Arrows fly loose, slicing the air before I even hear the command. The first line of guards surrounding us take the hit, bodies jerking, collapsing. Blood sprays. I stumble back, chest heaving at the sight of the chaos unfurling like a nightmare I have no wish to be a part of.
Guards rush forward, colliding against the defense as Lucien’s voice rips through the air, commanding, but distant to my ringing ears. I barely register his words. All I see is Rafael’s smile cutting through the haze, knowing, satisfied.
A guard lunges at me, his sword arching with a swing vicious enough to take my head, but Lucien catches him. His hands clamp over the man’s skull and the entire hall seems to hold a breath as he tears it clean off his shoulders.
The body collapses, still twitching, and Lucien tosses the head at Cyrus like a volley, the bleeding mess landing at his feet, cracking the marble upon impact.
Shrieks fill the air, and the hall explodes into chaos. And death.
Bows snap. Arrows hiss through the air. Screams echo off stone.
Lucien moves in a blur of shadow and ice, eyes blazing with violet fire. He catches an arrow mid-flight, spins it, and drives it through another man’s throat in the same heartbeat.
My feet are rooted to the floor, heavy with horror. Because this is my fault. The blood. The bodies. The screams. I did this. I did--
A sharp shove knocks me sideways and an arrow whizzes past where my head had been half a second ago. A man shrieks as his body goes up in flames. Lilith snarls at me over her shoulder. "Move, you bloody fool!"
She is gone then, slipping through the crowd and I see Evadne struggling against three men. Leander’s cutting a path ahead, a path of soldiers, bodies, alongside Trenton.
I move then, because Lucien grips my arm and hurls me forward.
"Trenton," Lucien yells over the din, his chest a steady, safe wall of heat shielding me.
Trenton shoves Evadne behind him as he stabs a wolf in the eye. "The western doors," he barks. "The doors!"
Ahead, the doors are being drawn shut, but courtiers fleeing from the slaughter shove against the guards, desperate to escape, and the gap stays open, buying us an opportunity to slip out before we are trapped in.
We push toward it, cutting through a blur of bodies and screams. By the time we reach the threshold, the hall behind us is a massacre, floors slick, banners burning. And in the corridor beyond, more guards pour in. All dressed in Silvermoor armor. Too many of them.
Humans fall. Innocents. The maids who get caught in the middle die. The horror of it settles in my gut.
A woman trembles, her back stiff as a guard raises a sword to tear her down. I realize with terror that I recognise the braids and the clothes, and I wonder what the hell the Silvermoor guard is doing when he swings to cut down Astrea.
I try to look away, but my body moves before I can, breaking away from Lucien’s hold as he shields me with his body.
"Valka!" he yells, reaching to pull me back, but I break free, slamming into the guard. His blade arcs wide, missing her by inches. I grab Astrea’s wrist and shove her toward the path Trenton is clearing.
She doesn’t fight me. Doesn’t try shaking me off. Worse yet, every Silvermoor soldier seems not to see her as what she is in that moment. And even those who recognise her deem to cut her down anyway.
She’s sobbing, shaking uncontrollably, stumbling as she runs. "He’s cut me out," she gasps between breaths. "He’s cut me out--I can’t--I can’t believe he’d do this to me."
She repeats it over and over, voice hoarse, like a broken record.
We trample over bodies, carving our way toward the courtyard.
And then we’re outside, running through the western gates.
The yard outside is less chaotic, though men shout and horses neigh as steel clashes against steel. Lucien’s men and the rest of my personal guard retinue wait there, fighting off the last of the Silvermoor soldiers.
Before I can catch my breath, Lucien rips me away from Astrea. His face twisted with fury. He shoves Astrea into a guard’s hands to be held as hostage and lifts me onto his horse in one fluid motion.
"Do not ever do something that reckless again," he snarls, voice low, almost breaking.
His hands linger on my waist, trembling, not from anger, but from the weight of it all. Of... nearly losing me.
