Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Samaria
“Down with the king! Down with the king!” There’s a buzzing in my ears from the relentless yelling around me. Rain falls in buckets, soaking the ground and our clothes.
Men and women from not just Loxley, but the Jade and Onyx Guilds, even those from Wickersham have come together just outside of Valebridge to demand justice. The iron gate juts toward the sky, towering above us, wrapping around the entirety of the courtyard.
Tallulah and Evren flank my sides, as well as the other escaped Enchantresses, including Sera. Our arms link together as we watch a crowd form just inside the walls.
“Down with the king!”
Jarek’s body presses in from behind me, his voice booming over all the others. “How long, my queen, do we wait before we take justice into our own hands?”
I look at the weary-eyed men and women on the other side of the gate. Watching us not with fear or hate, like I’d expected, but with curiosity. One woman comes forth, wrapping her hands around the iron gate. Her eyes are soft, her skin pale and wrinkled.
“Enchantresses,” she shouts above the rising storm. I nod. “May the Mother bless you.” A tear slips from her eye, and before I can speak, a thunderous stomping of boots in the courtyard opposite us has the Valebridge crowd clearing.
Royal Guards.
“We can’t just sit here, Sam,” Evren says from behind me.
I focus on the guards heading toward us. Counting them, comparing our numbers. I’m grateful that my hands are occupied, otherwise I know I’d be picking my nails down to the cuticle right now. “How many, Sera?”
Sera holds her wrists up and closes her eyes. “Too many.” Silver wells in her eyes but she brushes them away.
Shite.
“Give Roman a chance.”
Spinning around, my knees go slack as Sorin weaves through the crowd. He’s here and?—
“Elora.” I unloop my arm and cup my hands over my mouth. “How did you… Are you okay?” I fumble over my words as I wrap her in a hug.
“I’m okay,” she says, “I think.”
“It’s a long story,” Sorin says. Elora backs into his chest, her eyes not quite the vibrant gold I’m used to but she’s warm and she’s here and?—
“Roman gave me this.” Sorin pulls a necklace out from Elora’s tunic. An amethyst stone glitters from a delicate chain. “His harvested Enchantress magick.”
Tallulah gasps, taking a step forward. She traces the stone delicately with her fingers. “And you used it?” she asks.
“It’s how we’re here. If not for this, if not for Roman…” Sorin bites his bottom lip before tucking the amulet back under Elora’s shirt. “Give him a chance to make this right.”
I turn to Tallulah and Elora, who tries to smile but quickly turns to a frown.
“Please,” Sorin whispers and it’s the softness in his tone that has my mind made.
“One chance,” I agree. The women at my sides nod and just as they do, a guard approaches the gate.
“You!” he yells, pointing a spindly finger at Sera. “You are under arrest for the use of magick—” The man drops to the ground, thick, vines of ivy wrapped around his ankles and wrists. My eyes bulge as I look at Tallulah.
She shrugs, holding her palms steady, the ivy sprawling from them tightening a little. “I didn’t care for what he had to say.”
She smiles and I know that it’s now or never. Glancing at the courtyard, I see the silhouettes of the guards come into view through the dizzying rain. Beady and black; they swarm together like ants.
“We have to find Roman,” I say to Sorin. “At least to convince him to call off his guard.”.
Sorin sighs, clutching onto Elora’s shoulders. Her hair is twisted in a braid, water dripping from the ends of it. She remains quiet, but her eyes flick to mine, a spark of curiosity brewing in them.
Jarek laughs from behind me so I glance over my shoulder and when I do, my chest tightens. “She’s all right, pups.” He kneels in the mud. Hati, Rook, Skoll, and Gray fight for closeness to Elora and just behind them are Alaric and Ruse.
We’re all here.
Together.
Emotion swells in my breast, but before I let myself feel anything too deeply, I shove it down. There’s work to be done.
Jarek stands, pulling himself reluctantly away from the puppies who are now grown nearly to his hip. Our eyes connect, and when I open my mouth, he shakes his head. “Go, we’re right behind you.”
Gooseflesh erupts over my skin as he kisses me. I have the sense to not let go but correct myself when the crowd around us continues to chant, their voices growing louder with the rising wind and rain. I pull away from Jarek and turn to the gate.
“Wait,” I say, facing Sorin again, “you should go instead. He knows you. Try and convince him to stop this. Find Gal—” I choke on his name, but Jarek’s hand on my shoulder settles the fire in my chest. “Find Galen and stop this.”
