Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)
Crown of Blood and Ruin: Chapter 29

Brant took his sister’s hand. “Kari. If this night is my last, send my pyre to the sea. Know that you are stronger than me, and I am pleased for you to have found Hal. If you ever wondered if you had your brother’s blessing to make him an honest fae, you do.”

“Brant, quiet,” Kari said, a slight tremble in her voice.

“Agreed,” said Halvar. “No death talks until our innards are spilling out on the battlefield. It is more poetic and meaningful.”

Brant pinned him in a look. “All the same, you are honorable, Halvar Atra, so tell me you’ll look after her if I cannot.”

My stomach turned over. I hated this line of talk, hated the thought of losing a single face in our numbers, but I could not turn away.

Halvar’s playful smirk faded. He clasped Brant’s forearm in a tight grip and nodded. “When Night Folk love it is for life. She is who I love.”

Kari frowned, not at Halvar’s words, but at her brother. “Enough. We focus. We fight. We return. Do you both understand me?”

She did not let them finish before Kari turned and stormed back into the trees.

I closed my eyes, feeling the heat of the Nightrender’s stare on my back. He was furious. They’d gone to the post where Niklas, Junie, and Tova were supposed to be with Valen and the others.

Nothing had met them but a strange copper coin.

“A sign left by Niklas. They’ve changed plans,” the Nightrender had grumbled before going silent, eyes black with shadows. He’d seethed in silence ever since.

“The rivers have been taken.” A low voice stirred me from my moment of pause. Raum, the Kryv who saw distances, stepped next to me, a strain on his face. “Hells. Nightrender, they’ve seen the ships on the rivers. Plans must change.”

“You’re sure?” I straightened.

Raum nodded. “I’m sure, Queen.”

The Nightrender cursed. “This is why Niklas was meant to be at the mark. They were to distract the Ravens off the rivers.”

“Do not make the mistake in thinking the king did not have good reason to alter this design,” Ari said, a bite to his tone.

“Enough.” I shouted loud enough their bickering silenced. “If they were not at the post then there was a reason they were forced to change plans. But we move forward. We help our people at the rivers, we begin this fight.”

I’d waited to see my king long enough.

The archers were led by Herja and already in place on the peaks. They’d rain fire over Castle Ravenspire, and we’d bring down the gates. I raised my sword, embracing the heat and energy of the armies at my back.

I could give a fierce cry to battle, but no more words could be said that had not already been said. It was time.

I gave a curt nod to Tor. He shot a spark of blue across the night. It pierced the center of the sprawling field, beside a fountain shaped as King Eli. Tor waved one hand and at once the entire stone figure was engulfed in fury pyre.

Archers shouted from the peaks. More fiery arrows arched across the sky. Deep in the trees, to either flank, warriors shouted as the pyre roared below, the flames reaching for the silver moon like a beacon leading us forward.

The Nightrender drew a blacksteel sword and covered his black eyes away beneath his hood.

I dropped my sword. Before it reached my side, I was swallowed by the rush of our warriors.

The flood of our armies shuddered across the damp soil. At the castle, horns blared from the towers, warning of our approach. They were forming their units, but we came swiftly.

Another wave of burning arrows assaulted the tower guards and Ravens lined across the walls of Ravenspire. Screams mingled with falling bodies off the walls. A collision of steel and blood burst between two sides.

I braced, seax at the ready, and leapt into the fray. My sword struck a Raven’s short blade. We locked, and spun, and dodged until I sliced the back of his leg. At my back, another came. And another.

Focus forward. Halvar’s lessons reeled through my brain. I was shorter but moved swifter than most Ravens in their bulky guarders and armor.

I’d use it.

My cuts and stabs went to ribs, to thighs, the back tendons of the knees.

In a matter of moments, my face was splattered in hot, sticky blood, and my muscles throbbed for more.

Ari fought nearby. Ravens dropped at his feet screaming in terror. His fury molded their brains in illusion and left them defenseless against Frey and Axel as they slit their throats from behind. Halvar, Tor—they used the blade first. But their strategy would always be to conserve their fury until the right moment.

Doubtless if it was a last resort, they’d burn this field with wind and pyre.

The Nightrender remained furious over Tova and the missing Alvers. His anger written in the sharp lines of his face, but it served us well. All his rage was pointed at Ravenspire on our behalf.

Blacksteel blade in hand, the man fought with a finesse I envied. As if battle were a second nature, he broke Raven after Raven with his cutting edge. Scattered nearby, the Guild of Kryv proved why their numbers did not need to be great. The muscled Kryv stood off ten paces. From the corner of my eye, his fists raised and seven Raven guards staggered on their feet, then fell back as if asleep.