"I’m sorry," I croak, tears lining my eyes, and I don’t know what exactly it is that I’m apologising for.
His eyes soften and he grabs the reins as more guards pour out, mounting behind me. His arms wrap around me as he clutches the reins and slams his boot against the horse’s rear.
Something cool slides into my palm and I peer down at it. It’s the necklace.
"Don’t lose it again," he says, gentler this time as the horse lurches into a swift gallop.
I suck in my quivering bottom lip, trembling harshly as the sobs slip freely from me as we flee from the Castle of Voss.
I stay away from the tent, Trenton’s, Evadne’s and Lucien’s voices rising as they look over the maps. I stick by the side of the soldiers, tending to the wounds of the injured. It’s the least I can do. Lilith’s on the far end of the small camp, blissfully ignoring me as helps out, too. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ NovelHub(.)net
The guards shift uneasily around me, reassuring me that I need not sully my hands with their blood, but I needed to. Because if I kept still, if I let my thoughts run amock, I’ll lose my shit.
Astrea’s is seated stiffly by the fire, eyes alert, hands clutching tightly on a dagger in a way that tells me she has never fought a single day in her life. She jerks with every movement, as if waiting for the moment we decide she is no longer useful.
She’d cried the entire ride away from the Castle, occasionally looking over her shoulder. And when we had stopped to water the horses, she had gone hysterical, saying she had to return. She was Queen of Silvermoor, after all, and that might have counted for something if Rafael hadn’t discarded her. And she kept thrashing against the guards, demanding that she be taken back to her husband until Evadne slapped her so hard, she’d passed out.
The journey was blissfully silent after that.
But it had been cut short. Because all of the roads back to Ebonheart was cut off by more Silvermoor soldiers.
It didn’t make sense that the news had already reached so far of the King’s death, far ahead of us. There were checkpoints and too many guards manning them, like they were expecting us.
It was an ambush. A carefully thought out one. And I was beginning to think that Lucien was right at the very start. That this trip to Voss had been a trap from the onset and we had walked right into it.
Leander winces as I wrap the bandage around his head. He’d nearly lost his second eye in the fray, an unkind cut running down his other cheek, missing his eye by only an inch. "I do not believe you did it," he says and my hand stiffens over the cloth.
I draw back and rise very slowly. "You don’t even know me."
His lips part on a response but Lucien’s tent flaps back then, his expression dark as he makes a beeline for Astrea.
"I don’t know anything!" she screams as the guards grab at her and force her down to her knees.
Lucien crouches in front of her and the small fire we’d built catches in his violet eyes, making them more gold than purple. "I’m well aware. And for that very reason, you are useless to me as well. Another back to shield, another rotting mouth to feed."
Tears line her eyes. "Please," she says, voice trembling. "I’ll do anything. Don’t kill me. I’m pregnant."
Lucien blinks. I freeze. We all do. The entire camp does.
"And your boy-king knows this?"
She shakes her head. "I was with the physician this morn. It’s why I was in the hallway when the fighting started and--"
"Quiet." He leans in, violet eyes gold with firelight. "I don’t care for your history, or the fate of your spawn." He glances over at Evadne. "Hand her some of Lyra’s larger garments. And find some colour for her hair. Any type of blonde should do."
I step forward with a frown. "Why? What’s happening?"
Lucien straightens. "They have our descriptions. We’ll lead them down a false trail and buy enough time to take us down a different path, up the mountains. By the time they realize they have the wrong people, we’ll be long gone."
"Up the mountains?" I frown. "Home is in the opposite direction."
Lucien’s lips pull firm. "War is quick on our heels. We must find allies."
"There are none left. Voss and Silvermoor have sidled up," I counter. "And you seriously think anyone’s going to mistake her for me?"
His lips purse. "People often see what they want to see. They all but need to see a golden haired woman and a silver haired male riding with a retinue and that’ll be more than enough to serve as bait." A pause. "As for allies.. we’re taking a trip across the seas. A wonderful weather for a honeymoon, don’t you think?"