Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
HORNHALL
K atarra slipped her hands through the gold bangles, stacking them on her wrists. These were definitely coming with her. She leaned into the mirror and dabbed a crimson stain on her lips. Puckering them, she relaxed back into the vanity chair, admiring the finished product. This should do the trick.
Legion hopped up onto the vanity and stuck his reptilian face directly into a jar of powder. She arched a brow when he lifted his head and promptly sneezed. Powder exploded into the air. The wyvern squawked and shot a fireball at it.
She waved away the stench of fried cornstarch. “You’re always going to be this way, aren’t you?”
The little monster swiped his tail across the surface in answer, knocking perfume and makeup onto the floor. He scrambled to the edge of the vanity and watched each item bounce or shatter.
“Fair enough.” She picked up the black demi-mask adorned with sparkling crystals and tied it around her head.
Then she stood and stepped back, taking in the full effect of the jeweled black gown. She smiled. “Time to wreak some havoc.”
The wyvern cocked its head at her, blinking its large green eyes. She picked up the diamond-encrusted collar and leash and clipped it around his neck, pulling her hand back before he could singe it. Legion glared up at her.
“Oh, stop,” she admonished. “You don’t want to miss all the fun, do you?”
The creature actually appeared to contemplate her words, its head tilting briefly before he hopped onto her exposed palm, then on up to her shoulder. She clipped the leash to one of the bangles at her wrist and turned for the door.
Her escort, one of Dagan’s lethal wolf pack, glowered at her from where she’d left him standing hours ago. Now, he was holding up the wall with his back, thick arms crossed over his chest, looking downright murderous.
“What?” She batted her lashes. “I needed a nap.”
He didn’t deign to answer, just shoved off the wall and stalked down the hallway. Dagan’s message, hand-delivered by the male marching ahead of her now–along with the dress and the mask–had been straight forward and to the point.
Dear Champion,
Sit at my side tonight as my future bride. If you want your kingdom back.
The Wolf of Ventus.
Not exactly Shakespeare, but at least Katarra knew the words were his. She’d never liked him for his silver tongue, anyway. She much preferred its other uses.
She followed the hulking behemoth of a fae down the hall, smiling beatifically at him each time he had to slow his roll to wait for her. She had no idea what she was walking into. Exactly as she preferred it. Spontaneity and chaos were always her two best friends.
The only thing she had prepared for was securing the child. After depositing Oakley in the attic room, she listened to her cry and carry on for all of two minutes before putting a stop to that nonsense.
The girl had startled when Katarra dropped down before her and told her to get the fuck over it. Crying never brought anyone back from the dead. But revenge would dull the pain.
Those tears dried up and Katarra explained she was going to make them pay. She needed Oakley’s help to do it. They had to work together to get Oakley’s sister and Sterling out of here.
In hindsight, it was probably a lot to put on an eight-year-old. That only proved the child was, as Katarra suspected, much more than an average orphaned brat. The little girl devoured the instructions given. Stay in this room until midnight. She was then to make her way, unseen, to the stable. She was to hide in Anarchy’s stall until Katarra came for her.
Why she said any of this, promised any of this, or had even bothered to shield the child in the first place, was perplexing. Katarra told herself it was just another adventure, a way to pass the time. Even as something inside her–in the cold, dead place where a heart should be–called bullshit.
Katarra pushed aside the annoying possibility. Only one thing mattered at present. Getting back her kingdom.
She followed her escort into the main hall, noting the change in decor. New paintings hung on the walls depicting various scenes, from rolling landscapes and hounds at the hunt, to solstice celebrations with dancing fae. Katarra scanned each of them as she passed. Prominent greens were the overreaching theme. From the crushed-velvet settees to the delicate mosaic tiles beneath her heels, to the fountains cascading with green-tinged water. A virtual forest.
The House of Arrowren.
Dagan, the bastard, never once let on he’d been born to such a family. It explained a lot. Why he was as powerful as he was. Why their son had exhibited similar strength at such a young age.
