20.
Playing dead was never among Thalia’s top strategies, and it was fucking humiliating, but she cared about results, not elegance. Her dignity could get fucked permanently, if it meant resolving the standoff at Daruvar. The wolves were in position, as Korin had come in response to an SOS from Janek, abruptly cut off twelve hours before.
The idea that it might be too late, well, she wouldn’t think about that.
The filth and animal blood that Titus had rubbed on her to transform her into a compelling corpse reeked, and it must be ten times worse for Raff. He lay like a truly dead person beneath her, not reacting even a trifle to the ruts in the rocky forest path. Titus was hauling the cart like a mule, and she wondered, not for the first time, if they could truly trust him. He’d proposed returning their ‘bodies’ for the bounty Ruark had posted, and once they were inside, the wolves would strike, helping them liberate the fortress and root out the traitors.
It was a sound plan, but one that hinged on a stranger not betraying them at the worst possible moment. For all she knew, Titus’s real intention could be to sell them to their enemies, and here they were, quietly going along with the capture. Raff had said he didn’t smell deceit on the great cat, but she’d heard of gifted conmen who could lie without a single physiological sign.
Worrying is pointless. Even if Titus turns on us, Korin is here.
The journey seemed to take forever, and periodically, Titus had to lift the cart physically over a large stone or tangle of roots, jolting them around with absolute unconcern. That was for the benefit of those who were undoubtedly tracking his progress. It didn’t make sense that whoever had taken control of Daruvar in Ruark’s name wouldn’t have posted scouts or sentries.
No, they know he’s coming. He’s passed the preliminary inspection.
With her eyes closed, it was tough to gauge their progress, but maybe she’d been in the wild long enough for her senses to sharpen because she noticed when the scents around her changed. Most of what she smelled was old blood and Raff, but instead of the crisp verdant scent, she also detected hints of smoke, likely from the hearths burning inside Daruvar.
Not far now.
Thalia wished she could get a final word of encouragement from Raff, but their success depended on selling this ruse, so she didn’t move or speak; she barely breathed as Titus dragged the cart up a small incline. She let her body tilt like a dead person would, completely at the mercy of gravity’s pull.
“Who are you?” an unfamiliar male voice called.
“I’m a hunter,” Titus replied. “Bodies I found in the woods match the description I got from another tracker. Word is, there’s a reward offered. It’d set me up nicely for the winter if I could get paid.”
Moment of truth.
If she or Raff moved before the gates opened, they’d unload from the walls. Titus still hadn’t broken character; that was a good sign. She held her body so rigid while they waited that it was a wonder she didn’t vibrate with tension. Then Raff’s fingers brushed hers, too slight of a movement to be visible and covered by her hair as well. That was another sign that she must be dead.
The long delay made her itch, but finally, a female voice called, “Open the gates!”
And her heart died a little. She recognized it—how could she not? Tirael was one of the three Noxblades who had survived the battle of Hallowell and returned to her side with Ferith and Gavriel. The latter was gone on a mission with Magda, Ferith might have died in the cave-in, and she would have said that Tirael was loyal for sure.
Until just now.
She belongs to Ruark? Since when?
No time for further questions. As soon as the gates ground apart, Titus moved, pulling them swiftly toward the doors. “Now!”
On cue, she and Raff bounded out of the cart, shielded from sight by the framework of the walls. Korin and her people poured out of the surrounding forest, charging the hill with a surety and speed that Thalia admired. Raff was wedging the doors open, as previously agreed, while she followed Titus, who shifted before her eyes into a sleek and powerful tiger. He was too fast for her to follow, drawing fire that could’ve killed her.
Thalia whirled out of the gateway with blades in hand, lightning firing from each of her bracers. Half the soldiers dropped their weapons, some sobbing openly in relief. The rest must belong to Ruark and would have to be put down. She acknowledged the mass surrender with a nod, taking it as a pledge of fealty. She couldn’t blame these people for not fighting to the death when word of her demise reached the fortress. Trying to survive wasn’t a crime.
“Don’t just kneel,” she called. “Help me defeat the traitors!”
In response, the guards who had dropped their weapons took them up again and turned on those still fighting. Much as she hated hurting her own people, this had to happen. Paring away hesitation and mercy, she fired again and again, cutting the throats of those who fell. Korin’s forces surged everywhere, led by a massive black wolf. Raff’s ferocity would have chilled her blood, had it not been unleashed in her defense.
“Tirael is mine!” she shouted. “If you find her first, bring her to me.”
