Chapter Thirteen
Warmund
For several days, they lived in the abandoned house. Penny’s family was away on vacation, so when they needed anything, they just raided her childhood home, but she refused to go back there to stay. Warmund didn’t ask why. Even though he burned with curiosity, he recognized that this was something that clearly held a lot of pain for her, and he wasn’t going to increase that pain.
Caring for four infants was difficult work. Diapers were in constant need of changing, bottles were in constant need of being made and entertaining them all was something else entirely. Warmund didn’t have much time to think about what he needed to do in order to get Wildref back to the time she needed to live in.
When he did find time to venture forth, he found that the internet was not what it would be twenty-plus years into the future. Finding information was much more difficult, and many of the theories that he’d built his first device on weren’t around yet anyway. He started to work on another one, hoping to be able to amplify what flames he had left; they were wearing out faster than they had when he first came through, but if he was able to amplify them, perhaps that would be enough to spark Penny’s magic again.
Penny.
Warmund sighed as he fiddled with the device in his hands. He wished he knew what to say to get her to see things from his perspective. He understood where she was coming from; familiarity was comfortable, and she was afraid of change. He couldn’t help but think that even if he was able to spark her magic, she might refuse to open a portal.
At the same time, though, she slept nestled against his side every night. Sometimes she cried from sheer exhaustion. When he comforted her, she never pushed him away. Several times they’d ended up having sex. Those times made his flames burn hotter, bracing him against the eventual burnout. She always seemed to want to tell him something but never could do it. Maybe she just wanted to convince him to let the past be the past and simply knew he didn’t want to hear it.
Other times, though, she was positively bubbly. Such as when she came home triumphantly wheeling a monstrous stroller that was as wide as a car.
“Room for all four of them,” she crowed when he asked what it was. “Now we can go on proper walks! Help me get them in. The babies have been cooped up long enough.”
Warmund smiled, not about to argue with that, and helped her buckle them in. The four babies didn’t look impressed with being restrained like that, but Warmund had to laugh at the sight of them. Warmth spread in his chest as he wrapped an arm around Penny’s waist.
“You know, sometimes I think there’s no way I could have this many babies at once permanently.” He kissed the top of her head. “But other times, I think… It’s nice.”
Penny peered up at him, chewing her lip. Her eyes were bright with hope; he recognized that look. Dread hit his stomach, making him pull away, even as she opened her mouth and started to speak. “Then are you thinking about giving up your idea of going back?”
“No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Warmund…”
“Does Katrina,” he didn’t like the name on his tongue but used it anyway, “have siblings?”
Penny’s shoulders slumped.
“There. You see? That means that we’re not the parents she grew up with. So, we have to—"
“You’re all about changing time. If you can’t see that this might—"
The door burst open. Warmund whirled, raising his fists, while Penny let out a strangled shout of surprise. His eyes widened when the man who strode in sneered at them both. It was the leader of the assassins, only older; dark hair was peppered with grey, and lines creased the corners of his eyes.
“How did you,” Warmund started, then stopped when the assassin lifted a gun. With his flames so low, a gunshot might end up killing him.
“My mission was to end the royal family,” the assassin rasped. “And I have dedicated my life to that cause. You would have survived, Prince Warmund. But now? Now I’m going to kill you, too. And when I return to Byrelmore, I will kill your father, and then the dragons will all burn in their own flames!”
Warmund’s heart seized. At that moment, he didn’t care about anything else—he couldn’t let his father be killed. He launched himself forward, even as the gun went off. A whistle burned in his ears, then the shattering of a window told him that the bullet had missed. He grabbed the assassin’s wrist, twisting sharply. The gun dropped and went off again. Warmund punched the man in the stomach, then whipped him around and threw him across the room. Penny screamed.
“Get the children out,” Warmund shouted to her. He leapt across the room, kicking the assassin in the face. The babies all screamed, but he forced himself to block out the noise.
