43. Aldrin
W e march in silent unison down the quiet palace corridors, our two parties cloaked behind Silvan and Zinnia’s invisibility wards, taking out the abundant fire orbs as we go and thrusting the space into dim shadow.
From the inkiness, our allies from the Assassins of Belladonna materialize in bands, pulled in from the battles on the street by Starlight fae who teleport in and out.
My target is the closest entrance to the secret passages that lead out of the bowels of the palace, where Edmund should be waiting with his force.
We round a corner and I hold up a hand to signal my people to wait.
With the invisibility wards held in front of us like a shield, those behind can easily see my signals.
The discreet panel in the wall, normally hidden behind artwork, is guarded by at least a hundred warriors on this side alone. They choke the narrow passageway, many leaning against walls with weapons still sheathed.
I place my hand on the wall beside me and reach into my connection with the Wisteria of Mythanar.
Its thin branches burrow through mortar and punch little holes in marble tiles to wrap around my fingers.
Through its essence, I become aware of the wards barricading the door to the secret passage and the number of enemies lying in wait within.
It truly would have been impossible to penetrate the palace from this tunnel.
Even if we made it through the horde protecting the outside of the passage and to the top of the stairs, this force before us could have picked us off one by one at the choke point of the door, which only one person can pass through at a time.
I signal for half of my warriors to loop around and corner the guards on the other side of the corridor in a pincer attack. My heart skips a beat when a single sword is raised from the empty air on the far side and I know Silvan has them in place.
“Charge!” I bellow, and my people scream alongside me, the invisibility wards dropping at the last moment.
The assholes don’t even see us coming.
They scramble to grab their weapons while my sword is already slicing through flesh.
The woman who gurgles blood while I tear my sword from her middle was a part of my personal King’s Guard for years.
One I trusted and Silvan promoted many times, until she betrayed us both.
I toss her to the side and she smashes into the wall before collapsing to the ground, tripping the next guard to charge me.
There is nowhere for them to go but beneath our blades, being pressed in on both sides.
There isn’t enough room for elaborate sword maneuvers or even most magic wields, not without taking out an ally beside me.
I lose myself to the thrust, slice and redraw of my blade cutting into enemies while they scream, always keeping Keira at my side.
We fight together in a dance that is only possible in mates with every awareness of where the other stands and how they fare.
The distinctive scent of her fuels me to keep fighting and pushing harder, for her, for us.
The panting of her breath, the burn of her muscles, the satisfaction with every successful blow she makes hurtling across the bond is like a fire within my soul.
Her righteous anger burns and burns, because every one of these people hurt her as much as they hurt me.
Keira is beautifully brutal with every kill she makes. Mesmerizing. Utterly distracting. Like a force of nature that cannot be stopped, and I fucking love it. Daggers fly from her hands, fire running across blades that meet throats and chests alike before her air wields rip them back to her.
She burns the handle of one man’s sword so hot that he drops it with a yelp, then she grabs him by the collar and pulls his face close to hers.
“Do you remember me? The little human prisoner you threw stones at while she was in a cage?” she growls, lips twisting and hair suddenly combusting into flames.
“Not so helpless now, am I?” She tears her fingernails down his cheek, but instead of deep scratches forming across his skin, those cracks appear.
They spread rapidly like fractures in glass, and within a heartbeat the man explodes into ash and dirt while Keira screams.
She is as glorious as she is fearsome, and I don’t know whether to be turned on or terrified.
Remind me never to piss you off, I jest in her head.
You never said vengeance felt this good. She sends me a wicked, unhinged smile. It doesn’t help that there is blood splattered across her face and the ash of her enemies scattered across her cheeks like freckles.
A man charges at me clutching a spear lowered to my gut. I raise a lazy hand, then clench it into a fist. Every single one of his muscles locks up. I move to quickly dispatch him with my sword until a visual flows to my mind straight from Keira. Too many images to keep up with.