She passed an emerald statue of Ra. Huh . She grinned. At least her ex had good taste .
She patted the green wyvern on the head. “You’ll fit in nicely.”
Her escort glanced back at her with a knotted brow. “Not you, dumb shit,” Katarra clarified. “You look like you just killed a deer and rolled in its carcass.”
The brute’s face tightened, but he kept his trap shut and stopped short at the ballroom entrance. She sailed past. “Good dog.”
Finely dressed fae, pointy ears poking out from under sparkling masks and elaborate hair configurations, turned and watched her enter. The few who didn’t glance her way, clearly wanted to. Legion, the little attention-whore, puffed up his chest and huffed smoke through his nostrils.
Katarra cut a path through the center of the assembled crowd. They parted with ease for her and her unique guest, no one brave enough to get within range of the champion, or the flame-thrower on her shoulder.
She nodded to the gawkers as she passed, a bright, ready smile for each and every one. The last well-dressed male peeled away, revealing her place of honor at the long banquet table. She refrained from scowling at the asshole perched in the taller of the two thrones.
“There she is.” Dagan rose from her seat, a fluid movement limed with restrained power, and declared, “The lady of the evening, your Champion.”
Katarra had forgotten how charming he could be, and how dangerous that was.
The Wolf of Ventus extended an arm across the table toward her. “And my future bride.”
T he damp, grimy smell of piss and rust and decay stuffed itself up Archer’s nostrils as he watched the scene play out in the ballroom, projected onto the wall of his cell from the spelled hologram . His punishment .
Archer rubbed his jaw. The bones there were knitting themselves back together, and the internal bleeding around his kidney had stopped. It had been worth it. Breaking his uncle’s nose–hearing the crunch and feeling the give of cartilage.
Unfortunately, the wolf pack hadn’t allowed him a second blow. It had, however, taken three of them to pull Archer off and get the magic insulators around his wrists. Then they kicked the shit out of him. While his uncle and mother looked on, one seething and holding a towel to his nose, the latter staring blankly, seeing nothing.
From his uncle’s confession after the executions, and before the broken nose, Archer knew why his mother was so despondent. Dagan had injected her with the soul of a monster newly escaped from a fifth realm, in order to render her compliant.
He hadn’t asked anymore questions after that. Only acted. This wasn’t a seizure of Hornhall. It was a hostile takeover of the whole realm.
His fingers moved to his temples. Fucking fool! He should have known better. Shouldn’t have showed his hand. He was no good to his people locked away in the dungeons.
A breathy, feminine laugh–Archer would know it anywhere–rang out from the hologram, its melodic echo bouncing off the wet stone walls. He looked up.
Katarra was attempting to raise a toast in honor of some newly promoted lord, her mini-dragon fighting to get his head in the goblet.
Gods, she was beautiful. The way a forest fire was beautiful. Something no rational male should want to know better.
His imprisonment was for attacking his uncle. But this, the live streaming he was being forced to watch… This was torture. Dagan had promised him a front row seat to every aspect of the evening. From the nuptials to the consummation that would follow.
“Do you think she’ll go through with it?” Drake asked from the cell to his left.
All of the King’s Knights sat in cells. Archer couldn’t call his uncle reckless. Dagan expected the fallout in advance and had each of them apprehended privately before the public execution.
“If she is who he claims she is,” Felix, Archer’s third in command, weighed in. “She’d be stupid not to.”
“She’s definitely not stupid,” Braxton stated pragmatically a few stalls down. “We’ve all seen what she is capable of.”
Dagan had gleefully–as if he’d come up with the champion’s deception himself–explained everything to his prisoners, before heading up to attend the ball. It gave Archer hope. Hope his uncle’s braggadocios, egotistical nature would be his downfall.
Archer’s father had warned it would be. “Anyone overly interested in themselves cannot be interested in you,” Aaron once told him. “Use it to your advantage.”