He rid them of life with the next swing.

Raum and Vali laughed. They laughed as they slashed their blades. As if battle and bloodshed were the greatest part of their day. Falkyns who remained with us fought much the same.

Alver magic was thrilling, odd, and deadly.

A shout at the gates kept me moving forward and sent a chill through my blood at the same moment.

From the back of a roan, Jarl shouted my name. Hells. Halvar had warned me of this moment. When the ruler is plucked off the battlefield.

“Bring her to your king!” Jarl was shouting.

A panic filled my chest as nearby Ravens didn’t hesitate. Soon one, then two, then more and more guards converged on me. Tor fought his way closer to me. Halvar shouted commands to defend the queen. Ari held out his hands, twisting some Ravens in illusions that left them wandering blindly, but more came.

More always came.

The space I could fight lessened as guards came at me from all sides. One would strike. I’d block. Another would aim to take out my feet. I chopped my seax and cut into his shoulder.

We needed to get closer to the gates. There was more fighting to be done, and by the gods, I was not being removed from this battlefield now. But Ravens were a disease, ever spreading without end.

As much as my people fought for me, I would not be able to fend them off forever.

A blade sliced across my ribs. I cried out, fumbling. A Raven took hold of my hair; another gripped my wrist.

In the next breath, inky shadows curled around my legs, scaling my body like a dark cloak. They filled the spaces between me and the Ravens. My heart stilled. I watched in a bit of horrid wonderment as the Nightrender stepped nearer. His hood back, palms raised, eyes the blackest black.

Shadows abandoned me, then curled around dozens of guards like dark ropes. A few Ravens cried out, trying to bat them away.

For a moment, the Nightrender did nothing. His eyes took in the field, his darkness, and he simply studied it. He took a long breath, shoulders lifting, then all he did was tilt his head to one side.

A great snapping of bone echoed in the night.

Ravens choked and fumbled, blood on their lips, necks twisted in wretched ways. A wash of bodies fell to the ground.

By the hells. He’d . . . he’d killed at least two units of Ravens with what? One nod? Twenty paces on all sides of me, dead guards bloodied the battlefield.

The course of the battle shifted. Ravens gaped at their fallen armies in terror, some backed toward the walls of Ravenspire. But Jarl demanded more units forward.

Ravenspire would regroup, but the stun offered up a single moment to take the advantage.

Our frontlines slammed into the gates of the castle. I cut a Raven across his spine, ignoring how young he was, and sprinted to the first wall.

“Elise!” Ari shouted, his bloody sword pointing to the back gates.

A vicious smile curled over my mouth. The archers above us cleared their path by a blast of arrows at the backlines of the Ravens. Ari came to my side with Frey and Axel. They helped shout orders to push through the gates, to create a shield barrier as we’d done not long before at the fury quarries.

Our warriors gathered into tight, boxy units, shielding sides and heads as lines of our people rushed through the barriers with ladders and rope to begin the scale.

The Ravens atop the wall flung balls of straw coated in boiling tar and flames, desperate to keep those taking the walls from reaching the top.

I caught sight of the Nightrender shoving forward with his sword in one hand and a curved knife in the other.

“You killed so many!” I shouted with a fierce laugh. “And I worried you’d prove worthless, Nightrender!”

“I am worth too much, Queen. Fear is potent,” the Nightrender shouted back. He looked paler, his eyes were returned to gold, and he rolled his blacksteel in his grip.

“I vote he takes out all of Ravenspire for us while we watch,” Ari said, grinning.

“He’s weakened now,” I said.

It was obvious, the Nightrender used his blade, and no shadows remained. Clearly, Alver magic drained energy the same as fury.

We made it to the walls, but our advantage was over. At Jarl’s command, the Ravens pulled back in the towers, and the portcullis lifted to hundreds of warriors. At the head of the new rush—Runa and Calder.

The false king and queen entered on horseback, blades on their leather gambesons. Their first knights rode beside them, dropping a sickly black powder across our frontlines. Dark, gray veins slithered over the faces and necks of our warriors. Eyes darkened, they screamed and scraped at their skin.

They flailed with a bit of madness much the same as the cursed Agitators who’d attacked the Lysander manor last turn.

Their cries dug deep under my skin. For centuries Ravenspire had manipulated fury, now they’d fight with their manipulations until half our people were lost to the warped blight.

“The riders!” Halvar roared, blade raised, facing the peaks.

Arrows flew at the knights, but Ravenspire warriors rode next to them, shields raised.

