26. Keira #2
“You should know Aldrin better than that, Edmund,” Cyprien snaps from his position just behind us. “A little theatrics go a long way.”
I glance up at the balconies and apartments above the strip of shops.
Multiple faces appear in windows, pulling aside curtains to peer through.
Their eyes are wide, and many turn away to usher others to the view.
Some even hover out in the open, looking down over the railings of the higher-level platforms.
This display is clearly a shock for them.
Something they never thought would happen in their neighborhood, to someone they know.
Perhaps these wealthy people in their ivory towers truly believed that the Truth Templars only attacked criminals.
That good people like themselves would be left unmolested.
The indifference and tolerance of the majority is the reason tyrants get away with these sorts of atrocities.
“Aldrin’s magic is in the room with the flower nymphs,” I say softly to my father. “He can stop the hearts of the six Templars up there terrorizing them before they can blink if they cross a line.”
My father’s eyebrows shoot up.“He’s that powerful?”
“ We are that powerful,” Aldrin says. “We can draw on each other’s raw magic and borrow each other’s abilities.”
Black smoke curls in the air, churning out of the storefront.
Within, Templars splash about alcohol and light small sparks to ignite tall flames with their minimal fire magic, all that Spring fae can manage.
A monsoon rain falls upon the path by which they intend to leave, containing the fire.
The thing is, no fire can truly be controlled.
They laugh as they destroy in minutes the business someone spent decades of hard work building.
The sight breaks my heart. It sends my magic blazing through me with the intensity of a storm as I prepare for a fight. The rage it stokes sets my blood rushing and a phantom breeze flicks up my hair, swirling embers and tongues of fire through it.
I glance at my hands and satisfaction rolls within me. Every freckle upon my skin dances with the light of the internal flames behind it as my primal form comes out to play. As the change amplifies my powers.
The Truth Templars have no right to invade a person’s home.
To steal from them and burn it to the ground.
They have no right to destroy a person’s haven of safety, purely based on their race.
These thugs make no investigations into an accused person’s conduct to discover if they truly engage in illegal activity. No trial takes place. No arrest with dignity is attempted. These people are persecuted and treated with so much hate for simply existing.
It fucking stops now.
I will make these Templars pay, tonight.
“It is time to make our move,” I snarl.
“My thoughts exactly.” Aldrin pulls his sword from his back.
I extract my hand from his, placing it on his chest to hold him back. “Let me go first, since you’re meant to be dead. We will give them the show you desire, with a dramatic entrance.”
He gives me a nod, his eyes simmering with violence.
Glamour washes over me, transforming my gown into a regal garment of gold, fit for holding court in the palace, and placing a crown on my head. Then I step out into the fray, beyond our invisibility wards, with half our warriors flanking me.
“By order of your true queen, I command you to stop these atrocities!” I bellow, making my voice larger than life and ensuring it carries to the audience gathering above. “You are going to burn down the entire neighborhood!”
Two Templars step out of the wreckage of the shop with hints of charcoal smeared across their surcoats. They consider me, then throw back their heads and laugh.
“True queen? What true queen?” one snickers. “The dead king’s human mate?”
“Isn’t she cowering in the palace, dressed like a whore and sitting at the High Chancellor’s feet?” the other replies.
I click my fingers and all that fire consuming the shop leaps to my command.
It runs in thin channels across the ground, rushing toward me.
Its brutal power collides with my body and is soaked up, fueling me.
My hair explodes into dancing tongues of pure flame, none of my natural strands remaining.
Flickers of fire run along my skin, creating an ever-shifting halo.
People gasp at my display of power.
I take another step toward the two Templars who tower over me. They back away. “Do I look human to you? Am I cowering before anyone?” I roar. “Stand your people down and answer to your queen!”
They glance at each other, wavering for a heartbeat, but the rest of the Templars ransacking the florist stream out and fan around them, and their smirks return. One has the audacity to draw his mace. “It is a crime punishable by death to obstruct the justice of the Truth Templars.”
