Battle of the Kinfolk. #6
Soldiers and fae alike stood in tense silence as Fitzroy approached his fallen father. Grains of sand scattered from the King’s wiry beard as he lifted his jittery head to meet his son’s merciless gaze.
“Fitzroy,” he croaked, his voice trembling with age or fear, “please, my son.”
“Save your pleading for the gods,” Fitzroy bellowed, his deep, intimidating voice cutting through the hush. “I hope they punish you for the lives taken in your name.” He tightened his grip on his sword, holding it in both hands as the elderly King cowered.
“There was no other way to stop her,” the old man insisted, tears gathering in the deep folds of his leathery face.
“Had you read her manifesto, you, too, would’ve banished all magic.
I had to make my subjects fear it—to save their lives, to protect their younglings from her tyranny. You cannot fathom her power—”
“You chose to abhor magic not for the sake of the kingdom but to cling to your crown and secure your legacy as a heroic king,” Fitzroy snapped, anger bubbling through his words.
“But I’ll do everything in my power to erase you from history.
You shall be neither feared nor remembered as a villain—you’ll be forgotten, as though you never existed.
I’ll pick until you’re not even a single stitch on the tapestry of Lyonesse’s history. ”
Fitzroy fixed his gaze on his father, gripping his sword hilt tightly. He hesitated, and I could sense his struggle beneath his calm exterior. I shifted my attention to Dog, whose amber eyes were already locked on me. Kill, I internally commanded, and she bowed her head dutifully.
Dog stalked toward King James, her lips quivering at the sight of him.
With a gut-wrenching growl, she signaled to Fitzroy that she’d execute in his honor.
Fitzroy glanced over his shoulder, his steely gaze softening at the sight of the Black Shuck, and he stepped aside, allowing her to complete the grim task.
“Please…” King James begged in a cracking voice, a desperate final plea—just as Dog pounced.
His agonizing cries were brief; Dog didn’t hesitate to tear his throat from his neck, silencing him forever.
Yet his harrowing screams haunted me long after they faded.
Dog then greedily gnawed at his face, her teeth cracking his skull—tail wagging while she lapped up the old man’s mushy brains.
Elizebeth stepped forward, sweeping her arm toward Fitzroy.
“Kneel before Lyonesse’s new ruler,” she declared.
“Swear your allegiance to the new King.” As she gracefully sank to her knee, the assembled men and fae quickly followed suit.
I was stunned to see mortal and magical beings kneeling together in unity.
Fitzroy’s stern gaze met mine before easing into a slight smile. Setting aside my melancholy, I returned a proud grin—he deserved the recognition.
A gentle tug at my breeches drew my attention, and I glanced down to meet Finn’s eye.
“Kneel,” he whispered sternly.
Realizing I was the last one standing, I hastily lowered myself and bowed my head in submission.
“Men and women,” Fitzroy addressed the survivors, his voice brimming with authority.
One by one, his subjects rose, and this time I followed without distraction.
“Mount your wyverns or accompany my knights on foot. We shall reconvene at the Walled City. Upon a successful siege, bountiful days await us all.”
A resounding cheer erupted—though it lacked true joy; it was more like a communal sigh of relief, a weary thankfulness for the war’s end, mingled with exhaustion at the trials still ahead.
Despite the suffering, loss, and anguish, a small sliver of hope remained.
From the lowest point, there was only one direction to go—upward.
Fitzroy extended his hand toward me. “Niamh, remember what you promised.” His gaze shifted over his right shoulder to where I ought to have stood.
I quickly turned to Finn. “Meet me at the Walled City.”
Finn nodded. “Be safe,” he replied.
Beside him stood Jane and Elizebeth. They were the spitting image of one another—of Avice.
I waved them farewell.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fletcher among the soldiers, but I selfishly averted my gaze. He reminded me too much of Bash.
Fitzroy’s piercing whistle rang out, summoning Greyclaw.
The wyvern appeared promptly, landing before its master.
In one swift motion, Fitzroy mounted, then held out his hand to help me up.
I hoisted myself onto the saddle behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his metal-clad waist as I scanned the faces below.
I caught Godwin’s steady gaze before turning to meet those of Isobel and Mabina, standing hand in hand.
“Hold on,” Fitzroy commanded, and I tightened my grip like a vise as Greyclaw surged forward.
We ascended swiftly; the air became thinner as the clouds parted to reveal a radiant sun. Soaring through the skies, I beheld a breathtaking vista of light breaking through the dark rain clouds, as a shimmering rainbow arched over the land like a symbol of hope.
For the first time in a long time, the Kingdom of Lyonesse was absent of rain, but not of magic.