Chapter 40
AUGUST
The men spread out, creating a perimeter around as we approached the forest’s edge. Hayes crouched beside me, revolver ready, his breathing quick and shallow. To my left, Davies checked his blade. To my right, young Thomson—barely eighteen—gripped his sword with white knuckles.
All of them ready to kill for me. Ready to die for me.
The knowledge sat in my stomach like poison.
“Magic, sir,” Hayes whispered urgently. “I can smell it.”
My father's orders had been clear: sweep the northern woods, find the child, eliminate anyone harboring her. He'd assigned me a double column—twenty men, all prepared to follow my commands without question.
He thought he was testing my loyalty after last night's failure at the Pemberton dinner.
“Captain?” Hayes looked at me expectantly. “Your orders?”
I stared into the dark woods, knowing what waited beyond. Lily. Adeline and Garrick, if they’d stayed. The Weavers I should have been protecting all along.
My mother’s people.
“We advance,” I said quietly. “But listen carefully. When we reach the camp, no one fires without my direct order. We take them alive for questioning.”
Davies frowned. “Sir, the Unraveler's orders were—”
“I know what the orders were.” I turned to face him, each word deliberate, hard. “But I'm the one leading this patrol, and I'm telling you: no one fires unless I give the command. Is that understood?”
A ripple of confusion passed through the men, but discipline held. “Yes, sir,” Davies said slowly.
We moved through the forest like ghosts, weapons ready, each man alert for the magical attacks they'd been trained to expect.
As we moved deeper into Weaver territory the tree roots became claws grabbing at our boots. Warning us to turn around. Instead, we marched on until the magic was so thick I would have swore I could have seen the magic with my own eyes if I tried hard enough.
We had made it. The Weaver camp.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Lily was in there. She had no idea we were coming—no warning, no time to prepare. I'd told Garrick to take her where she would be safe, but safe from what? From my father’s questions, yes. But not from a coordinated assault led by the Unraveler's own son.
Not from me.
Morrison raised a fist, the signal to stop. Through the trees ahead, I caught movement. A figure perched on the branches, barely visible in the darkness. A lookout.
Davies had already seen it. He moved with the silence of a predator, circling wide. Within seconds, he’d climbed the neighboring tree, using the thick canopy for cover.
The lookout never had a chance to cry out. Davies's hand clamped over their mouth as his blade pressed against their throat. A woman—young, terrified, but smart enough to go still.
“Quiet,” Davies mouthed to her. “Or your friends die.”
He brought her down from the tree, keeping his hand firmly over her mouth, the blade never wavering. When she was on the ground, I got my first clear look at her.
Not Lily. Not anyone I recognized. Just a frightened woman doing her best to protect her people.
“There will be others,” Morrison murmured. “They wouldn't post just one.”
He was right. Within minutes, my men had captured two more sentries—a girl barely older than Thomson, and another woman who'd been stationed near the eastern approach. All taken silently, efficiently, before they could raise an alarm.
Three Weavers bound in iron and gagged, watching me with eyes that held fear and hatred in equal measure.
“Captain,” Morrison said quietly, gesturing forward. “The camp is just ahead.”
Through the trees, I caught glimpses of women and children preparing for the evening. Completely unaware that twenty armed hunters surrounded them.
And there, kneeling beside Marigold, was Lily. Her red hair caught the surrounding lights, and even from this distance, I could see the gentle patience in her posture.
Beautiful. Alive. Completely vulnerable.
My chest tightened so violently I nearly gasped.
“Sir,” Hayes breathed beside me, his hand already dropping to his weapon. “Is that the fugitive? The child?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. My hand moved to my sword hilt.
Around us, my men's attention sharpened. Weapons lifted fractionally. The captured sentries struggled against their bonds, trying desperately to warn their people.
This was it. The moment everything changed.
I could give the order. My men would attack. The Weavers would try to defend themselves and fail. Lily would be captured or killed. My father would be proud. My position would be secure
And I would become the monster my mother had died trying to stop.
“Captain?” Hayes prompted. “Your orders?”
I drew my sword. The familiar weight offered no comfort. Only cold certainty of what I was about to do.
“Release the prisoners,” I said quietly.
Hayes blinked. “Sir?”
“I said release them.” I turned to face the men holding the captured sentries directly. “Let them go. Now.”
“Captain, I don't understand—” Davies started.