Runa and Calder pressed their armies forward. Calder was a bleeding fool, but he was not unskilled with the sword. The false king brutally took the heads, the throats, the hearts of Ettans as he barreled his horse through our lines.

All around, men and women groaned in agony. Wounds bled. Their hands clutched their middles, their necks, trying to stay upright. Ravenspire returned to cut them down. With a crushing truth it was clear we were outnumbered.

“Slaughter them!” Calder roared.

A new energy latched onto the Ravens. They fought brutally. They fought without mercy. I let out a scream of frustration and rage, pushing forward. Fate would not bring us this far to fall now. It would not happen. It could not happen.

The ground trembled.

My heart flipped in my chest, but nothing more came. There were armies clashing, doubtless I’d fooled my hopeful heart.

Valen wasn’t here.

Across the field, I found the icy gaze of my sister. She’d learned to fight. Not the same as Calder, but in her time as queen, clearly, Runa had learned how to wield a sword. Still, she remained timid on her horse as my father led a charge ahead of her.

Leif Lysander was once a man like Jarl. A nobleman who led units of Ravens. He would know how to fight and how to win. I never thought I’d embrace a bit of my own bloodlust in such a way, but watching them now, I’d never wanted to kill anyone so badly.

Tor released a blast of pyre. A signal to Herja. Our archers were needed here more than on the peaks. When the flames faded into the sky, I raced toward my sister.

“Queen!” The Nightrender called behind me. He’d insisted, along with Halvar and Tor, that we remain close, and now I was changing his plans again. “Dammit. Elise!”

All I saw was a fight ahead of me.

I cried out, slashing my blades against Ravens as I battled closer to Runa and my father. If I fell, then I’d see to it Runa fell too.

The moment I stepped on the slope of a berm, I stumbled forward. A deep fissure shook the earth apart.

An eerie hiss fell over the field.

The ground shuddered violently. My skin tingled in anticipation as a smile cut over my lips. A guttural cry from my people rose to the silent stars. On the ridge of the south end of the field a dark figure stood alone.

My heart dropped to my stomach. Valen.

He stood alone for mere moments before an entire line of warriors filed in behind him. All gods. Where did he replace warriors? The quarries? Were they our folk from the river? It didn’t truly matter, and the sight sparked a new wind into the lungs of our people. Battle cries changed for their Night Prince.

The army behind Valen roared in response.

For the first time, Calder, Runa, and the whole of Ravenspire looked afraid.

“I assume—” the Nightrender materialized behind me, a little breathless, “this is the king we came to save.”

I raised my blade, unsure if Valen could see me from such a distance and shouted, “For your king!”

At the second wave of shouts, Valen shook the earth and raced into the fight.

“By the hells,” Tor said. “He has Sol and . . .” Tor narrowed his eyes. “No. It’s . . . it’s not possible.”

“What?” I snapped. There wasn’t time to be vague. “Say what you see.”

Tor blinked his eyes to me. “Beside him, I . . . could’ve sworn I saw Arvad.”

What? I turned back to Valen’s army. They were melted into the fight now, too buried among Ravens and Ettans to pull out individual faces.

“Who is Arvad?” the Nightrender asked in a snarl.

“Valen’s dead father.”

The Nightrender looked at me like I’d gone mad and shook his head. “I don’t understand this place.”

I felt much the same.

At his direction, a few Kryv abandoned my side with the Nightrender and followed Ari into an onslaught of riders carrying more poison blight. I wanted to watch their every move, wanted to see the poison destroyed, but forced myself to turn back into the fight.

Battle waited for no one.

A Raven with a crooked nose and two short blades rushed for me. I blocked his strike and twisted in a way to avoid a slice to the back from his second sword.

His blade cut a path toward my chest. I leaned back, narrowly missing the point. My dagger cut his ribs; my boot smashed against the side of his knee. He seethed at me as if he didn’t feel a thing.

“Daughter!”

A wicked laugh came from behind the Raven. I gritted my teeth and kept slashing at the guard, ignoring that my father stalked me.

His face twisted my insides. All those turns I’d done my uncle’s bidding. Submitted to his desire for an advantageous marriage, became a silent face in my household, all to keep mediks for Leif Lysander.

Here he stood, healthy, vicious, and without care if I lived or died.

No. He watched as I struggled against a boar of a man, a warrior with more skill than me. In truth, I think my father enjoyed watching for the sport of it. No doubt he looked forward to the moment when the Raven’s blade carved out my heart.

The guard slammed his thick fist into my mouth, tossing me backward. I coughed blood, gripping my blade to lodge it in his chest. Or at the very least, slash him in a weak joint of his guarders to run away.

