Thalia rolled into the room and came up on one knee. Ruark’s knife slammed into the wall just above her head. She fired once with her bracer. Not a kill shot, but current strong enough to leave him twitching on the floor. Without hesitation, she rushed at him and didn’t say a single word as she slit his throat. He tried to gargle at her, but it was probably bullshit anyway, so she put her foot on his face until he quieted.
That’s for Lileth.
“I win,” she said. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”
Closing her eyes, she focused until she heard the chime in her left ear again. No need to push her luck further. The next step was fucking gruesome, but she still sawed through his neck to take his head. It would go on a spike next to Tirael’s, right after she let everyone know the war was over.
I hope I never have to do this again.
Boldly, she strode from Ruark’s room to find that ten guards had gathered outside. They hesitated until Thalia lifted the bloody trophy for their inspection. If they wanted to fight, she’d oblige. Her bracers were at half, and she was used to the strobe of the lights, now. She waited one heartbeat, two.
Then they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. “Long live the queen!”
It was impossible to tell who started it, but soon they were all chanting. She let that go on for a moment, then said, “Where’s the comm room? I need to send a message on all channels, all frequencies.”
“This way,” said a slight woman with dark gold hair.
Warily she followed in case it was a trap, but as their group moved through Braithwaite, they gathered others, none of whom seemed inclined to challenge her while she was toting Ruark’s severed head.
Raff was right. We are rather monstrous.
And she wanted to change that. Taking the silver throne would be a fresh start.
“Here we are, Your Majesty.”
“I’m not crowned yet.”
“You will be,” the woman said.
Thalia hoped that was true, but it wasn’t the time to rest on her laurels. “Get me on the air,” she ordered.
The closest technician scrambled, fiddling with the equipment and then he handed her the headset. “Audio only, I’m afraid.”
“Good enough. The rest of you can bear witness.” She plopped Ruark’s head onto the nearest table and the Eldritch lowered his eyes in respect. “Play the following message on repeat for the next hour.”
“Understood.”
She donned the headset and spoke calmly. “This is Thalia Talfayen. House Gilbraith has fallen to me, and their lands are mine. I claim, by right of conquest, the silver throne. You have three days to send emissaries to Daruvar to pledge fealty, or you will share this traitor’s fate. That is all.”
Hours after the drone strike on Braithwaite, Commander Olwyn woke Raff with an urgent shake. “You need to hear this.”
Still groggy from dozing off in his chair, he processed the words slowly, followed by a wave of relief so profound that he might have fallen over, if he wasn’t already sitting. “She did it.”
Gavriel’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, lowering his head in a moment of silence. “Looks like you get to live, beast.”
“I’m grateful,” Raff said.
He couldn’t even bring himself to bare his teeth at the Noxblade since he knew Gavriel had served Thalia well, and she couldn’t have come to this point without him. Sky was curled up on the floor, asleep at Raff’s feet in wolf form, and he considered waking her to share the good news, but since she’d been operating with some level of apprehensive dread ever since her first vision, he let her rest.
Mags came up next to Gavriel and set her hand on his shoulder. To Raff’s astonishment, the Noxblade not only let her touch him, but he also appeared to take some comfort in the gesture. Tension slipped from his body in the few seconds they were in contact. Interesting.
From all around the keep, the sounds of celebration echoed in the night. Music and exuberant shouts suggested that the rest of Daruvar had heard the message as well, and while food might be in short supply, they were probably tapping the casks that had been in the wine cellar for heaven knew how long. Never in his life had Raff been the one to shut down a party, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He eased to his feet and avoided waking Sky, still managing to dream on despite the ruckus. Commander Olwyn was cracking open a decanter of good whiskey, pouring shots for Gavriel and Magda, but Raff shook his head. Without making his excuses, he left the strategy room at last, feeling like he’d aged a hundred years in these hours.
The drones would be returning soon, and he set the first one to scan for Thalia. She should be back soon. He paced the walls until he couldn’t feel his feet, then he went to the kitchen to get some more of the tea Mags had disparaged. The housekeeper beamed at his request, her blue eyes bright, and filled a thermos to the brim.
Didn’t want that much, but…
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Prince Raff.”
He almost dropped the steel cylinder in surprise. “What did you call me?”
“It’s your title, now that you’re married to the queen. Well, she will be at any rate. I expect we’ll have the fealty pledges and the coronation soon. More properly, it’s Prince Consort, I suppose, but that’s such a mouthful. You don’t mind the short form of address?”
“Er, no,” he said.
Until then, it hadn’t really sunk in—what her victory meant. I’m married to