“Do it.” I turned to face my men fully, my sword still drawn but pointed at the ground. “And lower your weapons. All of you.”
Confusion rippled through the group. Thomson looked between me and Hayes, uncertain. Morrison stepped forward from his position, his weathered face creased with concern.
“August,” he said carefully, using my name instead of my rank. “What's going on, lad?”
The captured sentries were staring at me now, their fear mixed with desperate hope. Waiting to see if this was a trick or a miracle.
I met Morrison's eyes—the man who'd trained me, who'd been like a father to me. “Lower your weapons. We're not attacking this camp.”
“But the Unraveler's orders—”
“The Unraveler's orders are to murder innocent people,” I interrupted. “Women and children who've committed no crime except being born with magic in their blood. The same magic my mother possessed.”
The words fell like stones into still water. Complete silence.
“Traitor!” Hayes screamed, swinging his revolver toward me.
The freed sentries bolted—running for the camp, finally able to shout the warning. “Hunters! Hunters in the woods!”
The camp exploded. Weavers scattered, magic erupting like wildfire.
And Lily's head snapped up. Even from this distance, I saw the moment she recognized me. Saw the betrayal flash across her face as she realized I'd led hunters directly to them.
“You've betrayed us!” Hayes fired.
I dove left as magic erupted from the camp—invisible filaments snapping tight around Davies, yanking him off his feet. Another hunter screamed as his rifle was ripped from his hands by magic he couldn't see.
“All of you, lower your weapons!” I roared at my men. “That's an order!”
But it was too late. The battle had started.
Thomson charged forward, blade raised—and went down hard as magic took out his legs. Morrison fired toward the camp, but his bullet sparked harmlessly off a shield of woven light.
And Hayes—God damn him—Hayes swung his revolver toward Lily.
“The witch!” he snarled.
Time slowed.
I threw myself between them. The bullet slammed into my shoulder, white-hot agony spinning me around. Blood soaked through my coat.
But I stayed on my feet. Stayed between Hayes and Lily.
“August!” Lily's scream tore through the clearing.
I turned my head just enough to see her—standing frozen, eyes wide with horror as she watched blood pour from my wound. Watched me sway on my feet.
“You'll have to go through me,” I gasped.
“No,” Lily screamed.
Threads blazed around her—too many, too wild, erupting like a star gone supernova. Gold and silver light streamed from her hands, from her eyes, from the air around her. Magic responding to pure terror and rage.
I tried to move toward her, but my left arm hung useless at my side. Blood ran hot down my ribs, soaking into my shirt. Each breath sent fresh fire through my shoulder.
“Lily, no—” The words came out weak, breathless.
Too late.
She braided the disparate threads into a single blazing cord of impossible complexity and flung it outward with desperate force.
She didn't just create a barrier—it slammed into the tree line like the fist of an angry God, shattering lanterns, igniting pine needles in a perfect circle of crackling flame, and creating a wall of twisted reality that no bullet could penetrate.
Protecting me. Protecting everyone.
The cost was immediate and devastating.
Lily sagged to her knees as if invisible hands had struck her down. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. Blood began to seep from her nose, then her ears. She had attempted something beyond her capacity. The backlash was literally tearing her apart from within.
She collapsed.
“Lily!” I stumbled toward her, but Hayes was already moving.
“Stop the redheaded witch!” The scream ripped from Hayes, raw and uncontrolled.
He had managed to reload, his young face twisted with righteous fury as he raised the rifle again. Not toward the Weavers this time, but toward me.
“Traitor!”
I drew my sword, the steel singing as it left its sheath. The familiar weight should have been comforting, but all I could think of was the boy I'd trained, the eager young man who'd looked up to me as a mentor.
“Hayes, stand down,” I shouted.
“You betrayed us! You betrayed everything we sworn to protect!”
“My mother was a Weaver, Hayes. My father lied.” The confession tore at my throat, but it had to be said. “I won’t murder for him anymore.”
His face twisted in revulsion. “You're one of them. You're tainted.”
He fired.
I dove. The shot went wide.
Hayes dropped the empty rifle and drew his sword, charging at me with a scream of rage.
I had no choice.
Our blades met with a crash of steel. Once, twice—I parried desperately, my wounded shoulder making me slow. Clumsy. My left arm was useless, forcing me to fight one-handed against an opponent at full strength.
Blood loss was making me dizzy. My vision swam.
On the third strike, my blade found the gap in his leather armor.