Sorin glances at Jarek, their unspoken promises written all over their faces. Jarek claps him on the back, and Sorin winces but smiles. Turning to face the crowd, I find the kind woman from before. I whistle and snap my fingers to grab her attention but it doesn’t work.
“You! Excuse me, miss!” After what feels like an eternity, she comes back to the gate, stepping lightly around the guard still pinned to the ground with ivy.
“What is it?” She keeps her voice low, and I have to push myself against the iron bars so I can hear her over the thunder. The iron burns against my skin, but I press myself tighter to ensure she can hear me.
“We need you to open the gate,” I say. “We need to get inside before the guards come. Quickly!” Her body stiffens as the sounds of the guards move closer. I glance to Sera, her eyes locked on the castle, likely determining how many guards are where.
“Please,” Tallulah begs the woman. Evren’s at her side, his sword already drawn.
The woman is silent for a moment, her thin fingers running through the soft gray curls of her hair. Her eyes drift past me, and I follow her gaze until I see what has her so focused.
She’s staring at Sorin.
“Mother above,” she gasps, cupping her hands over her mouth. “The rumors are true? The king lives?”
How similar do he and Silas look?
“No.” Elora joins us at the gate, the wolves following in her wake. My stomach swirls at the sound of her voice, it’s hers but somehow it isn’t. There’s a coldness lining it, something distant. Ancient. Her fingers brush mine as she grips the bars, and my chest collapses when her skin is warm, not cold.
She’s alive, Samaria. Just relax.
“Silas has passed, but this,” she says, turning to Sorin, “is Sorin Rudhek, first born son of Silas Rudhek, the rightful heir of Valebridge and Teravie.”
The woman on the other side of the gate mutters something like a prayer. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “King Bastian . King Bastian and you—” She closes her eyes and brings her hands to her chest.
The hairs on my body stand on end, and when I look at Elora and Sorin, their faces have blanched. The woman mutters something again and just when I’m about to have Jarek break the damn gate down himself, the woman disappears.
“Shite,” I mutter. “Elora, should we try the tunnels? Do you remember where they are?” A larger part of me is dying to ask her to use her magick, or the magick in the amulet for that matter but she’s been through so much, I don’t want to push her.
She frowns and opens her mouth, but before she can speak, grinding metal drowns out the chants behind me as the gate opens.
“Thank the Mother,” I say through a sigh. “Jarek, Evren, Tallulah, and I will stay here and get ready for a fight.” The three of them turn to me, their eyes as wide as I’m sure my own are. “ Sorin—” I grab his arm and pull him forward. “Go find Roman.”
“I’ll go too,” Sera says, wiping the black strands of her hair from her face.
Sorin nods and turns to Elora. He bends down to her ear and whatever he whispers makes her smile. She slides the necklace around him.
“Be safe.” Sorin squeezes her shoulders before kissing her. When he turns to me, our eyes meet but there isn’t any time for chatter before he’s sprinting through the gate, following Sera into the castle. Every step he takes away from me, panic claws at my skin.
I have already seen him die once, I can’t bear it again.
My chest heaves, mind racing with an endless amount of possibilities of what could go wrong. I’m about to sprint after Sorin myself when Jarek takes a timid step toward Elora. He grips her shoulders, the wolves tucked closely to their sides. My attention on them doesn’t last long before the woman from before reappears, her face slick with rain or perhaps tears.
“Thank you for opening the gate.” I step forward and join her side. “You and your friends should probably go, it may get a bit ugly down here.”
The guards are in view now, their militant stance and glinting swords bright even in the gray afternoon light. I place my hand on her shoulder and she jumps, as if she hadn’t realized I was there. Hadn’t heard a word I said.
Out of the corner of my eye, my breath falters for a moment when Sera and Sorin head straight toward the guards but then in an instant, the two of them vanish. As if carried away in the wind. My mouth drops open, eyes scanning the area for any sight of them. I don’t have time to contemplate when Jarek steps forward, his axes drawn. The guards shout, their voices mixing together.
“Queen Soleil,” the old woman whispers, drawing my attention for a moment. I slide my hand from her shoulder to ready my bow.
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
The woman’s face splits into a grin, emphasizing the deep lines in her face. She points, and I follow her finger to Elora who’s still behind me. “She lives.”
Confusion contorts my face as I nock my first arrow. A chill washes over me and soon Elwyn and Celia’s spirits are at my side.
“Please.” I push the woman forward as gently as I can. My fingers tremble against my bow, what used to be an extension of myself now feels so foreign. “You and the others must go.” The woman smiles again before hobbling out of sight.
Most of the civilians have left, leaving an open space between us and the guards. Arrows soon litter the air.
