Chapter 35

35

T he day Aislinn had been dreading began with a drizzling fog that left droplets clinging to hair and noses. Her column of knights, soldiers, and warriors sniffled as they marched, their breath puffing in front of them.

Despite the drizzle, Aislinn's chest burned with determination. Even though her darling betrothed had made a fuss even as they marched from the castle gates, Aislinn led the procession out of the city to the western meadows herself, ready to put an end to all of Jerrod's scheming.

The ground at least wasn't too soggy yet, and the mud wasn't too thick, making their trek easier. She sought the good in anything she could, determined not to let the worry gnawing at her stomach get the better of her.

Her horse's ears flicked back and forth, reminding Aislinn to relax her thighs and take a breath. Riding out mounted was a concession she'd made to Hakon and Captain Aodhan's concerns. When Orek heard she would ride, he'd insisted Sorcha did, too, so her friend rode to her left while Hakon strode to her right, easily keeping pace with her horse.

Behind them marched the might of the Darrowlands, over six-hundred armed human fighters, as well as about a dozen half-orcs, a pack of five manticores, four harpies, one fae and his unicorn steed, and one dragon in his human shape. Allarion and the otherlies had met them at the city gates, solemn but sure.

Their presence meant the world to Aislinn, and she'd thanked each of them.

Captain Aodhan had wondered aloud if Theron, the dragon, might not shift to his larger form and bring the matter to an end with an undeniable show of force. The idea had shot excitement through Aislinn's veins, but Theron declined, stating he couldn't risk taking his larger form and rumor getting back to his brothers that he was now in Eirea. Hakon had looked as though he wanted to argue, but Aislinn accepted Theron's wishes, thanking him for offering what aid he could.

From her left, Captain Aodhan came riding on his own mount. "Here is suitable, my lady," he told her before breaking off again to begin organizing their forces.

Aislinn and her party stopped in the middle of the meadow as the Darrowlands soldiers formed ranks on either side. Within a few short moments, they spanned the entire meadow, blocking the road and cutting off any easy passage toward the city.

As her troops formed up behind her, Aislinn tried not to fidget. The hauberk and cuirass encasing her torso were heavy and unfamiliar, and she had an incessant itch on her shoulder she couldn't get to. She was glad of the protection the armor offered, but she felt strange inside it, as though it was finally acknowledging the threat that came for her today.

Nerves jittering in her stomach, Aislinn looked to Hakon, her steadfast halfling. He was already looking up at her, his face grim but determined. He wore a complement of boiled leather armor—gorget, cuirass, greaves, and vambraces—with a sash of Darrow blue from shoulder to hip. A war hammer sat strapped to his back, and an array of knives, daggers, and a short sword hung from his belt.

He looked positively dangerous, but his touch was gentle when she reached out her hand for his. They both wore gloves, and Aislinn missed the feel of his skin on hers, yet his warmth seeped through the leather.

Then the ground beneath them began to tremble.

Aislinn's horse shifted nervously beneath her, and she had to pull her hand away to soothe the animal.

Over the next rise, a figure appeared. Then another, another, a whole line of them, from one side of the meadow to the other.

Heart jumping into her throat, Aislinn watched as a mounted force descended into the meadow on its opposite side.

A hand covered hers, and Aislinn squeezed it. She shared a look with Sorcha, glad of her friend's support but also wishing she wasn't here, in danger. Aislinn wished none of them were, that none of this was necessary, but the time for wishing was far past.

Her heart raced as she watched the mercenaries draw closer, more and more of them coming over the hill. She thought perhaps they were comparable in number to her forces, but more of them were mounted than her own. Their journey from the Strait had to be swift, before Gleanná could summon a force great enough to stop them.

The rumble of troops grew louder, the ground quaking, and birds leapt from the trees into the skies, cawing in fright. Her horse's ears swiveled back and forth, and the creature nuzzled Sorcha's horse for comfort.

Her army stood stalwart behind her, watching the enemy draw near in silence.

When the last mercenaries had made it over the rise, Aislinn was fairly confident that their forces were evenly matched in number. She had to trust that her fighters were of better caliber and put her faith in the tactical mind of Captain Aodhan.

First, though…

A rider broke off from the main mercenary force, trotting out into the middle of the open meadow. Aislinn didn't need to hear the voice that called out to know it was her brother.

"Sister, I would have a word!"

Hakon snorted in disgust beside her, and she had to agree. Her brother hadn't changed and never would, always demanding without ever giving.

But if Aislinn could end this without bloodshed, she would.

She gathered her reins, prepared to meet her brother.

Hakon snatched her saddle pommel, his face a rictus of terror. "No," he growled.

"I will hear terms, as is customary. Both parties are safe during a parley."

"I don't fucking trust him."