“Justice!” I laugh bitterly. The angry murmuring of the crowd above us intensifies in volume.
“What justice? Can you tell us the crimes these people have committed that warrant their business being burned to ash in the night and them being pulled from their beds at swordpoint? Have they had a trial? Been presented before a judge and had a chance to plead their case?”
The Templars part as their leader marches out into the center of the boulevard, carrying a small female flower nymph.
He tosses her to the ground. She falls so hard that the fine branches that make up her long hair snap and scatter tiny leaves across the floor.
The pink flowers across her body close into tight buds as a reaction to the physical trauma.
She rolls and tries to scurry away, hands flying out behind her and heels kicking up chunks of grass, but the leader places a boot on her chest and holds her in place. A man and another woman are tossed beside her by his followers, these two covered in small fern fronds, yellow lichen and daisies.
“We are seekers of the truth!” the leader roars up at the crowd. “We see through the lies and misinformation that cloud the judgments of the courts. We do not accept the bribes they take to let criminals walk free. It is our job to act upon threats, not sit around debating.”
He lifts his helmet just enough to spit at the nymph beneath his boot.
“You might look upon these fae and see innocent traders, but you only perceive what is on the surface, and do not comprehend that the mere presence of these people endangers our entire court! That their existence here, their attitudes and dealings, are a threat to your own businesses that you have invested so much in.”
He pulls his axe free from his back. I almost incinerate him on the spot. I should kill him right now, but I need to hear the Truth Templar logic that has so many in their thrall. He points his weapon to the crowd while the woman squirms on the ground.
“Do not forget,” he continues. “The low fae want you to shut up your shops and live in the wilds of this court, so you will use up all of your raw magic in replenishing their groves and meadows and waters. They are lazy. Useless. Instead of tending to the land themselves, they want us high fae to do it. Ask yourself: why are low fae living among you, here in the city? Is it to compromise your businesses and destroy your way of life, so you are forced out of the capital to live in service of them instead? Why should you lift a finger to protect such people? Their sentence is death, and it is for your benefit.”
Aggravated voices rise up from the crowd, which is only growing in size, but it isn’t clear what each one is saying.
“You select your version of the truth to suit your own greed and prejudices,” I call out.
“You run rampant, killing whoever you want with fabricated excuses and no consequences. The Truth Templars are attacking these people because they are low fae, nothing more. You have practically said it yourself. Which group will you target next? Fae who have done military service in the Winter Wars because they are trained warriors and could become vigilantes? How about any business that undercuts the High Chancellor’s profits?
Fae who descend from any other court, which is many of us? Or simply anyone you like?”
“I do not answer to the likes of you!” the lead Templar snarls, pointing a finger at me.
“Templars, kill these obstructors of justice. Burn the florist to the ground. Remove the heads from these criminal nymphs and tear their heart-stones from their chests! The king is dead and this queen is a powerless nobody without him!” he roars as he brings his axe down toward the flower nymph’s neck.
It stops inches away as Aldrin’s hooks in his flesh seize up every one of his muscles.
Absolute chaos erupts around us.
Truth Templars charge my warriors and clash blades with them.Their ranks attempt to slaughter the peaceful nymphs whimpering on the ground and Aldrin forces their bodies to freeze.
“ Powerless? You believe me POWERLESS?” I shout, striding through the mayhem of thrashing bodies until I close the small distance to the lead Templar.
I knock off his helmet and his eyes trace my movements as I place a hand on his cheek.
His appearance matches that of the typical Spring Court high fae: tanned skin, dark hair, smooth features and pointed ears.
He has probably never been made to feel other or inadequate his entire life.
His flesh cracks beneath my touch. Great fissures run along his face, down his neck and across his body.
Ash floats from them as red light glows within.
My earth magic rapidly decays his body to dust. My fire incinerates him from the inside out.
His mouth gapes wide open, but no scream leaves his lips.
Within a few heartbeats, his chainmail armor drops to the ground in a pile of dark powder.
I look up to the crowd, who stare down upon the scene with horror.