He fully intended to. He had no idea where this night would end up. Could only hope Katarra had some remaining shred of affection for him. It would go against everything she stood for…
But he’d seen the look in her eyes when the rebel boy had been shot, watched her select that dreaded beast of a stallion then painstakingly train it. She’d adopted the blasted wyvern and harbored a stowaway. Then she’d shielded the girl from witnessing the execution of the wizards.
There was more to the Queen of Gerra than she let on. Archer prayed a fraction of that kindness and loyalty was reserved for him. For what they shared.
Or she could leave him here to rot. It was a coin toss, really.
“If that really is the Queen of Gerra,” a voice said hoarsely from the dark cell to Archer’s right. “My father will rip her head off before she ever touches that throne.”
Archer turned his head. He’d nearly forgotten who else was detained with them down here. The kid hadn’t spoken a word until now. But he’d obviously been listening.
A sliver of light glinted in the shadows of the cell, as the youngest LaGoryen wrapped his hands around the bars and pulled to his feet. The ring. The blood-spelled one Dagan claimed wouldn’t be effective .
Archer hadn’t thought to check his bloodline when they originally met. He’d been too consumed with pulling off the impossible with Katarra. If Dagan was wrong, though…
They could sure use the help of the Fire Dynasty now. Archer said, and actually meant it, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I came here hoping to meet you, you know.” Sterling moved into the light, sizing up Archer with palpable disdain. “The great Commander of the King’s Knights.” Sterling chuckled darkly, cold frosting his eyes. “But you’re nothing more than a turncoat.”
“Watch your mouth,” Drake snarled.
“Its fine,” Archer replied to his second, keeping his eyes on LaGoryen. “He has every right to be disenchanted. He doesn’t know all that is at stake here.”
Sterling scoffed. “Do they even know”–he jerked his chin to Archer’s men housed further down–“the full spectrum of depravities that monster is known for? The villain you brought here?”
“Save your yapping,” Felix retorted. “Our loyalty is to the commander. Regardless of what he has done or may yet do.”
Archer regarded the male across from him. Really looked at him. Even with the insulating cuffs, his magic could pick out the discrepancies in the kid’s lineage. Not a single marker from the House of the Dragon. But there was a curious one…
Sterling tensed, as if realizing what Archer was doing. “Stop!”
Archer’s magic pulled back, but the shock must have shown on his face.
“What?” LaGoryen demanded. “What did you see?”
Archer didn’t answer. Wasn’t sure he’d even heard the question. Not as his mind replayed the image he glimpsed in the bloodline.
A dragon . Just not one from the house LaGoryen wished to be from. And not a real one. The dragon Archer had felt through the tracing was a mimic.
Unlike many High-fae that could take the form of a single animal; a mimic could shapeshift into any one of several creatures. The gift was very rare, near mythical among their kind .
Archer only knew one other fae capable of such magic. And that male was currently upstairs. Getting ready to announce his union with the champion.
Arrowren
T eakin stood on the balcony of the ancient castle and looked over the quaint little village. The contrast between the old war-torn structure and the teeming new town below told him everything he needed to know about the queen who ruled here.
The magic harnessed and used to shield this village could have easily restored the once grand castle and camouflaged it from prying eyes. But clearly, the priority hadn’t been to reestablish the ruling class. Energy had been spent on creating a safe haven for the most vulnerable members of her court. Such as, the little boy holding the hand of his very pregnant mother as they crossed the cobblestone street.
“I passed here twice in my travels,” Teakin mused aloud. “Not once did I suspect.” His gaze scanned the rooftops and walkways, the carefully tended shops and gardens. “It only appeared as forgotten ruins.”
“They’ve done a magnificent job protecting it,” Palomi replied, moving to his side. She’d met them at the crossing point on the border with Anu. “I’m only sorry this is how you are being introduced to it.”
He glanced over to his friend. The ebony-haired fae had helped him reestablish order in Gerra decades ago and became one of the Fire Dynasty’s most trusted informants. She’d also become part of their family. Not once, though, had she let on that she knew of this place.
Now he knew why.
