“Who are you?” an unfamiliar male voice called.
“I’m a hunter,” Titus replied. “Bodies I found in the woods match the description I got from another tracker. Word is, there’s a reward offered. It’d set me up nicely for the winter if I could get paid.”
Moment of truth.
If she or Raff moved before the gates opened, they’d unload from the walls. Titus still hadn’t broken character; that was a good sign. She held her body so rigid while they waited that it was a wonder she didn’t vibrate with tension. Then Raff’s fingers brushed hers, too slight of a movement to be visible and covered by her hair as well. That was another sign that she must be dead.
The long delay made her itch, but finally, a female voice called, “Open the gates!”
And her heart died a little. She recognized it—how could she not? Tirael was one of the three Noxblades who had survived the battle of Hallowell and returned to her side with Ferith and Gavriel. The latter was gone on a mission with Magda, Ferith might have died in the cave-in, and she would have said that Tirael was loyal for sure.
Until just now.
She belongs to Ruark? Since when?
No time for further questions. As soon as the gates ground apart, Titus moved, pulling them swiftly toward the doors. “Now!”
On cue, she and Raff bounded out of the cart, shielded from sight by the framework of the walls. Korin and her people poured out of the surrounding forest, charging the hill with a surety and speed that Thalia admired. Raff was wedging the doors open, as previously agreed, while she followed Titus, who shifted before her eyes into a sleek and powerful tiger. He was too fast for her to follow, drawing fire that could’ve killed her.
Thalia whirled out of the gateway with blades in hand, lightning firing from each of her bracers. Half the soldiers dropped their weapons, some sobbing openly in relief. The rest must belong to Ruark and would have to be put down. She acknowledged the mass surrender with a nod, taking it as a pledge of fealty. She couldn’t blame these people for not fighting to the death when word of her demise reached the fortress. Trying to survive wasn’t a crime.
“Don’t just kneel,” she called. “Help me defeat the traitors!”
In response, the guards who had dropped their weapons took them up again and turned on those still fighting. Much as she hated hurting her own people, this had to happen. Paring away hesitation and mercy, she fired again and again, cutting the throats of those who fell. Korin’s forces surged everywhere, led by a massive black wolf. Raff’s ferocity would have chilled her blood, had it not been unleashed in her defense.
“Tirael is mine!” she shouted. “If you find her first, bring her to me.”
Animari forces nearby responded with growls that she took as affirmative. The remaining Eldritch soldiers fell in behind her, according her the respect of leading the charge across the courtyard. There were bodies everywhere, blood freezing on the paving stones. Her breath smoked as she let out a sigh, adding to the infernal atmosphere.
This day’s work didn’t feel good, as she’d led outsiders to slaughter her own people. Necessary, she told herself. And we have an alliance. It wasn’t like she could allow the Eldritch to follow Ruark into Tycho’s madness. Certain policies could sound reasonable, even favorable, but on closer examination, it was all bigotry, racial purity, and hatred. The Eldritch would walk that dark road over her dead body.
Some might say she was no better, choosing to butcher her own people so.
Thalia ignored the sickness roiling in her stomach. I will not count the cost. This is right. This is—
A black wolf lunged in front of her, taking the shot that came down from the walls. He stumbled, shook himself, and snarled. Still alive. Her heart nearly stopped, but Thalia couldn’t. She rushed from the courtyard, removing herself as a target. In Daruvar’s halls, the fighting was tight and fierce, impossible to tell friend from foe until they attacked. She responded with lethal force.
The enemies died swiftly, until she’d nearly drained the batteries on her bracers—she always kept one final shot in reserve for emergencies—then the fighting got bloodier, blades against knives. Their hot blood spattered her skin, her face, and she fought on, grimly relentless. Thalia battled all the way to the cells, hoping that they wouldn’t have executed all resistance yet. Sounds from the struggle elsewhere reached her, through the thick stone walls: shouts and cries of pain, the clang of weapons, distant gunfire. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, peering through the bars on the small access window set in the heavy steel door.
Ferith, injured but alive. Sky, the little wolf beside her. Both injured, but alive. Her heart sank when she didn’t spot Janek. “Open the door!” she ordered.
One of the guards found the keys and released the prisoners, not nearly fast enough. Thalia rushed inside, knelt beside the women. In here, the smell increased, a grotesque combination of the waste bucket in the corner and their infected wounds. Ferith tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t hold, and Sky was too weak to lift more than a hand in a greeting. Neither woman could speak.
“Janek?” she whispered.
Sky closed her eyes and shook her head. “He wouldn’t yield.”
Ferith sounded like death, her voice cracked and scraping like dry bones. “Fought to the death, took ten of Tirael’s men with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Thalia whispered. Then she straightened, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Get them to Dr. Wyeth, if he’s still alive and loyal. It’s time to end this.”
Finally.
Raff had no reason to hold back, and he left a wicked trail of bodies behind him. No quarter. No survivors. He’d wanted to wreck this place since the first attempt on Thalia’s life, since her foster mother died. Now he gave everything to vengeance, lost to the primal thrill of executing his enemies.
The