I spin, moving and ducking under a guard before he can strike, trying to find a better vantage point. Something cold brushes against my cheek and when I turn, it’s Elwyn.
I flick my wrist up.
“Look, Sam.”
I turn, following her gaze, and in the courtyard are hundreds of Enchantress spirits.
“Why are they all still here?” My mind races but as the arrows whiz past me and steel clangs together I’m snapped out of the haze. I keep one wrist up, eyes scanning the courtyard.
“They’re stuck here,” Celia says.“Just like we are.”
Evren shouts next to me, drawing my attention. His blade is already coated in crimson.
“ Use your magick, Sam.”
I duck, dodging an arrow as it flies overhead. “I don’t think speaking to a hundred spirits is going to help us win a fight!” I realize too late that I’ve yelled the words aloud. I draw another arrow from my quiver, letting it soar before it sinks into a guard a few paces away. I flick my wrists back up.
“You’re a Spiritwalker, Sam.” Elwyn’s cool fingers brush against my cheek. “ So, walk with them.” She cups my face and shivers rake over my body. “ Fight with them.” She steps aside just in time for me to stop another guard with an arrow to the chest.
“Fight with them,” I repeat, breathless from another kill. I toss my bow to the ground.
“Samaria!” Jarek is sprinting toward me in my peripherals.
Fight.
“Sam!” Jarek shouts again.
Fight.
Jarek’s voice carries over the carnage and the rain, but he doesn’t make it before I flick my wrists up and open myself up to the spirits before me.
My eyes roll back for a split second before they right themselves. And when they do, gone are the screams and fighting sounds of the courtyard. Instead, my ears pop, voices and sounds muffled around me.
Jarek is at my side, his mouth moving but his words are stifled. He grips my shoulders and shakes me, but I’m unmoving.
I take a step forward, holding my hands up to my face to examine the ghost-like mist I’ve become. I glance over my shoulder to where my body still stands. Jarek is fighting around me. His axes swinging, his blue eyes wide.
Tallulah and Evren are there as well, engaged in battles of their own. And Elora— I scan the area until I see her, handling a guard of her own.
“Come,” Elwyn says, waving me forward. Before I’m halfway through the courtyard, walking clear through guards as if I’m nothing more than the wind, more Enchantresses than I can see have gathered around me.
“Spiritwalker,” they whisper. Over and over again.
“Spiritwalker.”
“Spiritwalker.”
“Mother blessed.”
“Open yourself up, Sam.” Elwyn grips my shoulders.
I don’t know how I understand what she means, I just do. A deep, primal part of my being snaps open and as it does the power of my magick unleashes.
Like a bolt of lightning, my magick spears through the courtyard, touching each and every spirit in its path. As it lands on them, color flushes their cheeks. Their eyes ignite, and they all look so alive . Then one by one, their wrists begin to swish and an endless amount of magick, kinds I could have never imagined, begins to circle in the air.
A woman with steel eyes flicks her wrists to the skies as if she’s speaking to the storm, bringing forth heavy hail that she directs toward the guards. Their screams are muffled through the portal but as they begin to fall, my lips spread into a smile.
“Hold onto your magick tightly, Samaria,” Celia says. Her eyes are alight, her red hair gleaming. “Don’t let it slip, the spirits need you in order to use their magick.”
My words are lost but I nod quickly before another Enchantress steps forth. Her silver hair is bound in a thick braid, her dark skin weathered like a decades old map. She smiles at me before facing the guards and raising her wrists.
Dark tendrils roll from her hands, seeping through the cracks in the stone ground beneath us before wrapping around the ankles of a dozen guards and bringing them to their feet. Their heads hit the ground with a wicked crunch, and the Enchantress tips her head back and laughs before she regains her composure and does it again and again.
My magick continues to pulse through my palms, threading out into the courtyard, giving energy and life to each spirit before me. And they accept it like an offering. I push my magick further, my anger fueling me for each Enchantress stuck here. Taken advantage of. Used and abused and tortured and?—
My rage becomes palpable, my teeth clenched so tightly my jaw aches, but the sting in my palms intensifies, more and more magick pushing its way through me.
“Sam!” his voice is broken, but I’d know it anywhere. Jarek calls my name again, and as I glance over my shoulder to where my body remains, my grip on my magick waivers.
Jarek’s tangled in a fight, his ax straining against a steel sword, two men flanking his sides. Elora is running toward me, her hands raised, staving off several guards, setting them aflame.
But what panics me, what sends an icy thrill through my veins, is the guard before my body, holding a knife to my throat.