Her father was a chief advisor to the late king of Arrowren. Palomi had been out of the realm on a mission to Anu when her kingdom was attacked. By the time she got word, it was too late. Her family had been slaughtered, and the entry points between Ventus and the other realms sealed shut. They remained closed for the ten years that followed.
It finally made sense. Why Ventus remained neutral in times of conflict between other realms over the past fifty years. They were hiding this atrocity. By disengaging and appearing disinterested, guarding their borders carefully, they’d succeeded in having their war crimes go unnoticed by the outside world.
With only a kingdom of orphaned children remaining, Windsong and Hornhall had plenty of time to craft the great lie: Arrowren started the conflict, Calian and the late king of Hornhall only defended their people against an unjust enemy bent on dominating the realm.
It couldn’t be further from the truth. Palomi and Chogan had spent the last hour detailing the events. While Merick caught Eirik and the others up on what she’d learned at the prayer pool–on who exactly had a hand in their future, and what they must to do to close the rift to the fifth realm.
It was a lot to process. Even for Teakin. At least both his nephews were safe.
For now.
He turned to Chogan leaning against a broken pillar. “How did the Warborn come to be involved here?” he asked, already fearful of the impact this would have on Eirik and the friendships he’d established in Windsong.
“Zaire and I were here the day Arrowren fell,” Chogan began. “I believed the lies Calian fed me. Believed we were on the right side of history.” His lips thinned and his voice grew cold, “Believed I was ridding the realm of insurgents that would rather see us dead than share this land.”
Palomi eased closer to the warrior, offering small comfort through solidarity. It spoke volumes about the respect shared between them.
The shadows in Chogan’s eyes cleared, as if he’d put the memories back in their cage. He continued, “I left here different, haunted. Zaire helped pull me out of that darkness. He’d seen Calian clearly, who he really was, from the start. But Zaire came from nothing. His position in the Warborn was the only credit he had to his name.” He sighed. “We vowed to change how Windsong was run, regardless of how long that process might take. Years later, Fenrir joined our ranks. His father was one of the villagers who helped the children of Arrowren after the massacre. Borgen was one of those children.”
As if summoned, the Warborn healer stepped onto the balcony. “Fenrir’s father taught me how to string a bow, how to set snares, and how to cast a fishing line. He was instrumental in keeping us alive. Fenrir and I became best friends.”
Teakin didn’t hide the surprise on his face.
Borgen said, “Windsong soldiers stormed their village two years later and executed Fenrir’s parents for aiding the rebels.”
Palomi hissed, “ Rebels that were no older than twelve.”
Teakin’s hands fisted at his sides. He’d seen war. Been a prisoner of monsters himself. How had he missed the signs in Calian? For God’s sake , he’d left his own nephew in the bastard’s care!
“Calian’s talent is disguise,” Palomi, always perceptive, picked up on his self-judgment. “Even those closest to him don’t know the evil he is capable of.”
“When Fenrir came of age, he entered a solstice tourney and won,” Chogan said. “He went on to compete for a spot in the Warborn, and succeeded. Borgen entered a year later, pretending to be a lesser fae from a small fishing village, and followed suit. Their goal was to gather intel for the maturing rebel ranks. They quickly discovered they had allies in Zaire and myself.”
“The rest is what you see here.” Borgen looked out over the village. “Slowly, one day at a time, we have built a home. A safe place, not just for those sympathetic to our cause, but for anyone in need of a meal or a bed.”
Teakin took it all in, then asked, “What are your plans for deposing Calian? Surely you don’t expect him to go down without one hell of a fight.”
“If Calian was the one in control I would agree,” someone said from behind them.
They turned. The voice belonged to the High-fae introduced as Wilkes. The second in command had been riveted by Merick’s discoveries at the prayer pool. She now stood to one side of him. Eirik on the other.
Wilkes continued, “But I fear a darker influence is now in charge of Windsong.”
Merick spoke up, “There’s a good chance that the Queen of Arrowren’s cousin is responsible for opening the rift.” Her multi-colored eyes met and held Teakin’s gaze. It was the only warning his daughter gave before she added, “Xavier Diaboli is alive. In Ventus.”