32. Aldrin

Chapter 32

Aldrin

I sigh a breath of relief as we are enveloped by the Worshippers for Peace. The assassin’s blades of light still slam into our shields, and they must be mad, present in large numbers or truly desperate, if they are willing to awaken the temple precinct.

“We make our stand here.” I growl.

The air hums and the hair on my arms prickle, as the Worshippers for Peace thread their magic in layers upon our shields. We form a single dome that arches over all of us.

They don’t ask a single question.

They don’t care who we are and who our enemy is.

All the Worshippers for Peace see is that we are being attacked, and they will fight for our right to peace. Their temple gives refuge to any who ask for it, criminal or not.

The enemy’s onslaught keeps cracking our shields, trying to find a way in, and it takes focus to keep building up this defense.

“We don’t know how many of them there are,” Silvan barks. “They could overwhelm even the worshippers.”

“Can’t exactly turn our backs and run,” Klara says. “Not when their blades can weaken and penetrate our shields, and we cannot heal the poisons on their tips. ”

A chant rises from the Worshippers for Peace, now arranged in a full circle around us. The balcony beneath our feet groans and shudders as thick branches rise out of the railing encircling it, from the very platform itself, and a cage grows over us.

A strangled cry leaves Keira. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she is okay, then turn to the onslaught above us.

An assassin leaps through the air, base jumping toward a closing gap in the branches above me. His inky robes fly out behind him in tendrils, and shadows twist and twirl around him. He moves so fast, cloaked in darkness itself, it becomes incredibly difficult to track his movements.

I grab hold of brambles and pump my magic into them, whipping out the huge, woody arms toward the assassin. Trying to snare them in my trap. The assassin darts around and through it easily.

This is their strength, flying about in open spaces with such speed they are difficult to catch.

I throw those spiky branches at him again and again, recruiting more foliage until there are a dozen whipping cords for him to weave through. He lands on the canopy directly above me, and slices the ward between us with his longsword, shattering it instantly. The assassin moves too fast for the Worshippers of Peace to close the gap in our wooden cage. For me to drop one thread of earth magic and create another.

The assassin throws a knife at my chest, readying another.

I pluck the first out of the air with a swiftly growing vine, which shrivels to dust immediately as its flesh is pierced. I don’t have the space to wield my sword.

I throw a dagger at him, but the assassin is gone and back again, dodging the knife easily, getting ready to toss another of his own. I try to grab him with the dozens of brambles around the assassin, but they shatter with a roaring intensity, and a sharp gust of air sends hundreds of spikes into his body.

Keira and Caitlin each hold an arm stretched out toward him, the echo of the weave still connecting a line of magic from them to the brambles. They pooled their power .

The assassin’s body slides off the side of the cage and free falls into the bowels of the city.

I take in a jagged breath. It all happened within a few heartbeats.

Keira’s legs give out beneath her, and I catch her with an arm around the waist and lower her to the ground. Her eyes are glazed and distant, and her magic is completely spent.

Caitlin still sways on her feet and Klara helps to lower her.

My every instinct roars at me to keep her safe. To protect her behind my body, but I alone am the assassin’s target and that would put her in the line of fire. Both Drake and Klara drag the sisters into the protective center of the circle and work on regenerating some of their reserves..

I face the battle once more. The woody cage around is still intact, now a fine mesh with holes the size of my thumb. The airshield upon it is even finer, dotted with daggers.

A rain of white needles falls upon us, so thick I cannot see anything beyond it. The wards shatter the barbs of light at first, but then they begin to pierce the shield, their length sticking deeper and deeper into our defense. The walls become a pincushion.

“We cannot wait here.” I pace.

“It is near impossible to fight hand-to-hand with an assassin and survive.” Silvan growls back. “We cannot leave.”

“Our forces are at a disadvantage here. I will rip apart the city if I move the bedrock or disturb the trees too much.” I growl.

