Page 84 of Wrath of the Fae Queen
The Templar puts his hand on the doorframe, squeezing it hard enough that it crumbles slightly under his grip and splinters fall to the ground. He leans into my father’s personal space. My hands shake with the effort to resist tapping my earthmagic into the long-dead wood, feeding its raw power and life, then exploding it to splinters to cut right through him. I bet I could guide the stakes through every gap in his armor.
“You are not from Spring. Did you recently move here? This court doesn’t take kindly to those who take what is ours.”
My father straightens to his full height, forgetting to play the meek innkeeper. He suddenly towers over the other man. “Spring has no quarrel with the court of my descent. We may look like Autumn Court fae, but my entire family was born and raised here, and we have paid our fair share of tithes and tariffs.”
The man laughs and glances back at his restless warriors. “Did you hear that? They think they are members of the Spring Court.” The sneer rings out in his voice. “Tell me, innkeeper, if I were born in a tree, would that make me a nymph?”
The Truth Templars laugh and make similar jokes. My father doesn’t dignify them with a response, but literal fire begins to swirl within his eyes, yellow flickering across emerald green.
“Is there any more you require of us?” I snap, taking a step forward to join my father at his side. I am tired of softening my tone and having the full responsibility of de-escalating a situation on my shoulders alone. “Because if you cannot see it for yourself, we are so busy rebuilding this business that we are working well into the night. If you would excuse us, we would like to return to our work.”
All those heads covered by helmets whip around to me like I just insulted them.
The Templar leader steps forward, getting in my face. “Maybe we should take a closer inspection of this establishment. Have a look around and make sure there is nothing illegal going on. Unfortunately, my warriors aren’t very careful, and there are so many breakable things inside a bar.”
“You’re welcome to come inside,” I taunt, knowing full well that if I get them in the privacy of the tavern, we will slaughterthem. Maybe we can leave a few alive for a little while to question them.
Gruesome. I love this new, pissed-off version of you,Aldrin purrs in my head.But then you will waltz off back to the palace before daybreak and I’ll have to clean up the mess. I want to follow them and see what they get up to.
Another Templar approaches the leader of the gang. “But do we have the time to help them with a little redecorating?” he murmurs. “There is a much more profitable business to run our…checks on. Remember, we are not meant to be out tonight, and you know who we will have to share the majority of our winnings with if we are caught.”
The leader huffs out a breath and takes a step back, but points at my father. “We will be back if we find out you are harboring that Winter scum here, and we will show you no mercy, no matter where you think you are from.”
The Truth Templars turn in unison and stomp away, chainmail rattling and bootsteps ringing out, their racket cutting across the otherwise still night.
Aldrin materializes behind us with a task force already assembled. None of his fae take off their light armor, not even while they drink and dance, for this exact reason. The glamour drops from my father and Caitlin, who are also in boiled leather. I should really do the same.
Without a word, Aldrin pulls a chest plate over my body, lacing it up at the sides, then passes me a bow with a quiver of arrows. He places his hands on my shoulders and turns us so we are facing our most loyal followers.
“Let’s go make these bastards bleed!” Aldrin roars, and they cheer. “Let us witness firsthand just how Titania rules this court.”
We prowl the streets in two groups, both cloaked by Silvan and Zinnia’s invisibility wards. The precautions aren’tnecessary. The gang of Truth Templars never bothers to glance around and make sure there isn’t an angry mob about to descend on them. The level of arrogance is astounding when they think they’re the biggest predators in this city. They couldn’t be more wrong.
The Truth Templars stop before a large florist shop in a wealthy area. We hide in a shadowy space between a bakery and jeweler, watching and waiting for them to damn themselves.
Their target is framed by small, trickling waterfalls that run down the walls and flow into a shallow stream that cuts down the center of this boulevard. Many pretty boutiques line the street and luxury apartments are stacked on top of the shops. It is right next to one of the many thickets of dense rainforest that are dotted across the city, in the same way villages have their greens and cities have their parks in the realm of my birth. Even the iron bars that have been rolled down over the florist shop’s windows are decorative, fashioned in the form of curling vines and blooming flowers.
The lead Templar bangs on the heavy wooden doors of the shop.The sound echoes loudly down the boulevard, like a bad omen. I almost can’t watch. The need for action brims within me.
No one answers.
He beats on the door again, yelling orders for the criminals inside to submit themselves to justice. When only silence greets them, multiple Templars squat and rip off their gloves, touching the soil and funneling their magic into the life around them.
Vines snake down the face of the building, their tips becoming razor-sharp and punching into the door with enough force to rip through the wood. Roots leap out of the ground, rapidly thickening and doing the same.
With a single heave of their magic, the thick doors are torn from their hinges and thrown to the ground, a long metal boltripping from them. Two columns of Templars channel into the shop. Some stomp around, tipping over tables and tossing glass vases of flowers to shatter on the tile, while others pillage the register for coin. There is silverware throughout the storefront that they pack into bags: trays, vases and mirrors.
Half a dozen climb the stairs to the living quarters with swords in their hands.
I glance at Aldrin, panic running up my spine like hundreds of crawling bugs.“We should go in there before anyone is hurt.”
“Look at the crowd gathering. Let them damn themselves before we jump in,” Aldrin says, gripping my hand and drawing on my reservoir of magic. I follow the threads of his power through him to the six wields he has created. Each one is like a hook and tether crafted of his essence, sinking into the flesh and muscles of the Templars invading the apartment. He is ready and primed to take control of their bodies the moment they threaten lives. It is an impressive feat, at this distance and without a visual on his targets.
Then the screaming starts. Multiple voices let out blood-churning wails.
My father jolts forward until he is at our side. “We are not going to stand by and let innocents die for the sake of political maneuvering, are we?”
“You should know Aldrin better than that, Edmund,” Cyprien snaps from his position just behind us. “A little theatrics go a long way.”
