Chapter 41
Ellie
Idon’t follow the guards back to the first floor of the palace; that doesn’t seem like the best idea. As far as I know, that only leads to the throne room and the gardens where the wedding will be held, where Taran’s likely hiding in the crowd.
It’ll be easier to spot him from higher up, so I creep along the second-floor hall—if you can call it that.
It’s reminiscent of an interior balcony, occasionally enclosed on both sides, forming a tunnel of smooth wood.
I step lightly, praying fae ears won’t hear me padding along the floor. Assuming they don’t sense me first.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
My heart races as I peek out each window, nothing more than oblong holes in the wall, until I dead-end at another stairway. The only options are up, down, or back the way I came.
I choose up.
Even if they sense me, that’ll at least be one more thing distracting them from Taran. Which can still help, right? Though they’ll probably kill me on sight.
Don’t think about that. Be brave.
The first window on this level looks over a different side of the palace than the previous ones.
Fewer fae meander through the garden, three stories below.
A group of six guards marches by, armed with bone-tipped spears and bows hanging from their backs.
If I make it to the next window, I’ll likely see where they’re headed.
I jump as a hand grabs my arm, tearing me away from the window, around the corner, and into a small alcove.
“What are you doing here?” Emlyn hisses, his face inches from mine. “Where’s Reid?”
“He’s fine—he’s with Aerona,” I whisper, pulling my arm free of his grasp. “They didn’t need my help.”
Emlyn groans. “So you decided to risk your life, and the entire plan, by wandering around by yourself?”
I open my mouth, but he immediately covers it with his hand and goes still, as if listening to something. Like Taran does when he’s using his land-sense.
Without warning, his lips crash into mine as my back hits the wall.
WHAT?
My hands flail against him as his tongue invades my mouth. He presses his knee between my legs, pinning me in place. My squealing protests come out muffled against his lips.
A gruff voice breaks through my confusion. “What are you doing here?”
Emlyn’s body heat disappears in an instant, with him slipping between me and the guard to lean casually against the wall. “You know how weddings are. Can’t let the happy couple have all the fun.”
It’s nearly impossible to breathe with my heart pounding in my throat.
The guard frowns, stepping aside. “Get out of here. Now.”
“Going.” Emlyn pulls me toward the stairs. Once we’re out of earshot, he wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “You better hope we don’t run into any more guards.”
I wrest my hand free; how dare he act like I’m the problem. “That was entirely your choice!”
“How else am I supposed to justify being where we shouldn’t?”
“Aerona was knocking them out.”
“She would.” Emlyn pivots back in the direction we came from, heading up the stairs.
When I don’t immediately follow, he lets out a frustrated exhale as he looks up at the ceiling.
“Look—if I leave you by yourself, you’re gonna end up captured or killed, and Taran will never forgive me. So you’re gonna do exactly what I tell you, understand?”
His condescension keeps my ire simmering, but it’d be foolish to leave. Sticking with Emlyn is my best chance of helping Taran. So I swallow my resentment and nod. “I understand.”
Emlyn pulls his bow off his back, quickly stringing it with practiced fingers. “You really don’t. Odds are, we’ll die, but he can’t yell at me if I’m dead. Now be quiet.”
He really doubts the plan that much? A knot cinches within me—but this is why I need to help. If Taran really can’t do this on his own, then I need to be there for him.
I follow Emlyn back to the level we met on, then we continue to the fourth floor. At the first window we come to, Emlyn peeks out, his back pressed against the tree trunk that serves as the adjoining wall.
“Shit.”
He leans a little further, looking down. I poke my head out, following his gaze.
We’ve moved further along the castle, to where a wooden balcony curves around the outer walls, two levels beneath us.
At least a dozen guards fill the space, armed with bows, nocked and ready to let fly.
Just where the balcony turns out of view, I glimpse a woman in a regal gown, the deep green of the surrounding pine trees, with a crown of golden antlers resting upon her raven hair.
The queen.
Power radiates from her, sizzling the air as if resisting her command would burn you alive. The same dread that filled me when Taran bent Merfyn wraps its tendrils around my chest. The realization that I’m powerless against her.
Especially without incanting.
I tear my gaze away, scanning in the direction that holds her attention. There’s not a wedding guest in sight, but a small hill rises above the surrounding gardens. A wooden arch decorated with hanging flowers stands atop, and Taran hides behind one of its posts.
My heart drops with a sickening lurch.
“They have him,” I whisper. “If he moves, they’ll let loose.”
“Ancients, Taran,” Emlyn mutters. “Just bend them already.”
But he won’t. I know it in my heart. That fear of becoming his mother, combined with facing her for the first time in twenty years…
He’s frozen, just as I’d feared.
After a quick look around, Emlyn’s grip on his bow tightens, then he steps onto the window ledge.
I shoot a glance at the queen—she hasn’t noticed us. “What are you doing?”
“I need a better shot.” He carefully moves onto the branch growing beside the window. It sways beneath him, but he slowly inches his way forward.
“This can’t be safe,” I mutter to myself, then climb onto the ledge, gripping it tight as I brace myself. Close enough to help if I need to, but not enough to be in his way. Not that I’ll be able to do much outside of giving him a hand or incanting.
