Page 78 of Her Cruel Redemption

‘They want to negotiate.’

‘We did that. They have my terms. Unless they’ve rounded up their druthi and Sarmiers is burning behind them, I’m not interested.’

He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking up at me from beneath his shaggy fringe, nose screwed up as though he didn’t like the taste of whatever words were about to come out of his mouth. ‘Rhiandra is with them.’

I stiffened as her name cut through me. It was followed quickly by a rush of resignation, tinged with shades of anger to be so resigned. ‘She’s at the gate?’

‘Literally standing on the doorstep with the King of Oceatold.’

I closed my eyes. Took a breath. Let it out. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t suspected this would happen. When I opened my eyes again, Lester was watching me with a tense frown scoring his face. I didn’t answer the lift of his brows, just strode past him out of the hall to find myself a horse.

I could hear the drumming as I mounted the battlements—a rhythmic thrumming shuddering beneath the wind. Pathetic. A show of bravado eroded by the rippling waves of terror I could feel lapping at me even with the thick city wall between me and the scores of soldiers lined up in the grey dawn. I stopped to run my eyes over them when I topped the wall, elbows slung across the top of the parapet to get a good look. They were rows and rows of shadowy figures, silhouettes of what was likely catapults or other siege weaponry, horses pawing nervously at the mud, pinpricks of flame piercing the gloom where fires were lit in preparation for their archers. A smaller group had broken away from the larger army to cluster before the gate, flanked by banners and heralds. There, my gaze caught on a figure on a bay horse. Even from this distance, I recognised her, felt called to her, my attention held hostage by her. I could see, or perhaps I could just sense, the defiant tilt of her chin. I cursed under my breath as I imagined curling a hand around the exposed curve of her throat. What the fuck was she doing at the front of an army?

‘Have they sent a message?’ I asked the captain of the unit loitering nearby—Kastien Vale, his name was. One of Yaakandale’s most seasoned rebels. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d fought for me.

He handed me a curled piece of parchment. I scanned it quickly. Some flowery shit about being the rightful sovereign dum dum dum dum, and an offer to let us leave with our lives if we withdrew from Port Howl immediately and sailed back to where we’d come from. I snorted when I read that part, handing the page back to Vale. ‘Respond with no.’

A pause. Then, ‘That’s all?’

‘Yes. That’s all. And take aim if they come too close.’

‘And your previous orders regarding—’

‘Still stand. Aimcarefully.’ I drummed my fingers against the stone wall, gaze once again fixed on that figure on the horse as I waited the interminable period between the message being written and received. Oceatold’s king seemed to take my refusal well enough—at least, he didn’t throw any tantrum visible from here. Then again, he surely hadn’t been expecting a different answer. When the party at the gate turned and retreated from the front line, I breathed a little easier. If she remained at the back of the attacking force, away from the wall, the siege could proceed the way any siege would. We’d stay behind the walls. We were well defended, which they’d find out bloodily in due course.

But that would change if Rhiandra joined the fight.

Then I would have to join it too.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

We staged our attack at the onset of dawn. With bloated clouds choking out most of the rising sun, the ground still soggy from the rain and echoes of thunder still grumbling overhead, the engage and distract force approached Port Howl’s looming gate while somewhere beneath our feet a third of the army was creeping through a series of caves on the advice of a couple of smugglers. And if they could find their way through, their being able to get out and into the city before they were noticed by the enemy hinged on our ability to hold attention. Especially now that the enemy’s reply to Esario’s final attempt at a negotiation had been read. One simple word in response to a whole page of script.No.A reply so arrogant it had to have come from Draven himself. It smacked of him, to reply with so little effort or embellishment, as though the coming conflict and any attempts to avoid it were hardly worth his time.

There was movement on the wall as I reached the back of the army and turned my horse. Had I been visible enough for my presence with the army to be obvious? Would Draven have cared enough to come to the wall if I was? I stared hard at the collection of figures silhouetted against the stormy sky; we were so far back here that it was difficult to pick any of them out in any detail. But my gaze returned to one standing very still, seeming separate from the activity of everyone scurrying around them. No defences to prepare for this soldier, no bow to string or orders to convey or weaponry to prime. He leaned on the wall, and his gaze seemed trained on the rear of the army instead of the frontline. I watched him with a shiver raising the hairs of my neck, imagining grey eyes locked on me.

‘I think we’ve got their attention,’ I said to Morozov, who was seated on a horse beside mine.

‘Now to hold it,’ he said, turning toward the standard-bearer at his side and giving a sharp nod.

A horn sounded in a deep, mournful wail that echoed across the would-be battlefield, rallying the soldiers to prepare to fight. I observed it with a strange sense of detachment, still not quite believing that this day would end in battle. That people would die.

‘Archers, loose!’ Morozov bellowed, his voice carrying over the din.

Bow strings snapped and a volley of arrows arced into the sky, their flames painting streaks of light against the gloom. They rained down on the battlements, drawing cries of alarm from the defenders.

‘Battering ram to the gates!’ he ordered next, his hand slicing through the air.

A group of soldiers ahead surged forward, heaving the massive ram with its iron-tipped head between them. Immediately, they began to draw fire as the defenders worked to prevent the ram from reaching the gates.

‘To the walls!’ Morozov roared, his voice unyielding. ‘Ladders up! Give them no time to recover!’

Before him, the army roared to life, the clatter of weapons and shields rising in a cacophony of sound. The front line advanced towards the walls with lifted shields as the enemy archers returned fire, arrows launching into the masses of men, some striking shields and falling to the ground, some striking true, announced with moans and cries. Behind the front line, groups of ladder-bearers sprinted forwards carrying long wooden beams. The first ladder slammed into position against the wall as a second volley of arrows was loosed, one hitting the soldier trying to scurry up the ladder. He fell back to the ground as another took his place. I flinched as I watched a stream of liquid poured onto this soldier from the wall, and it was met with a splitting, piercing scream. He jerked away from the ladder, body writhing, engulfed a moment later in flame. Oil.

‘Are the ladders necessary?’ I muttered as I watched another few make it to the wall, their bearers immediately becoming targets of more arrows and hot oil attacks. ‘We’re only waiting for our soldiers inside to open the gates. Why are we trying to climb the wall?’

‘It needs to be convincing,’ Morozov muttered, eyes never leaving the battering ram as it heaved into motion, slamming into the gates as arrows rained down from above. A few of those handling it had already fallen, and they were hurled out of the way only to be immediately replaced. Already, the injured and dying were being ferried back by the recovery troops, to be given over to the care of Daethie and her tent of physicians and nurses. The battering ram smashed against the gates again, the iron tip splintering the heavy wood but then clanging as it struck a metal reinforcement. Along the wall, the ladder crews were faring better, some getting further up as our archers took out some of the defenders firing on them, getting so close to the top that for a moment, I felt a flicker of triumph. Perhaps we would breach the wall before our reinforcements even made it out of the caves.

But then something changed.

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