Page 152 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“Thought your daughter was the Beloved.” I couldn’t read his eyes, couldn’t tell if it was judgment or curiosity or something else altogether. I didn’t quite care either, other than the fact I needed this man’s trust and guidance.

“Honestly? Recently, I’m finding out I don’t know shit, Captain.” I gave him a sheepish grin, and to my surprise, he returned it, so I carried on. “We need to get rid of some of these platforms, and I think I might be able to do it. Where do you want me to start?”

A moment later, Raj was on his feet, and Thyra and I followed as he led us to the other end of the battlement, where no one had dared continue climbing after I blasted soldiers off the parapet. Other men were still clambering up from other areas, but there was a backlog, most of the soldiers coming from one boat at the opposite end of where we stood.

I climbed up, both of my feet wedged in a crenel, while Thyra stubbornly held onto my knees. With the sun beating down, I had to admit the black paint she’d put on my face had its merits, so I placated her and let her hold me around the knees, even if I thought I looked foolish. I glanced down and to my left, where more boats were making way to the platforms, doing a quick scan for Cyran or Elora before I used my divinity to destroy not one but two of the platforms. I stood tall, my sapphire cloak billowing in the wind, my armor sleek and beautiful and on display, and I let out a shout that came from the deepest depths of me. Warrior queen, indeed.

This time, the light let me form it. I didn’t know what I was doing, but when white flames burst forth, I didn’t hesitate. The platforms below me were completely engulfed in white-hot fire. And then the fire was spreading, hopping to another platform, this time with soldiers climbing it. I watched as they fell, screaming. Growing dizzy, I tried to climb down and nearly fell backward into Thyra’s arms, grateful I’d let her hold onto me.

“Your Majesty?”

“Thyra, if you don’t start calling me Emma, I will use this fire on you. I’m fine.”

It was a lie. I was dizzy and painfully thirsty, my head starting to ache. Maybe I’d done too much too fast. In an instant, I was worried, a dose of my panic going through the bond, scared I’d pulled too much power from Rain somehow as I’d unintentionally done the night before. We weren’t touching, but I wasn’t sure how it worked. Was our well of power always connected? I could feel it even now, simmering on the other end of that string, but I wasn’t sure if I could take from it if I wanted, and now didn’t seem like the best time to try. Could I have hurt him and left him without his divinity? The ability to heal himself?

I rushed toward the front corner of the battlement between the gate and the water, searching below me in the courtyard for Rain. Thyra surged in front of me, preparing to guard me from the skirmishes that had moved above the gate, the Folterrans trying to take out the archers who shot down at the mercenaries on foot. I felt Rain’s fear in response to my panic, and I calmed immediately. His soothing relief echoed back down the tight string a second later. There was something so strange and yet familiar about sharing our emotions this way. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. But the fact we had some inkling of feeling, of awareness, without having to see each other was a comfort. I turned to go toward the back corner, hoping to recover my divinity in quiet safety. I was halfway back when I stopped, looking through a gap in the parapet to see where we stood, and that was when I saw him.

Prince Declan.

I knew it was him the moment my eyes locked on him. A slightly broader version of his younger brother, tall but still lean. His skin was so pale I could see a hint of blue veins above his collarbones. His hair was lighter than Cyran’s, a golden blond that fell to his shoulders. Though I knew he was over two hundred years old, he didn’t appear much older than me. He was standing at the prow, waiting for a board to be lowered onto a platform so he could cross. The gleam in his eyes told me he’d seen what I’d done. He knew. He gave me a slow and decidedly evil grin as he murmured something to the man beside him.

Fuck. He knew. Where was Elora? Now that Declan had seen my divinity, he’d know what she wasn’t. My heart moved up my throat, and I tried to calm its erratic beating. I should have known better.

He moved then, agile as he crossed the wooden plank, climbing across to the platform disappointingly untouched by my fire. The man he’d spoken to followed him, and that’s when I finally paid attention. It was Cyran. Maybe he knew where she was. They were climbing the ladder when Raj stumbled behind me, loading a bolt into a crossbow, ready to fire and aiming at Prince Cyran.

“No! You can’t!” I grabbed his arm, stopping him, and he looked at me again with an unreadable expression. “He’s . . . Aim at the boy if you must, but make sure you miss. Declan, though, he can go if you can get the shot.”

He nodded and aimed again. He didn’t have to pretend to miss either. When his arrow came deadly close to Declan, a flick of the wrist sent a shadow at it, knocking the arrow completely off course. I didn’t know what to do. I stared in a mix of horror and confusion, watching both princes reach the top of the platform about to climb the next set of ladders.

I wasn’t in any shape to use my divinity yet. I had black dots in my field of vision, resting my hand on Thyra’s shoulder to keep me steady on my feet. The good news was the fire was spreading, nearly decimating half of the platforms and slowing the number of men climbing, a bottleneck forming at the two platforms near the front corner of the battlement. The minute I had control of my divinity again, I’d use it to destroy what was left. It would slow the men left in the boats, forcing them to make for land.