Over the cruel laughter of my father a swift rush of air grazed my face. Followed promptly by another. The Raven grunted. I wheeled around as two arrows sunk deep in the throat of the Raven and he crumbled.

I smiled. From the trees, Herja had her bow raised, another arrow notched. She winked and fired into a new cluster of Ravenspire forces, arrow after arrow.

I adjusted my grip on my blade and spun around to meet my father’s blade. The clash of steel shattered a piece of my heart. This was never a moment I envisioned in my life. Blood fighting against blood.

A look of surprise shadowed his one eye for the briefest moment when the edges of our swords collided. Did he think I’d be the same? An obedient girl filling her days with books and distant dreams?

“You have learned the sword,” he said through a grunt.

“Better than you.” I lanced the edge over his body, causing him to reel back and meet the edge of my dagger. I sliced the smaller blade across his arm.

My father hissed his pain, quickly inspecting the gash. He was quick on his feet, as if the blood fueled him. Before I could move, he had his hand curled around my braid.

Dammit. Foolish Elise. I fumbled for my dagger, fingers slipping.

“Elise!” Herja screamed, but it sounded too far. I doubted she’d take aim swift enough.

My father yanked my face close to his. “You are not my daughter. You are nothing.”

The words didn’t hurt. I’d resigned I had no family left in Timoran. “I am Valen Ferus’s wife. I’m a bleeding queen, you bastard.”

I rammed my dagger at his thigh. The tip nicked his skin, but it had to be said of Leif Lysander, he did not relent easily. His grip remained; pain written on his face. But he was too stubborn, too awful to give in. If anything, he tightened his hold. “After today you’ll be scratched from the family sagas.”

“Gods I hope so,” I spat through my teeth. I readied to yank out of his grip, even if it meant losing a clump of hair. To die at the hands of this man was not in my fate. I refused to accept it.

Before I could move, Leif was yanked backward.

I went down with him, but instantly rolled aside, scrambling to get control of my blade again.

“I’ve so wanted to meet again.” The voice came sharper than jagged ice.

Blood dripped in my face, but I saw clear enough. Sol Ferus had my father scooting backward. The Sun Prince appeared stronger than ever. Tall, broad, ferocious. He stalked my father like a wolf to a wounded deer.

Black fury bled from Sol’s hands.

“For all those nights you visited me in the dungeons,” Sol said, a dark rumble in his voice. “Consider this my repayment.”

I shuddered. Had it been my father who’d tortured Sol?

“Burn him with me! Sol! Burn him with me!” Tor shoved through a cloud of smoke, sprinting toward his consort.

A wide white smile crossed Sol’s face. Relief, brutality, love. All of it collided into one terribly fierce expression. Tor’s pyre ignited. The blight darkened. I watched it all with a strange awe as Leif Lysander dropped his blades, went to his knees, and held out his arms.

Resigned to his fate.

The two furies collided as they had at Ruskig. A thunder of magic and fire exploded into the sky. A few warriors raced away from the Sun Prince as he and Tor pulled back their magic and nothing remained of Leif but ash.

I was left stunned. A tumble of emotion. Relief? Disgust? I couldn’t place the tightness in my chest.

But it only took half a moment and three strides for Sol to drop his hands and cross the space to Tor, pulling him into his arms. They swallowed each other in the embrace. Tor held the back of the Sun Prince’s head, kissed the side of his neck, his lips. Nothing was gentle. They were greedy and wanting.

Sol trapped Tor’s face, pulling back, studying him for a few heartbeats. A tight laugh tore from his throat, he kissed him, then rested their foreheads together.

My heart broke for them. Endless turns apart and a sliver of a moment could be theirs at long last.

I needed to replace Valen.

“Elise!” Sol’s voice dragged me back to reality. He pointed to the walls. Runa chopped furiously at a few stray warriors who slipped past her guard. “Two queens are on this field. Only one leaves. Make sure it is you.”

“Where is Valen?”

“We all have our parts to play. Finish this, Elise,” Sol said. “You can finish this.”

We were out of time. Sol and Tor were forced back into the fight when a raspy bellow from a Ravenspire captain launched a full attack on the Sun Prince. The way both fae used their fury, I doubted the Ravens would last long.

I looked across the field. It was a haze of smoke and warriors. In the distance I caught sight of Jarl. He dismounted his horse, eyes focused on a particular point on the field. I couldn’t see where he was going, but my heart raced. Had he found Valen?

We would meet on the battlefield. I would stand with him. But the Sun Prince was right.

I locked my narrowed gaze on the false queen.

There were two queens on the field. Only one would be leaving with air in her lungs.