He was always there whenever Torin built up the confidence to threaten me or Sasha with sexual violence. He was always snickering in the background and egging Torin on, especially when he got violent.
Images of Torin pulling her hair, twisting her arm, slapping her, putting a blade to her face—they all flood me, along with the firestorm of her rage, burning, growing, thrashing. Well, she is getting all that pent-up wrath out of her system now. We feed off each other, creating a terrible beast.
He doesn’t deserve a quick death. I tighten my grasp on his muscles until each one cramps and spasms. He is visibly shaking as tears run down his cheeks.
Keira walks up to him and looks him right in the eye.
What he doesn’t deserve is to waste another breath of air or take up another moment of my time.
To ever be thought of again. She slides her blade across his throat, opening it up to a river of red.
I drop him and do as she says: I don’t consider him again, not even as I step over his dead body.
Within what feels like seconds, all those guards that outnumbered us are dead, littering the hall. I would curse it as a fucking waste, if I didn’t know that Titania’s personal guard actively supports the baser actions of both mother and son. So many of my King’s Guard converted to Wildrose Guards.
“Clean this up,” I order my people, needing this corridor to become a thoroughfare for our forces entering from outside the palace.
I don’t even glance back as rain and air brush against my face, washing away the blood.
Starlight fae dart in and out of shadows to dispose of the bodies.
Or perhaps have their Nightmares eat them. I don’t want to think about it.
I take Keira’s hand in mine and lead her over the dead, toward the door to the secret passages. My magic cleaves easily through the wards protecting it, with all their power directed at an external attack and the loose ends of the threads pointed into the palace.
I press our joined hands to the wall and the Wisteria of Mythanar punches through to wrap its thin limbs over me again, connecting its essence with ours. I guide Keira into the awareness of the tree, teaching her how to use the senses of the backbone of this entire palace.
Together we feel the heat of each soldier on the staircase beyond and the way the slight movements of their bodies disturb the air.
We funnel our joint magic into the roots that dip in and out of the stone walls and ceilings, making them grow into weapons.
The enemy guards die screaming one by one, like a series of dominos, as they are snatched by woody limbs coiling around them, then crushing them.
Those roots don’t drop the dead bodies to be littered on the steps, their organic matter wasted.
No, they rearrange the very stones they hold up to drag the fae through the bowels of the building, to where masses of roots will slowly consume them as fertilizer.
Their bones will remain there for hundreds of years, until they turn to dust.
Keira looks at me with wide eyes like she is going to be sick.
“Really? Of everything you have seen today, that is what upsets your sensibilities?” I tease.
“You need to see what the Wisteria of Mythanar can do for you. With its enchantments, you don’t need earth magic of growth to ask it to do your bidding, just raw power to fuel it.
The only thing that matters is that it now recognizes you as a part of my royal line. ”
I grow a curtain of cascading purple flowers over the secret entrance at the foot of the palace, in the promised signal that the path is ready for my people.
Where I can only hope that Cedar, Edmund, Caitlin and the force they have been given charge of are ready to lead the way into the palace, with Titania’s defenders there already dead.
The plan was for the bulk of their force to clear up that entrance while I died.
The tree alerts me to the many bodies climbing up the stairs, clogging it with their numbers, but not to who enters.
It cannot see or distinguish one fae or human from another.
Those numbers could belong to the friendly forces we hope for, to Truth Templars, or to crazed citizens with wood axes, butcher’s knives and a lust for blood.
My heart pounds roughly as their racing boots echo through the passage and I share a look of consternation with Keira as we hold our awareness within those roots to stamp out any enemy if needed. Our band crowds around as Cyprien pulls open the door and we wait, staring down into the darkness.
Edmund, the mad bastard, is the first one to charge through.
I slap his back in greeting, but he goes straight for Keira, lifting her off her feet in a massive bear hug and breaking her connection with the Wisteria of Mythanar. Edmund holds her close to his chest as she buries her face in his neck.