The robed Worshippers of Peace take up their chanting again, and as it reaches a crescendo, the wards shatter completely. A great woosh of air propels the needle embedded pieces away from us, impaling an assassin who had been lunging toward us. His body contorts as he is thrown backward into a building, then falls from these heights.

The rain momentarily pauses.

Twenty Worshippers of Peace step out of our fortifications, then fresh wards snap into place. They are near suicidal in their protection of peace. They draw long swords from their backs in unison, then leap into the air, riding growing branches under their control, toward three assassins .

Worshippers of Peace and assassins fly through the air around us, fighting and leaping off hardened air or vegetation. Sparks fly off swords as they clash. The screeching of metal on metal is almost deafening.

I bark orders at my people, some to focus on strengthening that shield, others to thrust away any blades of light and poison that arc toward us, and the rest with me, trying to catch those agents of death in a grip of thorny brambles.

It is difficult to see the battle raging beyond that intermittent rain of deadly projectiles, but each time the assassins are completely engaged in combat with the Worshippers of Peace, the onslaught stops.

It tells me that there isn’t another assassin lurking elsewhere, controlling those needles.

My attention zones in on three worshippers fighting a single assassin. I weave a spider web thin network of branches all around them. One worshipper swings their sword in a low, disembowelling swipe, sending the assassin staging backward on steps of air to avoid it. Another takes a lunge at his hamstrings, but the assassin leaps upwards, somersaulting in the air, right into my near-invisible network.

My power rushes into those brambles.

In seconds, they thicken by ten times, and razor-sharp thorns blast out in rapid growth along them. The assassin is torn apart in their tangle.

The rain of poisoned projectiles falling upon us lessens.

The blood rushes in my ears as I search for the other two assassins. A Worshipper for Peace falls from the air before my scanning gaze, their golden robe streaked with red, followed by another. The assassin who took them out only has two more warriors pairing with him.

I set up the same trap as before, and use a few thicker tendrils to block the assassin’s attacks. To snag an ankle or wrist and pull open his defenses. I tug the assassin off balance for a single moment, and a worshipper cleaves him in half with a swing of her huge battle axe.

More Worshippers of Peace fall through the air, their limp bodies arching in their descent into the darkness and their robes fluttering around them. A constant stream of worshippers run out of the temple to join our original protectors, and more slip out of our protections to join the battle.

The final assassin runs along the roof of our fortification, dropping bombs of light and raw energy in his wake. The entire balcony shakes with each blinding blast, and I am forced to half crouch to keep my footing. My ears ring with a high-pitched whine and a crack resounds around us.

The wards have been breached. I can feel the fissure in them, but I cannot see a damned thing. My entire vision is saturated with pure light. I blink and blink again.

Sight returns and that assassin is running straight for me. I take grasp of the cage of branches around us and slam all those woody limbs straight into him, like a hammer striking an anvil. At the same moment, I wield hands of air to pluck my people right out of my way, placing them roughly back onto their feet. In a fraction of a second before the assassin’s body crushes, he throws a thick blade of poisoned light.

It’s fast trajectory flies straight for my chest.

Time slows to an impossible speed, each breath lasting a lifetime. I raise an arm, but I know the blade will pierce the plates in my armor and any shield I can throw up.

The assassin didn’t try to save himself. Instead he poured all of his power into that final blow. A drop of that poison in my blood could slowly kill me.

I try to turn my chest away from the path of that blade rippling with lightning, but I am too slow.

The bulk of Drake’s body flies in front of me, and the dagger pierces his right shoulder, tossing his weight straight into me. Drake crumples into my arms, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“No, no, no!” My heart squeezes painfully enough I think it might burst. I fall to the ground and cradle him in my lap.

The scream that leaves Klara is blood-curdling. She is immediately upon us, her hands shaking as she touches Drake’s face. “No! Gods, Drake, no!”

That shaft of light that was so solid and deadly a moment ago, completely disintegrates, and thick blood gurgles out of the wound. I rip away the fabric, to reveal flesh already turning black around the wound.

