“Leave. Before I set you on fire.” Though barely louder than a whisper, Seeva’s threat tremors through me. I could only be so lucky to have this fearsome woman as an ally.
Yasmin claps her hands over her mouth, catching a sob, and scrambles away. I watch her dart into the woods. Her sudden flight comes as a shock. She betrayed them. Wouldn’t they detain her? Punish her somehow later?
Katallia moves beside me. “Exile will be punishment enough.”
Perhaps that’s true. My experience in the mountains is enough for me to know it’ll be difficult for her to get away, especially now that we’re under attack. If she does make it, she’ll be turned away from anyone associated with the Channelers Guild.
“It’s an honor to work beside a Spiriter,” Seeva says, giving a small bow to Britta. “Let’s fight.”
The two remaining Guild women flank her while the rest of us spread out to take on Jamis. Leif and Lirra follow Britta, while Cohen and Omar stay with me. Coming at them from opposing sides, we break from the stable’s coverage and charge Jamis and his remaining six men.
Taking on a man I’ve sparred with many times before, we meet with a clash of swords. I thrust and parry. The metal clanks and rings. I grunt against the exertion and sweep my sword up again and again. He is sharp, swift, strong. But thanks to renewed energy from the Beannach water, my precision has returned. Seeing an opening, I force myself to follow through. To not lessen the impact. To kill because otherwise I’ll be killed.
My blade slices through the stomach of the rebel guard. His body seizes around my sword. I open my mouth, intending to apologize, ridiculous as it sounds.
Across the field, Cohen makes a clean sweep with his blade, gutting a man. A slash of red stains the winter-white world.
Another man appears at my side, his arm raised. There’s no time to react. His blade will hit before I can swing. I’m dead.
A burst of wind slams me to the ground. It’s so sudden, it pushes the breath out of my lungs. I scramble back, expecting the guard’s blow to land any second. But the man falls at my feet. Above me, Lirra holds an extended blade. Stains of the man’s life splatter the fresh snow around him.
I shake the shock out of my head and scramble to my feet.
“You’re welcome,” the brazen girl shouts at me before running off. There’s no time to wonder where the Channeler girl came from. Lirra yanks a knife from her skirt and throws it at a rebel just as Leif limps out of the way. He clutches his leg where blood soaks his trousers.
“I’ll live.” He pants and hobbles toward her side.
Beyond him, Britta and Omar fight two more of Jamis’s soldiers. So where is the leader of the traitors?
“Aodren.”
I twist to find the man sitting astride his horse, twenty paces away from where Cohen cuts down the last of the rebel soldiers. Jamis eyes the carnage on the field, lifts his hands in the air, and claps. Slow, punctuated hits. “Well done, my king.” He echoes the same sentiment he used when I was younger, when I thought of him as the closest thing to a father.
Another rider appears from beneath the trees. No, two riders, doubled up on the same horse. Their faces register. I might as well have taken an arrow to the chest.
A startled gasp comes from Britta.
Finn bobs on the horse in front of Phelia, his gaze wide-eyed and lost.
Chapter
46
Britta
PHELIA DISMOUNTS AND DRAGS FINN DOWN beside her. His left eye is swollen to the point it doesn’t open, so he turns the right side of his face to me before seeking out his brother. The hope in his one good eye smarts through me, rubs vinegar into my wounds.
No one moves, the impossibility of the situation hitting each one of us in a different way. Smoke drifts from the cottage’s rooftop. I glance at Cohen. Horror shadows his eyes, turning his expression agonized.
Finn wears the manacles I once wore. Had I any arrows left, I’d shoot Phelia and Jamis without a second thought.
I point my sword in their direction and cry out, “Let him go. Or I swear to you now I will run you through with this very blade before the day is over.” Rage carries my voice all the way across the field.
“Britta, fall back.” Aodren’s steps falter beside me. The caution in his tone is an attempt at silencing me. But I will not stand down. Not this time. I meant every word I said, and Phelia knows it.
Jamis leaps from his horse, unsheathes his sword, and stalks to Finn’s side. “Send us the king, or I will kill him.”
His truthful heat crawls through me; it’s a poison curdling in my blood. My arms stiffen to hold the sword higher. I should’ve never left Finn behind. He was my responsibility. Knowing I’ve let down Cohen and Finn is the worst kind of pain.
Aodren’s knuckles brush against mine. “This is my choice.”
His choice?
He walks away, headed straight for Lord Jamis. “Let the boy go,” Aodren yells. “I will take his place.”
Truth. The suddenness of his choice steals my chance to react. I don’t have time to comprehend what he’s giving up by walking straight into their hands. Part of me begs not to let him go. I don’t want to lose Aodren this way. And neither can Malam afford to lose him. Yet I cannot watch Finn die.
Aodren glances back at me, unspoken words and emotions painting his eyes a brilliant green. “Be brave.”
Lord Jamis shoves Finn toward the field. Finn starts a brisk, jerky walk toward the barn.
My eyes burn with unshed tears. Never before have I felt less courageous than I do now.
My throat locks over the words I want to say. I realize why Cohen always chose my safety first. It’s too painful to watch fate play its cold games with the life of someone you care for. I did not realize how much I care for this man until now. Good, kind, intelligent, compassionate—Aodren’s one of the truest friends I have ever had.
“Britta. Look.”
Lirra points across the field, where a handful of crows flap out of the trees. Snow showers the ground near the birds’ movement. I cannot see anyone. But something about Finn’s body language catches the corner of my eye. His stride is all wrong. The closer he gets to Aodren, the choppier his movements become.
A peek of silver glints between Finn’s fingers. What’s he carrying? I glance across the field, trying to make sense of the scene.
Still as the snow around her, Phelia watches Finn.
“Stop!” I break into a sprint for Aodren.
Aodren twists around just as Finn thrusts a blade into his shoulder. A pained grunt comes out, and Aodren shoves the younger boy back. The two struggle, the king’s one good arm fending off Finn’s attack. Cohen shouts. Finn lunges for Aodren’s throat.
Right before I reach them, Finn collapses, a puppet whose strings have been cut.
The suddenness of his fall has me skidding to a stop, focus whipping to Phelia. She’s not alone. Four girls, bound wrist to wrist, form a semicircle behind Phelia. Off to the side of the girls, two more guards hold swords ready.