Chapter Fifty
Varro tightened his hands around Silas’ throat, his grip stronger and more confident than Quentin’s.
He held Silas aloft, dangling his feet over the water.
Black spots formed at the edges of his vision.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t call for help.
After everything he’d survived, it was like they’d never left that courtyard, like he’d never escaped Varro’s hold the first time.
Like no matter how much time had passed, it would always end with Varro slowly but surely strangling the life from Silas.
Movement flickered at the edges of his vision right before an arrow buried itself in Varro’s shoulder. He bellowed in pain and his grip slackened, releasing Silas. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he prepared to plunge back into the water.
Instead, two strong arms wrapped around him, hauling him back up onto the dock. “I’ve got you,” Langley panted, his voice strained as his arms squeezed around Silas’ middle.
Rage filled Varro’s eyes as he sought the archer. Then his face slackened with confusion. “You?”
“Get away from my son,” Braden snarled as he pulled the bowstring back and shot another arrow toward the disgraced general.
Varro dodged and the arrow shot uselessly into the waters behind him.
“We should have ended your whole fucking line!” he shouted as he ripped the arrow from his arm.
Blood streamed freely from the wound, soaking his sleeve, but he ignored it as he gripped his sword with both hands and strode toward Braden.
“Papa!” Silas shouted, the word came out hoarse and choked, a childish nickname Silas hadn’t said aloud in years.
Griselda stepped in front of Braden, axe raised to meet Varro’s sword.
The graceful disguise of her glamour had completely torn away, leaving only the hardened warrior in its place.
She and Varro were the same age, the same height, but standing next to her he looked like a rotting log while she was an ancient, towering tree.
“Finally,” Griselda growled. “I’ve been waiting to kick your ass since the day I met you.” She chopped her axe toward Varro.
The fighting around them had stalled, men turning to watch their leader. “What are you waiting for?” Varro shouted, scrambling to block the heavy swing in time. “Kill the damn king and we’ll win this fight!” One hand released his sword so he could point an incriminating finger at Silas.
Several heads turned toward Silas, and suddenly the fighting shifted focus. Soldiers tried to form a barrier to block the king, but some enemies slipped through.
Arrows zipped through the air from Braden and the other archers. Some found their marks, but most buried into the docks or the surrounding ships.
“Fuck, one of them is going to hit us if they aren’t careful,” Langley said. “Maybe you should get back in the water.” He started shoving Silas toward the edge of the dock.
The thought of the water closing over his head again, invading his lungs, dragging him under, filled Silas with more fear than the approaching fighters. “Wait!”
Before Langley shoved Silas over the edge, a barrier rose up around them.
Thorny canes wove together to create a wall between them and the fighting.
One moment they were solid, the next thin shadows that allowed Silas to see the battle beyond.
A stray arrow caught in the weave, proving that even when they appeared insubstantial, they remained strong.
“Don’t worry, Silas,” Emmaline panted. She stood over him, hands raised as she held up the barrier. “I’ll protect you.”
I’m supposed to be protecting you, Silas thought, staring up at her in wonder. He thought of how many times people had underestimated Emmaline—assumed her sweet demeanor equaled weakness. Whatever she’d gone through on her journey to Litus, certainly no one would think she was weak now.
A loud rip sounded as a sword tore through the barrier, slicing cleanly through the canes. One of Varro’s men grinned at them through the hole. He reached inside, fingers flexing as he tried to grab Silas and drag him out onto the battlefield.
Three things happened at once: the hole snapped shut, burying thorns in the man’s arm; Langley’s sword slashed cleanly through his wrist; and an arrow pierced the man’s shoulder.
Pain rippled across the man’s face as he fell to the ground, the stump of his arm slipping free of its cage. For a moment, he clutched his empty, bleeding wrist to his chest. And then he fell forward, showing two more arrows buried in his back.
The thorny barrier crumbled away as Emmaline slumped. Silas caught her, lowering her carefully onto the dock. Sweat coated her face and she gave Silas an embarrassed smile. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Just tired.”
“You did great, Em,” he whispered, returning her smile.
But he knew they couldn’t afford to let their guard down. He peered out at the battlefield, searching for an opening. Immediately, his eyes found Griselda, still locked in a fight with Varro.
If she wasn’t injured, she would have won by now, Silas thought, worrying about the old general.
As if Griselda could hear his doubt, she roared and swung her axe with all her might, breaking past Varro’s guard.
Varro froze, his sword arm falling limp to his side, and looked down at the axe buried deep in his chest.
Still not satisfied, Griselda wrenched the axe out, spraying blood everywhere, and chopped down on Varro’s neck. The disgraced general shuddered and collapsed to his knees.
Her third swing cut his head clean from his neck.
Griselda grabbed the head and held it aloft by the short gray hair.
“Is this the man you want to fight for?” she shouted over the battlefield.
She tossed the head aside like it was nothing more than garbage and smacked the handle of her axe against her bloodstained hand. “Surrender, or you can die with him.”
The threat moved slowly through the fighters.
A few were reenergized by their general’s death, screaming obscenities as they threw themselves at the soldiers, both their lifelong enemies and their former friends.
Others dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground, putting their hands on their heads.
One by one, the traitors either died or surrendered, until the fighting ceased.
As the adrenaline faded, Griselda spotted Silas.
She stomped toward them, covered in blood, one of the most terrifying warriors Silas had ever seen.
She stopped in front of him, dark eyes narrowed as she glared down at him.
“Next time, just let your guards do the fighting. You’re shit at it,” she said frankly before offering him a hand up.
Even though it was covered in blood, Silas accepted her hand, and she yanked him to his feet. “I will be very happy if I never get into another fight in my life.”