Animari forces nearby responded with growls that she took as affirmative. The remaining Eldritch soldiers fell in behind her, according her the respect of leading the charge across the courtyard. There were bodies everywhere, blood freezing on the paving stones. Her breath smoked as she let out a sigh, adding to the infernal atmosphere.
This day’s work didn’t feel good, as she’d led outsiders to slaughter her own people. Necessary, she told herself. And we have an alliance. It wasn’t like she could allow the Eldritch to follow Ruark into Tycho’s madness. Certain policies could sound reasonable, even favorable, but on closer examination, it was all bigotry, racial purity, and hatred. The Eldritch would walk that dark road over her dead body.
Some might say she was no better, choosing to butcher her own people so.
Thalia ignored the sickness roiling in her stomach. I will not count the cost. This is right. This is—
A black wolf lunged in front of her, taking the shot that came down from the walls. He stumbled, shook himself, and snarled. Still alive. Her heart nearly stopped, but Thalia couldn’t. She rushed from the courtyard, removing herself as a target. In Daruvar’s halls, the fighting was tight and fierce, impossible to tell friend from foe until they attacked. She responded with lethal force.
The enemies died swiftly, until she’d nearly drained the batteries on her bracers—she always kept one final shot in reserve for emergencies—then the fighting got bloodier, blades against knives. Their hot blood spattered her skin, her face, and she fought on, grimly relentless. Thalia battled all the way to the cells, hoping that they wouldn’t have executed all resistance yet. Sounds from the struggle elsewhere reached her, through the thick stone walls: shouts and cries of pain, the clang of weapons, distant gunfire. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, peering through the bars on the small access window set in the heavy steel door.
Ferith, injured but alive. Sky, the little wolf beside her. Both injured, but alive. Her heart sank when she didn’t spot Janek. “Open the door!” she ordered.
One of the guards found the keys and released the prisoners, not nearly fast enough. Thalia rushed inside, knelt beside the women. In here, the smell increased, a grotesque combination of the waste bucket in the corner and their infected wounds. Ferith tried to stand, but her leg wouldn’t hold, and Sky was too weak to lift more than a hand in a greeting. Neither woman could speak.
“Janek?” she whispered.
Sky closed her eyes and shook her head. “He wouldn’t yield.”
Ferith sounded like death, her voice cracked and scraping like dry bones. “Fought to the death, took ten of Tirael’s men with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Thalia whispered. Then she straightened, eyes burning with unshed tears. “Get them to Dr. Wyeth, if he’s still alive and loyal. It’s time to end this.”
Finally.
Raff had no reason to hold back, and he left a wicked trail of bodies behind him. No quarter. No survivors. He’d wanted to wreck this place since the first attempt on Thalia’s life, since her foster mother died. Now he gave everything to vengeance, lost to the primal thrill of executing his enemies.
The Eldritch were fucking soft, reliant on weapons or gifts. Their soldiers couldn’t stand against Pine Ridge elite wolves, concentrated in assault mode. Korin had his back, and she kept them off him as he pushed to clear the walls. Blood smeared the stones as he snarled and slashed his way up the stairs. Hamstring, hamstring, throat. Crimson soaked his fur in a hot, coppery spray, and he leapt over the falling corpse to press the advance.
Where are you, Tirael?
Raff had a lot of hard fucking questions for when he found her. She was one of Thalia’s closest associates, the Noxblade second in command. This had to cut deep. Only way it could be worse is if it was Ferith. He could almost feel sorry for the grunts he chewed through on the way to the top of the stairs.
It would’ve been faster, but he had a fresh bullet in his back in addition to all his recent wounds. This should go on record as the most dangerous honeymoon of all time, and he gave a canine smile, showing teeth as he topped the stairs. Korin snarled a question from behind, but he shook his head.
Later, he growled.
Once the fighting stopped, she’d need a briefing. Right now, though, she just needed to keep killing. Too bad she didn’t have the bear clan war machine she’d piloted during the Battle of Hallowell; she could unleash death from above on their enemies, but to Raff, that seemed like a cheap way to fight, out of your enemy’s reach. It was better to overwhelm them with your strength and taste their death with all senses.
Raff rushed, bursting from the tower to flatten the closest Eldritch before he raised his gun. Not used to fighting wolves, you son of a bitch? The Eldritch lacked muscular density; they were fast and quiet, but not strong. If this was a cloak and dagger dustup in the woods, they might have a chance, but not here on the open walls. The merciless winter sun wouldn’t let them hide, unless that was their gift, and few of them seemed—
A high, shrill note pierced the air, like the mourning pipes that marked Lileth’s funeral. Raff’s muscles locked.
