Page 81 of A War of Three Kings

It is like taking hold of a bull by the horns, a beast of unshaped and chaotic magic, threatening to spill over in every direction.

The fight has me panting, especially as my power wants to destroy the tree, not feed the spring wield of growth already sown into it. It feels like my soul pours into the sapling as the liquid fire channels out of me. I am being burned from the inside, scoured clean, but it doesn’t hurt. The tips of the tree shoot upward as the trunk widens within my grasp.

The dam of my power cracks and magic rips out of me as I lose control. My legs turn weak from the effort of pulling back. Asecond source of magic abruptly joins me in the channels inside the tree, curling around my essence and separating it. Where my power thrashes with claws and teeth out, this source is as calm and controlled as a mother’s caressing hand.

I open my eyes. Cold sweat drips down my spine.

Hawthorne peers into my face, strands of auburn hair escaping his topknot and falling into his kind eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, averting his gaze and indicating the tree. “It’s easy to lose control for someone learning how to do this.”

“Yeah, I’ll survive,” I say, and he gives me the tiniest smile, then returns to his work. What makes such a reserved and gentle man choose to become a soldier?

I’m taken aback when I find the ash sapling now has a trunk as wide as my waist and is three times taller than me. I fuel the growth of two more trees without needing to be rescued again, then I stumble back toward the fortress on shaky legs.

“What happened to you? Did you lose in a fight against a tree?” Drake calls out as I pass, the bastard still pouring magic into a sapling while cracking jokes.

Klara jogs over to reach me, pulling leaves out of my hair. “I heard the druids are collecting medicinal herbs for healing potions. Apparently, they cast some sort of incantation over them. I tried to pry information out of that one over there.” She flicks her hand toward a druid, who glares at her. “But he won’t talk. I heard your brother is a druid. I want to learn their tricks.”

Pain builds at my temples and I rub my hands over them. “I can ask Diarmuid, but the druids are protective of their secrets.”

Klara scoffs, tossing her lilac braids. “Secrets don’t help the sick or injured. That kind of knowledge should be free-flowing.”

We stop short when we reach the monstrosity Aldrin is working on.

Stretching from mountain to mountain, a massive furrow is being torn through the ground just before the fortress. It slowly widens before my eyes, making the ground shudder.

Aldrin’s eyebrows slant downward as he stares into it, his hand held open before him with his fingers curled inward. Sweat glistens on his face. Silvan stands beside him, and a handful of other fae are dotted around the crevice, drawing back the earth inch by inch.

I near the edge and glance in. It is deep enough for a person to struggle to get back out, perhaps even breaking bones on the fall into it.

“Aldrin? How do we cross?” I ask.

He turns to me with unfocused eyes as he drags himself back from the clutches of his magic. He calls a halt to his people, then stalks to me with the single-minded focus of a predator. Moisture is torn out of the very air, creating a curtain of mist swirling around us.

I rarely witness his magic of a spring storm.

Aldrin wraps a fast arm around my waist and tips me backward, leaning over me and pressing a long kiss to my lips.I am flooded with his warmth and distinctive scent of masculine sweat and crushed vegetation. My head swims as his lips press against mine, parting them ruthlessly and slipping his tongue inside to claim my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me.

My hands run over his chest, down his back and across his ass. I need more of him. I want his fingers all over me, inside me.

His mouth curls into a smile against mine at my passion, then he is pulling away from me again. I find myself utterly breathless in his arms, staring at him wide-eyed like a startled doe.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did you want something? Other than falling into my arms?”

“I—uh…” My train of thought is completely lost.

“We want to cross this damn ravine you have created without falling into it.” Klara walks through the mist, breaking the moment.

Aldrin puts me back on my feet, and by the time we both turn to her, she and Silvan have finished erecting a bridge of roots to span across it.

“I forgot for a heartbeat that we weren’t alone,” Aldrin whispers into my ear, his breath tickling the delicate skin there and sending shivers down my spine. “Using so much magic always makes me revert to something more primal.” He bites my ear, then pulls away and shrugs, a smirk on his face.

Before I can compose myself, Aldrin turns back to his gathered people and starts instructing them on the sharp spikes of roots they are to pull into the base of the furrow.

I cross the bridge in a daze and take Klara to Diarmuid. He has a production team of druids and priestesses cleaning and chopping herbs, ripping bandages from sheets of fabric and stirring cauldrons while incanting spells over them. The space is set up with rows of pallets ready for the injured.

The gravity of it makes my head spin.

Days pass where we labor from sunrise to long after sunset to prepare Fort Blackrock for war.I work with many others to weave layers of air shields over the arrow slits and notches of the battlements to protect our archers against enemy fire. I sway on my feet as I drag out the last drops of my magic reserves.

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