Chapter 38
Create a perfect storm of chaos, then challenge what is known.
— ALARIC SARE’S PAPERS FOR EMBERLINE ARKOVA
The plan was simple. The wait, on the other hand … the anticipation might kill me.
The next day and a half was occupied with Harrow’s messages, responses, and filling as many of the adamas gems as possible.
Hart and I knew our value. We asked those who took and gave on our behalf for fear and little else.
A dash of lust in each of our stones ensured that if we were wounded, we could heal, but almost everything else could be solved expediently by dropping our enemies into their nightmares.
“You have to use it, no matter who else is around,” Alysa said as we readied the next evening.
She’d spent the days training with her volunteers.
My knowledge of Alysa’s history was only that which she’d told me and a little bit of legend from Alaric’s old books, but how a Blessed daughter, a young woman of elite society, had learned to fight with such ruthless determination, well, that was a story I needed to hear later.
I studied her as she lectured me. Knives were strapped to both of her hips, and a quiver and bow were slung across her back. Harrow had just flown away with a final message for Reid.
“I don’t care if you can’t control the nightmares,” Alysa said. “I don’t care if every one of us falls to them. If it’s the way you take the throne, you do it. Ember, are you listening to me?”
She was right. I knew it. I nodded in agreement.
It didn’t make me hate the plan any less.
I went over it again and again as we hiked to the wall.
The Feared would storm the castle. With the doors open for the Blessed to enter for King Rodric’s celebration, they had the advantage of numbers.
Blessed guards would defend against them.
We anticipated that Blessed would be called from the celebration once they realized the scale of the attack.
Charon would aid the Feared. The front entrance seemed the only one large enough for him to pass through, and I needed him inside.
While the Feared drew focus with numbers, Hart and I, along with the Storm, would take the throne room.
We’d use the queen’s altar tunnel one last time.
Since Elias was now aware of it, we bet on most of the guards being occupied by the Feared’s attack.
The wait outside the wall was painful. Hart’s anxiety tasted bitter on my tongue.
I knew it was for me, but there was no way around both of us being there.
Every trial had required something from each of us.
Even if this was a single choice—to free him of Themis’s summons—I knew it would require both of us to complete.
I just didn’t know how, exactly.
The pendant around my neck had helped once again to light the way through the dark woods. Now, I pulled it over my head and handed it to Hart. “Take this.”
He hesitated before accepting, but I insisted.
It wasn’t as if we could use the pendant’s gems to wield.
Scarlett had told us not to use any of the emotions from our trials.
While we believed the trial of choice required something from each of us, we both assumed Eris’s loophole in the game would start with me, her Champion.
If nothing else, I hoped the black gem in the dragon’s eye would flash eventually.
Maybe it would signal to Hart when it was time if we were separated.
Time for what, we still didn’t know.
“Our plan has a few holes in it,” he whispered as he hung the pendant around his neck.
I didn’t bother denying it. “It’s the best we’ve got. We need to be in the throne room, both of us, with the throne and the dragon. We’ll likely get there before Charon, but hopefully, when he arrives, the gem will flash black and we can finish this.”
He sighed. “If all of that works, then we’ll only have to contend with a revolution. And keeping my father from the throne when he attempts his own plan.”
I squeezed his hand as we waited in the woods near the trapdoor entrance to the queen’s altar. “Your father can’t be allowed to become Champion while he holds the throne. We have to try.”
Hart nodded.
Almost fifty of us would enter through this path.
Hart hadn’t only exposed it to Alysa; he’d shared the information freely with her entire camp.
Some of those with us would break off when we entered the castle grounds to support the Feared at the entrance.
Half would remain with us, on our journey to the throne room.
Conceptually, I understood that after tonight, the knowledge of this path shouldn’t matter, but the hint of his sadness, like cool mint on my breath, told me it wasn’t only information to Hart.
With another squeeze of my hand, his gaze met mine. I slipped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me in a fierce kiss. We might be waiting for … something. A signal we’d know when we heard. But I wouldn’t let an opportunity to steal a moment with him pass me by.
Harrow returned. No cry of warning sounded as he glided over the wall toward us.
While that meant no guards patrolled the trapdoor entrance on the other side, I didn’t assume we would enter uncontested.
Elias might have moved guards into position in the tunnel path, which was why we’d wait for the attack to begin on the castle steps before we moved.
Silence hung heavy between the Oldwood’s gnarled branches as we listened for our signal.
I expected we’d hear the attack on the castle. That we’d hear shouts as guards rallied toward the front gate. We’d hear the warning bells ring, signaling any guards in the city to their stations. I’d never heard the chimes in my lifetime, but Hart had told us they existed for such an attack.
An exasperated breath left my lips. The sun had set. The king’s party had begun. We didn’t know when Rodric would make his move.
For so much of my life, I’d felt stuck, like I was waiting.
Waiting for a Blessed to realize I was immune to their touch.
Waiting for someone to turn me in to the king for punishment.
Waiting for my father to notice I still needed him, for him to return to my life.
Waiting for the right moment to flee from the kingdom.
Waiting had never served me well.
Harrow landed on Alysa’s shoulder. She unrolled a note strapped to his leg. She barely had time to read it as the slow, steady beat of wings far larger than Harrow’s filled the sky overhead.