His brain screamed at him to move—to launch himself at the golden-haired woman playing that hideous melody. This effect had to be part of some fucking Eldritch gift but knowing that didn’t help him break free. Fucking Tirael. He recognized her now, as the Eldritch beside her raised a weapon, a gun big enough to explode his skull.
Sudden death, catastrophic damage.
That was the quickest way to kill an Animari, but it wasn’t easy to inflict. The caliber of that boomstick would do the job, and he couldn’t fucking move. Not even to glance back to see if the rest of his troops were affected with the same paralysis. The pitch of Titus’s snarl-scream somewhere nearby said that he was locked down and pissed as hell.
It’s something that impacts Animari.
Raff glared defiance at the bitch who was about to end him, rage to the end. He couldn’t even close his eyes, but he wouldn’t have, if he could. Good thing, as he would’ve missed the arc of blue lightning that arced through her. As she dropped, the flute fell, and he sprang into motion. The shot blasted the parapet behind him, singeing his fur, but thanks to a certain Eldritch queen, he was still alive and breathing. Thalia locked eyes with him for only a few seconds from the other end of the wall, but it was enough.
Warmth surged through him as he savaged the shit out of the asshole who’d thought he could end Raff Pineda. Sure, he’d lived through no ability of his own, but picking the right mate, that was a fucking skill, too. Euphoria sang in his veins, so the killing became a kind of glorious symphony, with screams and howls in place of cymbal and drums. Terrified Eldritch hearts racing became his private song and their pleas for mercy as Raff cut them down, well, he savored those too.
He would’ve stopped if Thalia had asked him to, but she was beside him on the walls, reaping like the angel of death with her shining twin blades. Her braces must be dark now; she’d probably saved one shot, just in case, and she’d saved his life. Again. While she seemed to think she was in his debt, he’d lost count of how many times they’d saved each other. All he knew now was that she’d be there if he needed her.
Maybe it was too soon for that conviction, but as they bathed Daruvar in blood, the conviction grew. Korin, still alive. Fighting on. He exhaled and finished a wounded Eldritch who was sobbing, pleading for clemency. Not my call. Thalia knew best what needed to happen here. He’d fight until she called him off. Some might say that made him the Eldritch queen’s hound, but they could go fuck themselves.
At last, the keep was theirs, bodies piled in the courtyard, and Tirael was chained hand and foot. Thalia dragged her personally, kicking her down the stairs when the other woman balked. Hatred sparked from Tirael’s eyes, so shockingly clear that Raff could hardly believe she’d hidden it all this time. Thalia shoved her onto the filthy stones, beside the carcass of her failed rebellion.
The wolves circled behind Raff, still shifted, and ready to face a fresh incursion, if Ruark happened to get word of the massacre. Not bloody likely, they hadn’t left any survivors to spread the news. He couldn’t speak to Tirael, but that wasn’t his place anyway. He settled on his haunches, content to let his mate finish things as she saw fit. Korin sat next to him, Titus on the other side, bloody, but whole. Hard to say if any of that red belonged to the tiger.
The surviving Eldritch took to their knees, hands sealed over their hearts in a gesture that he presumed represented fealty. Overhead, the sky was palest blue, clear as a winter’s day ever was, but still cold enough that he saw Thalia’s breath when she spoke.
“Why?” The word was an icy blade, cold as condemnation.
Tirael glared, eyes sparking with fury. She spat blood before answering. “You dare to ask me that?”
“This is your only chance to speak some last words, but if you prefer not to offer anything to posterity, that’s fine with me. Your execution will provide me great satisfaction.”
“I suppose it would,” Tirael said. “But then, you’ll also have to live with knowing that you murdered your closest kin. Sister.”
Raff sucked in a breath as Thalia staggered. That was the only sign of her shock and she recovered swiftly. “Lies.”
“But it’s not, dear sister. Run the necessary lineage tests, if you wish. Our father betrayed you, installed me at your side and called me ‘cousin’ when the truth is, my mother poisoned yours and afterward, once she was caught, I had to see her head on a pike for countless weeks, watch as the birds ate her pretty face and pecked out her eyes.”
“Then—”
“Everything you believe about yourself is a lie. You’re not better suited to be queen, not more destined. Certainly not more royal or more worthy. You’re just lucky, princess. Even now, you have animals at your back, willing to kill on your command. And this, the Eldritch will remember. I promise, your reign will not be peaceful…or long.”