“Someone grab me the assassin’s pouch!” Klara screams over her shoulder. “Grab me the damned pouch!” Droplets of water fall on Drake’s face. Klara’s tears. I run my hands through my hair. I have never felt more useless.

Caitlin rushes over with the pouch clutched in her hand and Klara riffles through it immediately. The rest of my people encircle us in a protective ring, weapons at the ready and scanning the air for more attacks. I frantically look for Keira, but she is safe. Standing amongst my warriors without a scrap of blood on her.

“Does anyone see any more assassins?” I bark out.

The predawn seeps a silver glow across the sky and melts away the thick shadows.

“It is all clear,” Silvan says.

Drake moans, and it ends in a gurgled sound. I whip my head back down to him, head and shoulders still cradled in my hands. There is so much blood coating his clothes, and his usually bronze skin has become pale. Klara pulls items out of the pouch, cursing as she goes and tossing things over her shoulder.

“There has to be an antidote in here,” she mutters. “Surely they have one for themselves.”

I feel utterly helpless, watching his life drain away from him as the poison inhibits his ability to heal.

Klara pulls out a vial and tears the stopper from it with her teeth. She pours the liquid of pure darkness into that deep wound, and Drake instantly bucks. His back arches, chest rises from the ground and legs kicking as though they are trying to find purchase.

“Hold him still!” Klara yells and I press him down by the waist and good shoulder.

She uses up all of that antidote on the wound. The blackness of the flesh recedes, but doesn’t completely disappear. She then crudely stitches the wound back together, pulling a needle and thread from her own belongings.

We each hold our hands over Drake in turns, feeding our healing powers and raw magic into him until we have almost nothing left, but it is like tossing water down a drain. The poison in the wound burns it up.

It is Caitlin who forces us to stop, placing a hand on Klara’s shoulder. “There is no point burning through all your reserves now, when we still need to get him out of here.”

Keira brings us bandages and tightly binds the wound. Drake’s eyes are wide open, and he hisses through all of it, while I pour a concoction of alcohol spirits and a drug for the pain between his lips when he can take it.

The shakes in Klara’s hands steady as he becomes more alert. “The assassin’s antidote isn’t designed for fae outside of their order,” she says. “They ingest small amounts of their poisons every day to build their tolerance. This dose will only buy Drake time. We need to get him to the healing waters of the Living Lagoon.”

I nod, still on my knees, holding the man who saved my life.

Silvan and Hawthorne fashion a stretcher of wood from branches to carry him in. I rise to my feet and go straight to Keira, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing the top of her head. Her frozen hands brush the back of my neck and her entire body shivers. She is in shock.

“Are you okay?” I murmur into her ear. “Were you hurt? Depleted?”

“I’m okay,” she says, but looks like a slight breeze could knock her over.

My entire being screams to make her feel safe again, but the dangers of this night aren’t over yet.

I whisper to her. “I promise I will make this up to you.” Keira nods, then pulls away.

“We need to keep moving,” I say to my people. “More assassins could arrive at any moment.” I glance up at the sky and hope to whichever gods are listening that the Assassins of Belladonna stay true to reputation and do not attack in the light of day.

I turn toward a leader among the Worshippers of Peace. “Can I request your protection to the God’s Gate?”

The woman nods. “All who pass through the Temple Sanctum will have their peace protected.” The others of his order murmur the exact same words, in many voices, male and female.

We jump at shadows, at any movement in the early morning, as we descend the many staircases and transverse platforms. There are few signs of life around us, except the odd scuttling of puka scaling the faces of buildings and the gurgling of streams ending in waterfalls. The sound of dozens of boots crashing upon wood and stone announces our position for blocks, but there is no helping it.

The God’s Gate stands at the base of the temple precinct, a huge yawning mouth of ribbed gold, with dainty gates adorned with swirling patterns. Beyond is the view of an open plane reaching from the foot of the city to the wilds of the forest. The plane holds the tombstones of the dead, and many portals that once connected to the realm of the gods and the humans.