"I don't either." She squeezed his hand before pulling it off her pommel. "But I'll see what he has to say for himself. Please, you must stay here." She couldn't bear it if he was hurt in another of her brother's treacheries.

Aislinn nodded to Allarion and Orek standing beside Hakon. Each man took hold of one of Hakon's arms, keeping him in place when Aislinn gently nudged her horse forward.

His outrage shook the meadow. "Aislinn," he roared, " Aislinn! "

"I have to do this," she murmured to herself.

She rode forth at a steady pace, blinking back tears to hear how Hakon fought the other men to be free and go with her. She vowed this would be the last time she ever denied him a place beside her. For the rest of their lives, wherever she went, he would go—never to be apart.

This, though—Jerrod was her brother, her responsibility. Her mistake.

Jerrod sat waiting, and if she hadn't already known it was him, she might have mistaken him for someone else. Drawing closer didn't offer more recognition, only underscored how very much her brother had transformed.

His hair and beard were unkempt, almost scraggly. His gray eyes, their mother's eyes, his most striking feature, were sunken and hollow but somehow overbright. He'd always had a finely carved face, with high cheekbones and a cut jaw, but his contours were too sharp, too concave. He bore the look of a starving wolf in the ravages of winter, hungry and desperate.

The sight of him struck her with a fear she'd never known.

For all that she and her people had planned, she hadn't counted on the very sight of him upsetting her so greatly. That he could look at her like she was a bug to be trampled beneath his boot.

He won't talk terms.

She could see it even now.

Still, she decided to listen when he began to talk. Jerrod always was fond of talking—or perhaps, more accurately, of hearing his own voice.

"You're brave to meet me, sister. I thought you'd be behind the highest walls of Dundúran."

"And you're foolish to bring mercenaries here, brother. It seems we actually know very little of each other."

Jerrod's lips thinned. "I take it that since you're here to greet me and not father that he isn't here. On another campaign south, I suppose?"

"Perhaps father is here, lying in wait."

Jerrod made a show of chuckling. "You always were a poor liar, Aislinn. I know father isn't here."

"You wouldn't be brave enough to try this otherwise."

His face hardened. "My qualm isn't with father, not truly. It's with you."

"And what have I done now, Jerrod?" she sighed. They'd had this argument before, many times. Usually he was drunk or had been the night before, but this argument all the same. It was somehow even more pitiable to have it when there was an army at his back.

"You took everything from me. I am father's heir. I am to be Liege Darrow."

"I took nothing, Jerrod. Father stripped you of your position because of what you did. If you actually wanted to be Liege Darrow, you should've thought of that before behaving like a spoiled child."

Color rose in Jerrod's cheeks, and his eyes darkened in a way Aislinn knew well. But set in that haggard face, a bolt of fright skittered down her spine.

"You could've refused it! You could've defended me, your brother! But no, you side with anyone else and turn me away."

"I sided with Sorcha, my friend, whom you wronged in the worst way. What you did to her was reprehensible and beyond forgiveness."

"And what about you? Forsaking your own kin for a commoner? Admit it, this is what you've always wanted. Clinging to mother's skirts then to father's."

"Jerrod, how many times must I say that our parents loved us equally?"

Her brother snorted with derision. She couldn't help but agree, although she'd never admit it. But then, Jerrod had made himself so difficult to love. Willful, arrogant, and often prickly, he thought he deserved love and loyalty without question or recompense.

"And what have you ever done for me, Jerrod?" she blurted, tired of this already. "You say I have no love for you, that I stole from you—what have you done for me, then?"

He reared back as if slapped, his astonishment so profound that Aislinn was offended. The thought probably hadn't ever crossed his mind, not in a long while, anyway.

"The position you so passionately argue for now meant nothing to you. You never performed your duties. You never cared about the people or the running of the demesne. I saw to the castle. I attended the meetings and hosted the banquets. I did everything, Jerrod. I've been heiress long before I was named it."

For a moment, her brother had no response other than to stare at her. Aislinn relished his stupor, her righteous anger making her brave.

"Dundúran, the Darrowlands, they're mine . My responsibility, my life. I won't let you march mercenaries into my city. I won't let you threaten my people and destroy their lives." Using her reins, she drew their horses parallel so Jerrod had to look at her when she declared, "The Darrowlands and its people are irreplaceable, but your pride is cheap. Go, Jerrod. Go far away and never come back."

His breath steamed from his parted lips, and he glowered at her with such malice, such loathing that Aislinn knew, in that moment, that only one of them would survive the day.

Her heart broke as her brother glared at her with all the hate and rage he'd felt throughout his life. He looked a boy to her, the boy she'd once known and pitied, but that wasn't the man glaring at her now. The boy she'd known and pitied had long since perished.

The sound of heavy hoof-falls broke the dark spell weaving between them, and Aislinn looked up with alarm as a big mercenary cantered for them.