The assassin drew a knife and slashed at him. Warmund jumped out of the way. He reached to snatch the assassin’s wrist again, but the assassin rolled. He was still limber for an old man and was easily able to dodge Warmund’s second attack. The assassin rolled to his feet and crouched, panting, as they faced off. Warmund didn’t take his eyes off him, even as the thought that the assassin might not be alone flitted through his mind.
Had he sent Penny out just for her to be captured and killed by more assassins?
The one he faced spat out a mouthful of blood and swung his knife again. “When I’m finished with you, I’m going to kill your mage-mate. She’ll scream before she dies. And then your children and your sister will die. I’ll burn their bodies like the trash they are and—"
Warmund didn’t listen to another word. With a howl, he flung himself across the room. He knocked the assassin’s hand aside and punched him in the face. He twisted the man’s wrist, snapping it, and the knife clattered to the floor. Warmund threw him to the floor and punched him in the face and ribs, over and over. A lifetime of pain and agony fueled him, his fires burning hotter and hotter.
“You won’t hurt them,” he screamed at the assassin. “I won’t let you hurt them! You’ve done enough. Why? Why did you do this? All these years! All these years it was my fault!” He stopped punching the assassin and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him hard. “I loved my sister more than anything. And it was my fault that she was taken. I tried so hard to save her and I couldn’t. For centuries I lived hoping she was alive and thinking she was dead. Then, when I found her again, what would I do? Nothing!”
The assassin stared up at him. Blood gushed from his broken nose. Confusion and pain shone from his eyes. Warmund didn’t care.
“I gave up everything for the chance to get her back. Do you understand me? I gave up my position, my wealth. My father!” Tears burned his eyes even as he fought them. “I betrayed my father on the slim chance that I might get her back. And for what? It was for nothing. I lost my father for nothing. He can’t ever forgive me, I can’t ever forgive myself. I just want my family back!”
The assassin didn’t answer; not that Warmund expected him to. He panted, staring down at his enemy and seeing his own face in the stranger’s visage. And it made so much sense. All this pain, all this agony. It wasn’t just because of Wildref. It wasn’t just because he failed her.
He wanted to undo his actions. He wanted to be able to go home. He wanted his father back.
The assassin started to laugh. “Who knew? The dark prince is nothing more than a weakling.”
Warmund snarled. “How did you get here? You planned to get back to Byrelmore—how? What do you have that can open a portal again?”
The assassin spat at him. Warmund growled and lifted his fist again. The assassin’s hand shot out. It clutched around the knife and slashed out. Warmund reeled back, crying out as the blade missed his throat by half an inch. Then the blade twirled, facing down. Warmund cried out and reached to stop him, but he was too slow. Even as his hand closed around the hilt, the assassin plunged the knife into his own neck.
He was dead in seconds.
Warmund released the body. He let out a pained, frustrated howl. The assassin’s dead eyes stared at him triumphantly.
“No!” Warmund shouted. “I need answers!”
He grabbed the body and shook it roughly. As he did so, something fell from the assassin’s pocket; the device that Warmund himself had made. It was old and scuffed but clearly the same one. His heart jumped to his throat as he snatched it up; the thrum of magic was still strong and alive in it. He held his breath as he gazed down at the device.
“Yes,” he breathed.
Leaving the body behind, Warmund tore from the abandoned house. He was covered in blood but paid that no attention as he tore after Penny. He could see her, struggling with the heavy stroller, several blocks away. Warmund’s heart was as light as air as he raced after her, his legs pumping hard.
“Penny,” he called when he was close enough.
She turned, and even from this distance he saw the relief on her face. She waited for him, and when he caught up, he grabbed her in his arms and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth. She clung to his shirt, whimpering as she returned the kiss deeply and passionately.
When he broke the kiss, he held up the device triumphantly. “I found our way back. All we have to do is activate this and it’ll take us back to Byrelmore.”
Penny’s eyes widened. He moved to kiss her again, but this time she stepped back. She held up a hand, staring at the device. Then her gaze slid back to his face and her lips pressed tight. “Warmund, we have to talk.”