Dozens of figures step out of the nearest temple, blocking our path to the gate. I almost unleash the might of my wrath upon them, until Cyprien’s grim form steps out in front of us. The black braids of his hair shimmer in the early morning sun, the golden beads within it flashing light.

I let out a long breath, then close the distance between us. I take the hand he extends toward me, but pull him into a hug instead. Cyprien stiffens, then pats me on the back.

“Are you okay?” I ask, holding him at arm’s length by the shoulders.

“I have survived worse,” he says in a dry tone. “You?”

“Likewise.” I shake my head. “I was attacked in the palace, and then again while fleeing through the city. We fought them off, but I don’t know how many more will come. And Drake has been poisoned.”

Cyprien’s eyes slide over to Drake, taking in his condition. His lips compress into a thin line. “The Assassins of Belladonna will not stop hunting you, until you kill the person that hired them or you convince her to cancel the order. It will be incredibly difficult for you to do either from exile.”

“I know.” Every muscle in my body is taught with that knowledge. Cyprien opens his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. “I will not start a military coup or civil war within the city. Especially with little preparation. I will not kill Titania, not before I convince the people of her guilt.”

Cyprien scratches his jaw. “I thought you would say as much. It means you cannot remain here. What is your next move?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “The exact thing you were thinking when you suggested we meet at this gate.” I turn from Cyprien and address our combined people. “We will go back to the Frozen River Fortress. It is defensible against the assassins. Titania will call off her order when it becomes widely known, or at least rumored, that she tried to kill me. I will hold court from there and make the people who come to me witness the rifts.”

They stare at me for a long moment, then nod. They would follow me to the ends of this realm and into the voids themselves.

“It is going to be a hard journey, because we are going to run there the entire way.” I search Cyprien’s guards until I find the kelpies. “Kai, Freya and Iris if you could take Keira, Caitlin, and Drake.” Kai gives me a curt nod. “When we reach the fortress, you continue on with Drake and Klara, and take him to the healing waters of the Living Lagoon.”

I help pull Drake onto Freya’s back and tie him in place with ropes of vines. He groans out in pain with each movement, and his breaths are shallow, but they are also regular. That wound has stopped bleeding, but it is still puckered and the black tendrils slowly grow out from it.

I spend a stolen moment checking on Keira. Her sister has both arms wrapped around her shoulders and speaks to her in urgent whispers, as she shakes uncontrollably. Her eyes have trouble focusing on me. I want to kiss away the fear in them.

“We’ll get through this, I promise you. I will keep you safe,” I say .

Caitlin steps back to give us space. Keira’s hands roam all over my chest, as though she is still trying to convince herself that I am alive. “So much death, and for what, Aldrin? Why did those worshippers have to die? This wasn’t their fight. And those assassins? Was it for money?” She pulls away from me. “They could have killed you, Aldrin, so easily while you slept. They could have killed us both. And I—” She throws a hand to her mouth. “Oh gods, I killed two men tonight.”

“You did what you needed to, Keira. Gods, you saved my life twice tonight. If you are keeping numbers, hold onto that one.” I peer down into her eyes and run a finger over her lips. “I need you to be strong for me Keira, can you do that? Kai will carry you, and we will be in the safety of the fortress before you know it.”

She nods, still dazed. It kills me to lift her up onto the kelpie’s back, and watch her wrap her arms around his torso instead of mine.

With a swift thanks to the Worshippers of Peace, we leave the capital through the God’s Gate. Jittery tremors run through my muscles, screaming to fight, to swing my sword, as cruel anticipation pounds through me. We race through the open field of portals beyond, half expecting an attack at any time. But it doesn’t come.

I set a brutal pace through the forest, only taking short breaks for food, drink and rest. I use them to sit with Keira and hold her against my chest, her legs tangled with mine. She has never seen the brutality of a true battle, and all the fear and gore that comes with it. I pull back her hair while she vomits.