My stomach clenches. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.
Emlyn shifts, sliding his arrow into place. The branch lurches beneath his weight, dipping sharply. My pulse spikes—
A loud crack pierces the air. Emlyn’s bow drops from his grasp. I shoot my hand out as he reaches toward me.
The world stills as the queen turns. Her fiery green eyes lock onto us, seething with fury.
Something stirs within me. Recognition, that I have something to protect. Something she wants to hurt, and I need to do everything in my power to stop her.
But she speaks before I can.
“Fall.”
Despite the distance, her voice echoes through my mind.
I’m no longer on the window ledge. She told us to fall, and we did.
The ground rushes toward me. Brilliant green veiled in shadow, about to be splattered with the deep, dull red of my blood.
On instinct, I incant a gust of wind, the familiar power flowing through me.
It catches Emlyn first, slowing our descent. We still hit hard, pain shooting through me as I collide with the dark earth.
My relief fractures as screams fill the air. Emlyn convulses next to me, but it’s not just him.
It’s everyone.
The guards, the queen…
And Taran. He falls from his hiding spot, crumpling as a roar of pure agony rips from his throat.
My blood turns to ice. Rage burns through my fingertips, rising from the black scar stretching across the terrain beneath me.
I did that.
I swallow the horror surging within me—I can’t afford to dwell on it. Emlyn and Taran are down, as are the queen and her guards. But some are already pulling themselves up.
My heart pounds frantically as I grab Emlyn’s arm, hauling him after me. “We need to move.”
He groans, then staggers to his feet.
It’s taking too long.
The guards, struggling to stand, nock their arrows and aim their bows at us. Emlyn shoves me ahead as we sprint toward the hill. To Taran.
Halfway there, Emlyn cries out, a sharp sound that rips through my soul. He stumbles forward, an arrowhead protruding near his right shoulder, just below the collarbone.
“Emlyn!”
“Fuck,” he gasps, his face tight.
I rush back, slinging his left arm over my shoulder as I brace him with my back.
My knees buckle beneath his weight, every step an excruciating strain as I hoist him up the hill.
The way is clear—the guards must be keeping their distance to avoid Taran’s willbending.
Agonized grunts punctuate our every move, grating against my ears.
Emlyn tumbles off me as my legs finally give out.
But Taran’s there, catching him before he crashes to the ground. There’s a drip of relief before I take in his face. He doesn’t look any better than Emlyn, both their faces contorted in pain.
Except for the blood. Deep crimson seeps through Emlyn’s shirt. He’s already turning pale. But it’s just his shoulder—he should be fine if we can get him to safety. Treat the wound.
I chance a look back at the castle.
The queen stands with all her guards. Their arrows are ready, her face triumphant.
We have no cover. Nothing to protect us.
Her words don’t reach my ears but they don’t need to; it’s clear what she said.
Arrows whistle through the air. More than a dozen, flying straight at us.
In half a heartbeat, a wall of ice, larger than any I’ve summoned before, crystallizes in front of me.
The arrows freeze in place.
A soul-shattering scream tears out of Taran’s throat. Pitch-blackness surges out from the ice, charring the terrain. Grass crumbles to dust.
“Taran!” I scramble toward him.
His body spasms, veins bulging against his skin like thick cords as his muscles contract.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” I take his clenched fist in my hands, his knuckles white from the strain.
He doesn’t respond.
I scan the area. The ice blocks everyone from view. No guards have shown up yet, but no doubt they’re on their way. If the queen gets any closer, the ice won’t save us from her voice—hopefully she’ll be delayed by having a reaction similar to Taran’s. But for how long?
I tug his arm, tears streaming down my face. “You need to get up. I can’t do this on my own.”
A blaze crackles in Taran’s eyes as he inhales sharply, teeth clenched. He wrests his arm free of my grip, clawing his way to Emlyn, every movement strained.
Emlyn lies coiled on his side, a tremor running through him as he gasps for air. Where the arrow protrudes from his chest, thick, crimson blood saturates his clothes.
No, no, no, no, no. It was just his shoulder. He should be fine.
I rush to his side. His skin’s cold to the touch.
Taran gets underneath him, pushing to his feet with Emlyn’s weight on his shoulder. Somehow, the two of them stagger down the far side of the hill. I hover nearby, terrified that trying to help will only make things worse.
Emlyn cries out when we reach the bottom. He’s almost entirely supported by Taran, and we’re miles from camp.
“I’m not gonna make it.” His words slur through lips tinged blue.
The force of Taran’s willbending plows into me. “Yes, you will. You will not die tonight.”
Emlyn grimaces, his face racked with pain.
His steps steady, accepting some of his weight, but every move draws an agonized whimper.
My heart splinters, thoughts turning to Reid.
Hopefully he and Aerona succeeded, and he’ll forgive me for leaving.
That branch cracking, Taran freezing—it hurts too much to imagine what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.
But Taran… He bends everyone we come across—frightened servant, confused guest, emboldened guard—demanding they leave. They do, scurrying away in the opposite direction, faster than their legs can carry them.
No one risks following.