of the population inside.