Raj ushered Thyra and I toward the back corner where I’d hoped to recover, moving me as far from Declan and Cyran as possible, but I felt eyes tracking me. He was coming for me. He knew I might be the Beloved, and he would try to take me. Use me as he had planned to do with Elora. I felt a pit of dread opening in my stomach. Looking over my shoulder as they breached the wall, I saw that my soldiers were no obstacle. Declan used his shadows to toss both his and my soldiers out of the way, moving with a vicious speed which told me I’d have to make a stand here on this parapet. Thyra made the realization at the same time as I did, charging to engage with Declan, Raj only a step behind her. I pulled out my sword as my Second ran, a flicker of anxiety running through me. I was scared, my divinity tapped and weak, my body just as delicate from using so much so quickly. It wasn’t like when I healed too much, the headache that knew no end, but instead, a frailty that made it hard to even stand up. I watched Cyran fall a few steps back, half-engaged in combat with one of the soldiers Declan had tossed aside.

I watched as Declan’s sword met with Thyra’s ax, and I became mesmerized by the sharp glint of light reflecting off of it. It called out to me. The dagger and the goblet and now this sword. I wanted it; I needed it. The pull of it was stronger than the other items, and I felt my expression glaze over as I watched it move, the sun catching on the edge of steel. He pushed Thyra out of his way, and she fell, landing on her leg in a way that made her cry out. Then he was engaging with Raj, all while maintaining eye contact with me.

“Why hello, Your Majesty. Or am I to call you mother, considering the impending nuptials?” The words slithered out of his mouth as he gave me a feral smile that sang of cruelty. I gagged, disgust rolling through me, and he saw it. Raj feinted left and then came to his right in a surge I was sure Declan wouldn’t be able to deflect, yet he managed to easily. Thyra was scrambling to get up from the ground, and he tossed his arm behind him, making shadows wrap around her wrists and ankles, holding her to the ground.

“Though, I suppose it’s not too late to call off the wedding, considering I feel a bit misled.”

I advanced, brandishing my sword with two hands. I was weak, my body shaky like I was on a ship out to sea. Even holding the sword felt difficult. I shouldn’t let him get to me, knowing how weak I was, yet I did it anyway. I could engage in verbal sparring with him while Raj kept him occupied, fighting with a fervor Declan didn’t match. The prince wore a bored expression on his face as his shadows whipped out from around him, biting at Raj, while Declan lazily brandished his sword.

I called out to him, finally replying, willing my voice to be stronger than I felt. Make him think I had every bit of divinity I could have at my disposal. “Misled? Surely you didn't think anyone wouldwantto be your bride, did you? You had to force the bond if I recall.”

He chuckled, his dark laugh sending a shiver up my spine. “I was promised the Beloved by your lovely husband. Well, former husband, I suppose? I spent a hefty amount of coin for her, and yet I think he sold me the wrong woman.”

And then Raj was down, Declan slamming the pommel of his sword up against his head and shoving him into a wall, blood pouring from the captain’s ear. Declan grabbed Thyra by her braid and dragged her toward me. I backed away, still brandishing my sword. I felt helpless, too weak to do much more.

“I am not the Beloved.” This man seemed to like to hear his own voice, so I decided my best line of action was to get him to keep talking. Maybe Rain would come. I didn’t think I could do anything on my own, with my body feeling this way. My sword was shaking in my hands, and my head felt like it was cracking in half, and I was sure he could see the signs of how I felt.

“Mmm, so you say. But I don’t like games of chance. I’ve read the prophecies, Emmeline. And that’s why I’m afraid I have to kill you.” He clicked his tongue and tilted his head, a look of mock concern on his face. “And Vesta’s newest queen, too. How sad.”

I froze and blinked, confused. He wanted to kill me? He’d had Elora all this time, and she was alive. Untouched, safe even. Had Cyran kept her alive this whole time from his own force of will? Declan threw his head back and laughed, an evil sound devoid of anything human. Thyra struggled against him, and he didn’t move, completely unaffected by her fight.

“After my brother reported her abilities or lack thereof, I realized your daughter was not the Beloved. She had none of the other abilities, and her Light divinity was weaker than it should be. Believe it or not, I don’t revel in killing children, so it came as a bit of a relief, as you can imagine. I’d originally planned to take control of the Beloved, ally with her. But then the prophecies made it clear I’d have to end whoever it was. I considered ransoming her to make back the money from my poor investment, but then I heard a delightful little rumor. About you, Your Majesty.”

He pulled Thyra to her feet, and she tried desperately to stomp on his insole.

“A rumor you just proved to be true with that little stunt just now with the holy fire. Using your daughter as bait was Cyran’s idea.” He jerked his head backward at his brother, who only stood leaning against a parapet, pleading with his eyes. Did he betray me, betray us? Did he take advantage of my desperation? He seemed to think Elora was the Beloved when I saw him last. Was he that good at lying? I didn’t know who to believe. “Do you fancy showing me how the others have blessed you? Go out with a frightful display, if you please?”

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