Charon’s roar echoed across the quiet night. He hadn’t even crossed the wall when the bells Hart had warned of clanged to life.
It was time.
Harrow flapped his wings and lifted off for a final circle, a final check to see if guards emerged from the tunnel in the castle gardens. We couldn’t wait forever. Anxiety flared in the tap of Hart’s foot as he counted down the time he allotted Harrow to survey the other side of the wall.
The bird didn’t call, and Hart’s foot tapped its final beat, then he moved. He opened the trapdoor and dropped into it quickly with his sword drawn. Three of the other fighters followed him immediately. The rest prepared to join, but we heard no sound of swords clanging or pain inflicted.
“All clear,” his voice rumbled up the opening.
I couldn’t imagine what this meant. Had Elias really not told anyone about the entry path? He wanted Hart to come to the throne room?
It only meant the trap was farther inside Glanmore Castle.
The rest of the Storm climbed down the ladder, and with torches held high, we ran through the tunnel.
I’d spent a lot of time considering this last trial from all angles.
Finally, it had occurred to me that this path we were on was Eris’s.
It was chaos. I couldn’t expect the final piece of this puzzle to slot neatly into place.
It would slam down with the ferocity of a lightning bolt, blinding us as it showed us the way.
Choice would be the answer to embodying chaos.
Our choices defined us, as did the emotions that fueled them.
For all it could be planned, life found a way to upend the most calculated of paths.
Each choice was a fork in the road of our lives, a change in direction, no matter how slight.
How the choice would be presented remained unknown. I just hoped I understood it when I saw it.
The ladder on the opposite side of the tunnel returned me to the present.
Hart listened momentarily for Harrow’s caws, then lifted the wooden covering and sprang free.
Other fighters from the Storm joined him before I followed.
The dagger Alaric gave me might have been strapped to my waist, but I didn’t imagine I could hold my own with a weapon against the Blessed guards.
The adamas ring on my finger would be my best defense.
I just didn’t want to waste it prematurely.
Another fierce roar from Charon echoed across the castle grounds.
Screams erupted in the distance. He must have landed with the Feared at the front entrance.
I tried my best not to worry, lest my anxiety pull Hart’s focus.
As they’d both reminded me on multiple occasions, Charon was a dragon. He could take care of himself.
The group sprinted to the castle. I didn’t want to consider the toll the Feared paid at the front gates, but they served their purpose beautifully. Few guards remained in our path as we entered. We ran through nearly empty hallways.
The first Blessed we encountered had few moments to think before Hart charged him.
“You don’t want to do this,” the Blessed soothed, realizing he couldn’t fight us all. His adamas ring flashed green with persuasion.
One or two of the Storm beside Hart faltered in their approach, but Hart didn’t.
“I assure you, I do,” he said as he swung his sword.
The guard barely raised his weapon to defend before Hart twisted and stabbed him through the chest.
“Ember.” Hart reached for my hand as we neared the throne room. One of the Storm slipped the fallen guard’s adamas off his finger before half of the group split off behind us.
At least for every one of the Blessed we took down we could use their adamas against the rest. Every bit of magic helped, especially against the guards likely at the front gate.
The footsteps of those headed to the main entrance grew softer as they departed.
Alysa and her group followed closely at mine and Hart’s heels.
With the final turn, the grand double doors to the throne room were in sight. A dozen guards stood before them.
“Search for a way to challenge what is known,” I said. “Embody chaos when you make it.”
Hart nodded, but it wasn’t anything we hadn’t discussed a thousand times.
A chorus of green glowing gems lit up the guards we ran toward. Members of the Storm faltered on all sides as the magic of persuasion influenced them from their path. Rodric would have chosen his strongest wielders to guard the door.
“Youngleaf,” Alysa shouted. She chewed on something green.
The herb Alaric used in Mother’s tonic. The herb Charon’s magic had created in an attempt to balance what Rodric had done.
Still chewing, Alysa stopped in her tracks and pulled the bow from her shoulder.
In moments, she’d fired a half dozen arrows, each piercing the heart of a guard before the door.
I clutched my hand into a fist as Hart sprinted forward. He’d take the rest on his own if necessary, but I didn’t want him to. I studied the ring on my finger. The adamas gem was filled with fear. I just had to channel it.
Alysa’s call had gotten through to some of her people.
Her attack weakened the cloud of persuasion enough for them to act.
Five more Storm members sprinted past me.
They worked their jaws as they flew by, chewing on the antidote to the magic of the adamas stone.
Steel clanged against steel as the guards met Hart first, and moments later, the Storm.
Alysa’s steady shots hit another guard beyond the front line, one who still tried to persuade the Storm to stop fighting.
She was out of arrows, but the remaining guards were felled in moments.
Hart didn’t wait to regroup, didn’t wait for the Storm to pick up the new pieces of adamas for our cause.
His resolve was a palpable thing, and I loved him for it.
We were out of time, and waiting now wouldn’t change anything.
He met and held my gaze over his shoulder.
I let myself feel the fear of what we were about to do, but also let him taste the joy that any time we had together brought.
It felt like a hundred conversations were had in that moment. He loved me. He believed we’d figure it out. I tasted that effervescent flavor of his joy, the sweet berry flavor of his love. Determination sang through me. We would challenge what was known.
With a final nod, Hart pushed down the latches, throwing open the throne room’s gilded double doors.