40

T hree of Reddington's men headed to the left of the castle, while the other three circled around the right.

A loud screech sounded from the far turret. Hawks filled the sky. One by one, the birds dived. The soldiers fled from the attack in panic, running right onto the waiting trapdoor. The first few fell in by accident, succumbing to gravity in the blink of an eye. The others witnessed the trick and skidded to a sudden stop.

Briefly.

The hawks wasted no time clawing at the men's hair and uniforms. The rest of the panicked soldiers had no choice but to run, hurling themselves into the gaping hole right behind their comrades in order to escape the vicious talons streaking down from overhead.

Stephen cackled in glee.

Out below the front window, Reddington was furiously appointing new replacement soldiers. He could not fathom what had happened, but he had seen the hawks and heard the shouts and swiftly realized that he had been bamboozled.

Another loud thwack sounded in the forest.

The dungeon bell chimed three times. The code for trouble.

Stephen rushed to the spy tube. Four Wynchesters were visible, with no cats or enemy soldiers in sight. All must have gone according to contingency plan number nine.

"What's happening?" he called.

"We're running out of room in the cells for prisoners of war," came Tommy's voice up the whispering wall.

"Blast." Stephen swiveled his field glass. "Let me see what Reddington is doing."

"I think they're going to rush the door," came Graham's voice from the front of the turret.

Stephen spun around in surprise. Graham had entered silently this time. There was even a fresh sword and two more daggers lying atop the wooden chair.

Out the window below, Reddington and his men were advancing toward the main entrance.

The women inside the castle were having none of it. Daggers flew out from the arrow slits on either side of the wooden door. One of the blades narrowly missed striking Reddington in the chest, and tore a strip from the uniform of the soldier beside him instead.

"First blood," called a voice with a Balcovian accent.

The wounded soldier was immediately replaced by a fresh combatant.

"These narrow embrasure windows are for shooting arrows, not throwing daggers," Graham said apologetically. "In open air, Kuni doesn't miss. She's aiming to scare, not to kill."

"She's doing an excellent job. Look, they're retreating!"

Reddington and his soldiers backed up several yards until they were out of range of the flying blades.

"Maybe not retreating," Stephen allowed. "More like reevaluating."

Another loud thwack sounded in the forest. This time, followed by a thundering boom. A tall elm crashed forward from the line of trees.

Axes in hand, a half-dozen soldiers swarmed the fallen tree, hacking its branches free until they were left with nothing more than a long, thick trunk.

"A battering ram," Stephen breathed. "The men weren't retreating. They were changing tactics."

"Contingency number sixteen," Graham said with a grimace.

Precisely eight men hefted the heavy trunk and aimed it toward the castle.

The spectators wisely arranged their blankets near the safety of the forest, watching the skirmish with rapt expressions and eager shouts.

Stephen gripped the stone windowsill. "Here they come…"

Daggers sailed through the castle loopholes as the men approached. Fat, wet, red splotches appeared on their uniforms.

Graham blinked. "Did Kuni just—"

"It's Marjorie," Stephen said in delight. "I made a slight modification to her and Adrian's machine before placing it before the upstairs windows. We may not have bullets, but we have plenty of red paint."

In the confusion, Reddington replaced his paint-splattered men with fresh soldiers.

The men visibly gritted their teeth against the onslaught of daggers and paint, charging forward with their battering ram until—

Boom .

"It didn't work!" Graham crowed.

"Not yet," Stephen agreed. "It can take a few hits to break down a door. What happened to the ladies' daggers? This is the perfect time to attack, whilst they're readjusting for the next strike."

"Shite." Graham glanced around the turret, then started stuffing the daggers confiscated from Reddington's men into an empty leather satchel. "Our side is running out of supplies."

Boom .

The walls of the castle vibrated with the impact. Stephen dropped the satchel to race around the turret, righting his displaced equipment.

Gaining confidence, the soldiers backed up to give the battering ram one last running start.

Boom .

This time, a sickening crack accompanied the boom, followed by the dull thud of a gigantic, heavy wooden door falling flat against a stone floor.

Stephen grappled for his telescopes and pulleys. "They're in?"

"Not yet."

He rushed over in time to see the two warrioresses spring out from the new hole.

Kuni, whom Stephen had previously only witnessed wearing various confections of eye-searing pink, had donned black-and-gold Wynchester regimentals for battle, two knives gripped in her fists.

Elizabeth was also wearing Wynchester regimentals. Stephen's throat went dry at the sight of her looking like a vindictive goddess in tight-fitting pantaloons and a tunic of chain mail. Rather than knives, she clutched a deadly sword in each hand.

Expertly, she twirled both swords, then struck a battle pose.

"Kuni has only two daggers left." Graham scooped up Stephen's bag of knives and tied a sword to his leather belt. "I'm going down there."

"You know how to fence?"

"Aim for the enemy," Graham answered dryly. "You control the ship." With a grin, he nudged Stephen. "It's nice to have a puppet master in the family."

Before Stephen could formulate a reply, Graham was out the window and gone.

"Attack!" shouted Reddington.

All eight of his appointed soldiers rushed Elizabeth and Kuni, swords and bayonets held high. Metal clanged against metal.

Graham dropped down into the middle of the melee. He tossed his wife the bag of daggers and beat back Reddington's men as best he could.

The crimson paint-water had ceased flying from the upper windows. Either Marjorie and Adrian were out of ammunition, or Reddington's army had caught on to the ruse.

"Get the leader," Reddington screamed, pointing his blade at Elizabeth. "We win the moment she yields. Bring me her head on a pike!"

Half of the crowd roared its approval. The other half looked confused… and concerned.

Reddington's face twisted into a mask of fury and vengeance.

This wasn't a game anymore, if it ever had been. Reddington would never allow himself to be humiliated in front of witnesses. He wasn't pretending to wage war. He was out for blood, and wanted Elizabeth's literal head on a literal spike.

The man had to be stopped.

Stephen watched with his heart in his throat. Elizabeth was trying her hardest. Graham fended off one of the soldiers, while Kuni held back three, leaving Elizabeth to fight four at once.

She disarmed two in short order, then wounded a third, leaving only one to—No. Reddington had nominated replacements already. It was one against four again. Elizabeth wounded a second, then disarmed a third, and then… stumbled. Sickeningly.

To say Stephen suffered an immediate apoplexy would be understating the matter. He nearly flew out the window just like Graham, except that for Stephen to do so would be to invite instant death. He could not aid Elizabeth whatsoever.

Already, two new soldiers advanced to replace the latest pair.

Stephen's stomach roiled.

Elizabeth gathered both swords with one hand. She glanced up over her shoulder at the turret where she knew Stephen was watching. She pistoned her free arm into the air, and made three quick number gestures with her empty hand.

One. Zero. Zero.

She tossed one of the swords back into her other hand just in time to defend herself against Reddington's newest batch of soldiers.

One-zero-zero. One hundred. She was telling Stephen not to worry. That she was one hundred percent Elizabeth. That Reddington was going down, because he held no chance against a berserker fighting at one hundred percent.

Of course, that number was a wild overstatement. By Elizabeth's own admission, she rarely even felt eighty percent, and even that had only occurred on a handful of occasions. Which she knew Stephen realized. She also knew he was zero percent calm when it came to her well-being, which was why she was trying to reassure him.

Stephen wouldn't trust Reddington if the man claimed water was wet, but he did trust Elizabeth. More importantly, she was her own woman, which was why Stephen loved her. And no matter how he felt about the unfair situation, she was right about one thing:

She was a warrior. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.