I hate that her innocence was broken on my account. That I couldn’t protect her from witnessing such violent death. A battle is so very different from a hunt.

When night falls, we make camp within a Watchtower Tree and the nymphs stand as our guards while we try to catch some sleep. It is no use. We all jolt at shadows and more than one of us has night terrors, waking the rest.

To my surprise, Keira sleeps solidly, held tightly in my arms while I keep an unintentional vigil over her. When she wakes, she appears as tired and ragged as I feel, with deep grooves under her eyes.

She looks at me with such sadness, it breaks my heart and sets my blood to ice. I have lost her. I know it to the depths of my soul. Maybe I never had her, and I was a fool for trying to keep her.

I have nothing to offer Keira. No home. No safety. Definitely not a crown. I am a man on the run. What right do I have to love?

We reach the Frozen River Fortress the next day, right as the sun hovers over the horizon and dusk threatens.

I bark orders, and my people scramble to see my will done. This fort can be defended against the worst of odds. There are magic plinths installed throughout the site that need powering up. Their wards cast an immense, domed shield across the entire fortress, defending against aerial attack. The act will almost completely drain each of us, but Odiane will aid us.

People rush around me in a mad flurry, every one of them with their orders, but I only have eyes for Keira. Both sisters slide from the kelpies’ backs, so the low fae can continue on to the healing water with Drake.

I want to scoop Keira up into my arms, to hold her close and never let her go, but she turns and embraces the man half of Kai. An expression of shock passes over his features. His eyebrows shoot up and his arms hang limply for a few heartbeats, before awkwardly wrapping around her, as though he isn’t quite sure where to put them.

“Oh Kai, thank you.” Keira’s voice is muffled. “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t get emotional on me, human.” He pats her hair.

Keira embraces Klara. “I am glad you were able to speak to your son again,” she murmurs, then places a light kiss on Drake’s forehead, receiving an unintelligible, mumbled response from him. She looks at them all with such sorrow as they leave for the healing waters, like she will never see them again.

My entire chest tightens with pain as foreboding fills me. I have to force myself to be still, when I only want to bundle her up in my arms, because I get the feeling she doesn’t want my touch right now.

Keira finally turns to me. We are the only two left in the courtyard. She wraps her arms around her, as though she tries to hold in the pieces of herself. Her eyes are hooded with shadows and a sad frown pinches her brow.

The sight of her pain cuts through me. “Come here, Keira,” I reach for her. She steps back. “Speak to me. How can I fix this?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m sorry I put you in so much danger. That you are terrified. I will do better, I promise. I won’t be blindsided again.” My fingers brush strands of hair like spun gold and liquid rubies from her face.

Keira shudders in a breath. “I’m so sorry, Aldrin.”

“Sorry?” I ask in confusion, taking a step closer. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

She pulls away from me. Tears form at the corners of her eyes. “I want you to take me back to the portal. I am going home, Aldrin. Back to my realm. It is where I belong.”

The world spins around me as reality itself seems to shudder. I knew this was coming, but I never believed it. My blood turns to ice. I cannot imagine a life without her in it. I don’t want that life.

Cold sweat breaks all over my skin and a deep chill runs down my spine, at the look of sheer determination in her eyes. That dagger in my heart twists and I could fall to my knees for the pain of it. My throat seems to close up, and the simple task of breathing is much too hard.

She was always going to leave me, but somewhere down the line I had hoped I was enough to make her stay.

I search her face, trying to spot the lie, needing to know that she doesn’t really want to return. That she needs me as much as I need her. Tears run freely from the corners of her eyes, making tracks down her face and pooling into her hair, but she doesn’t become the sobbing mess I fear I am seconds away from descending into.

Maybe she already cried all her tears.

“Take me back to the portal, Aldrin,” she half-whispers and my heart absolutely shatters. “I am going home.”

In my lifetime, I have been stabbed, burnt, turned into a pincushion with arrows, but no physical wound has ever hurt this much.