An outraged cry rang out from her own troops, but Aislinn held her head up to meet the man.

He was large, his shoulders and chest wide like a blacksmith's, and his hands scarred from many fights. His nose had clearly been broken and reset badly at least once, and a scar bisected his tanned cheek.

"Dirk, I presume." He looked just as Connor had described him.

The mercenary smiled cheekily at her, revealing a missing front tooth.

"Milady," he said, bobbing his head. "We've come to take your castle." His look darkened with menace when he turned it on Jerrod. "What's taking so long?"

Aislinn watched in surprise as Jerrod curled in on himself, his shoulders rolling forward as if to make himself smaller. He wouldn't meet the other man's gaze and turned his face to the side.

"She won't meet terms," Jerrod said, almost meekly compared to how he'd spoken to Aislinn.

"You haven't given me any yet."

Dirk growled with annoyance and slapped Jerrod's shoulder hard. Her brother nearly lost his seat, his knuckles going white as he clutched the pommel to steady himself.

"We want the city and everything in it. That's what we were promised."

Aislinn observed her brother and the mercenary, gaze flicking between them. Dirk stared back at her, all swaggering confidence, and with every movement, Jerrod cowered away.

"I'm surprised you'd take promises as payment," said Aislinn, her mind whirring. It was abundantly clear with Dirk present now that Jerrod wasn't the person to speak with. Somewhere in his foolish dealings, he'd lost control of the situation.

Jerrod's eyes flicked up to her, and Aislinn understood the desperation there. Once more, she saw not a man but a boy in trouble, caught in a situation far over his head.

But Aislinn couldn't and wouldn't save him again.

"We'll take more than just promises. A city like Dundúran, it's too big of a prize."

"You won't hold it for long. The crown would never let mercenaries keep the demesne seat. I won't let you, either."

Another set of hooves pounded the earth, and Aislinn's horse shifted to make room for Captain Aodhan's mount.

"We wouldn't be breaking the terms of parley, would we?" sniped the captain.

"Fuck off, knight. I'm dealing with the lady."

"Now you're dealing with the lady and her captain."

Dirk's look darkened again.

"What would it take to make you and your men go away?" she asked, drawing his attention back to her.

The mercenary smiled an oily smile. "Far more than you can pay, I reckon."

"A number, please."

"All your larder, all your coin—" he licked his bottom lip as his eyes trailed down her body "—and your pretty cunt spread for me."

"How dare you?" Captain Aodhan roared.

Dirk laughed, spreading a grimy feeling over Aislinn at the thought of letting him anywhere near her.

"No," she said simply. "My terms are these—leave now. Leave with your lives and make for the border, before the crown has you all hanged."

That earned her only a snort from the mercenary. "Don't think we'll be doing that, milady."

"I warn you, my forces match your own, if not outnumber them. And they aren't all human."

That got their attention. The mirth fell from Dirk's face, and Jerrod's gaze snapped over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing to try picking out the otherly fighters.

In the silence, she thought she could just hear Hakon, still struggling to get to her.

"Do you see that orc? The one fighting to be free? He's my betrothed, and he means to rend you all limb from limb. I don't mean to let him, of course. Unless we can't come to an agreement."

Jerrod paled, and both men looked at her with disgust.

"Orc-slut," Jerrod hissed. "The both of you."

Aislinn sneered back. "Better than a sniveling coward."

"There's a fae and a unicorn, too," Captain Aodhan announced loudly, enough that the mercenaries in the front lines could hear. "And a dragon. Do you really want to fight against all of that for a little lordling who couldn't hold his own seat?"

Jerrod shifted in his saddle, his gaze gone nervous as he looked from Aislinn's troops to Dirk and back again. Dirk himself glowered, reluctantly looking around Aodhan to see what he could.

"Fuck it," he growled, "just kill her here!"

With a boot, he kicked Aodhan's horse in the neck, sending it recoiling to the side. With his paw of a hand, he reached for Aislinn, quicker than a whip, his fist closing round her forearm. He pulled her nearly out of the saddle, her feet slipping free of the stirrups.

Shouts rang out from either side, and the whiz of arrows flew through the air. Horses screamed as the arrows lodged in the soft ground near them. Both sides charged forward, shaking the earth with the pounding of hundreds of feet.

Aislinn clawed at the arm that held her, heart thudding with fear when she saw Dirk go for a knife at his belt. She had her own, but it felt so far away, so impossible to reach and react faster than this blackguard.

"Aislinn, down! "

She heard Hakon's thunderous roar through the cacophony.

Just need a moment—buy yourself a moment!

Grabbing Dirk's arm, she threw herself from the saddle as dead weight.

The mercenary yelped, his horse bucking and leaping with fright. It crashed into Jerrod's mount, and together, the three of them tumbled to the ground.