Page 82 of A War of Three Kings

“These shields won’t hold for long without plinths to amplify and store the magic,” Silvan grumbles, his hands shaking ever so slightly from fatigue.

“It’s better than nothing,” Aldrin mutters beside me. “We can station Mothers of Magic to replenish them during the battle.” He stretches, cracking his neck.

The night is hot and dry, but it’s not the reason sweat runs down my spine. In the far distance, illuminated by the full moon, the camp of King Finan’s army blackens the horizon. It stretches on and on, as far as the eye can see, with hundreds of small fires lighting up patches of the gloom. It is enough to twist my stomach with sickening anticipation.

Gruff curses drag my gaze away from that imposing sight to my father on the far end of the battlement. Red sparks fly out from the fire crystal in his hands. Light flashes as heat and embers burst from it, and a wave of hot air caresses my face despite my distance from him.

Within a heartbeat of the crystal exploding and before its full force expands, my father’s quick wield catches the magic and draws the raw power back into himself, his hands turning a deep crimson as his true form is partially exposed.

Anyone else would burn alive.

I glance nervously at the pile of fire crystals beside him, contained in a large cauldron with visible heat waves rolling off it. The completed crystals are coated in a layer of charcoal to preserve them. They are black balls that could fit in my hand, with cracked veins that glow red and yellow.

The soldiers who will run the specially made catapults built for those crystals will have to wear blacksmiths’ protective clothing during the battle.

I shudder—I don’t want to imagine the destruction those fire crystals will cause when fired upon the enemy. The pain of being burned alive when they detonate in the field below. So many of the soldiers in Finan’s army had no choice in joining this war.

Approaching footsteps and warring voices draw my attention, and I drop the air shield I am weaving for the second time. The many strands of interlacing magic quickly unravel and dissipate. I lean against the parapet as my head spins, and I close my eyes for a moment.

“I will not allow it, Caitlin. It is not just yourself you put at risk,” Gwyneth snaps, her voice rising in volume as she gets closer.

“You will not allow it? Since when doyougivemeorders?” Caitlin says shrilly. “This battle is to protectmy sister! You cannot forbid me from fighting for her freedom. This is a battle for all women, our daughter included.”

“Our daughter is the reason why you can’t fight,” Gwyneth growls. “Don’t you get that?”

I peel open my eyes as Caitlin and Gwyneth stop before my father, who makes a beeline for them.

“Can you talk some sense into her?” Gwyneth pleads.

My father scowls at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Before he can say a word, Caitlin turns on him.

“I am not planning to throw myself in the middle of the fighting or gallop out the front gate in some valiant charge. I am the commander of the Appleshield forces. It is my job to lead them in battle, and I plan to do it from the top battlements. My pregnancy is not a disease or disability.”

Gwyneth whips her head to my father and snarls, “Edmund! Stop her. Please.” I want to stalk over there and shake her.

He folds his arms over his chest, aligning himself to stand at Caitlin’s side. “While I do not like the idea of my pregnant daughter fighting in a battle, I think she makes perfect sense. The enemy will scale the lowest battlements first if they make it up the wall, which means Caitlin will have the opportunity to organize a retreat if needed from her position. How can I tell her not to risk herself, when I plan to fight on those lowest battlements myself? It is her choice.”

Gwyneth seethes, her eyes darting from my father to Caitlin and back, then she storms off down the wall.

“I didn’t think you’d have my back,” Caitlin mutters.

My father places his hands on her arms and grips her tight. “When do I ever not back my children?”

She shakes her head, then her gaze flashes over his shoulder to me. He didn’t back me when it came to Aldrin.

“Just because I am supporting you in this, it doesn’t mean I like it,” Father says. “If the battle goes the wrong way and you call a retreat, I want you off the wall and leading the first charge back north. You will not clash blades with the enemy.”

Caitlin throws his arms off her. “People keep trying to take away my agency because I am pregnant. Why would you be any different? My baby will be no safer if I hide away and Lord Desmond takes the North.” She turns on her heel and stalks away.

“I can’t seem to win with you girls,” my father grumbles, shooting me a dark look. I wonder if he is acting more like the crazed, possessive fae he accused Aldrin of being.

Long, low horns sound from our army’s camp, and I rush over to the other side of the battlement to view them, my heart racing with anticipation. The tents of our forces stretch out across the grassy fields, split into their houses and flanking either side of the wide road running up to the fortress.

A band of warriors on foot approaches Fort Blackrock from the highway. Many fire orbs float around them and the orange glow illuminates their pointed ears. There must be at least forty of them, ethereal in the dim light with long hair in elaborate designs of braids, parts of their scalps shaven and many glimmering tattoos on faces that are all sharp angles.

Potent relief uncoils a deep, heavy knot within me. These fae are a beacon of hope. I have seen them fight and I know what they can do.

As they pass through the camp, human soldiers gather to line the road and watch them. When they approach the AppleshieldGuard, cheers rise up. Countess Lynna’s guards escort the fae, as they arrived through her land’s nearby portals.

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