Chapter 18

V aeril and Naril are suddenly surrounding me, taking defensive positions, and I realise what their distracted expressions were moments ago—they were obviously hearing something farther away with their fae hearing. With one crouched in front, and another protecting my back, they scan the tent for any immediate threats, their instincts going into high alert. Daggers drawn and teeth bared, they look feral. As my eyes run over my mate, although my heart is pounding inside my chest, that newly bonded part of me can't help but admire his strength. I want to run my tongue along his—

"Now is not the time, Alina ," he chides as he continues his scan of the tent, and I realise I've been blasting my thoughts right down the bond. Mother above. Please tell me Grayson didn't hear that , I pray, scolding myself for being inappropriate. Glancing over his shoulder, Vaeril runs his eyes over me as if reassuring himself that I'm okay, and he flashes me a quick smile. "But if we live through this, remind me of those thoughts later."

Revna is still in the tent and staring at me like she's torn between duty and heart. Her gaze goes to my elves and then to Tor, hardening when she looks at my tribesman. "Tor, stay with my niece," she commands, and something passes between them. "You know what you need to do."

"Yes, Chief," he replies, placing his closed fist to his chest and bowing his head in a show of respect.

With one last look at me, Revna turns and exits the tent, shouting directions as people run by.

There's a moment of silence as we all pause, staring at each other. The only sounds are from outside, but it's like they're separate, muffled. The pounding of feet on hard ground, shouting, and noises from many people all gathered together doesn't seem real in these precious few seconds where it's just us.

The spell is broken when someone shouts just outside the tent. Tor blinks and strides over to us, looking down at me with a stern expression as he takes in my flimsy riding dress. Unlike Tor, I'm not dressed for battle. "Can you fight?"

Swallowing the sudden lump at the back of my throat, I nod. "I can defend myself hand-to-hand."

This apparently isn't the answer he was looking for, because his body tenses and he bounces on the balls of his feet. "Weapons?"

Eldrin and I had only just started training with weapons back at Galandell, and I was still working on my defensive training. It seemed like the best plan at the time, but I'm beginning to regret not learning any offensive weapons. "I'm okay with a staff." My voice is tight, and I'm not too proud to say I'm afraid. Feeling my fear through the bond, Vaeril snarls, the low vibrations making the hair on my arms stand on end.

Tor groans and rubs his hands over his face, glancing over his shoulder at the tent entrance as another shout sounds. "That will have to do, come." Gesturing for us to follow him, we leave the tent. As soon as we exit, Tor takes an immediate left into a smaller but no less opulent tent. We aren't outside for long, but the whole atmosphere of the camp has changed.

"No one will get near her," Vaeril growls, as he ushers me into the tent, Naril close behind. My eyes widen as I look around. It's an armoury, but there are weapons here like I've never seen before—all shapes, sizes, colours, and materials.

"Agreed, but it's better to be prepared," Tor replies, as he strides farther into the tent. He heads straight to the back wall, examining a row of what look like spears. "We stick together," he instructs, his tone leaving no room for argument. The elves nod in agreement. Pulling something from the wall, he walks over and holds it out to me. "Try this."

I take the staff, surprised by how light it is. It looks like metal, but it's far lighter than I was expecting. I'm used to fighting with plain wood, but this is much more ornate and decorative. Taking a few steps away from Tor, I give it a few swings, surprised by how easily I can move with it. I'll have to adjust my fighting stance a little, but it's a good length for me, not too long where it's going to hit the ground, and light enough that I can use one hand if I need to. I'm certainly no expert, but this will give me a chance if I was separated from the others.

Tor's watching me with approval, and when I look up, he smiles slightly. "Good, you have more skill than I expected, and the staff is a good fit." Striding over to the huge table in the center of the tent, he picks up a large sword and sheath and straps it to his back.

"What a lovely compliment," Naril comments, as he lovingly strokes the edge of an axe at the other end of the tent while slipping a jewelled dagger into his pocket.

"We are being attacked, we don't have time for compliments," Tor retorts, but he glances at me as he says it, and I give him a small smile to show him I don't mind. I get it, his people are under attack, and he's stuck with me. Turning to the elves, he gestures to the table. "Take what you need."

Vaeril brushes aside his jacket and reveals a hidden sheath. Reaching in, he pulls out a beautiful blade carved with elvish runes along the flat of the blade. The sharp side of the blade looks like a flame, the edges ridged and rippling, almost like it's moving. My eyebrows rise as I look from the weapon to him. I knew he was carrying weapons on him, and I know he's got several others, but I've never seen that one before. "We never travel anywhere without weapons." He grins at me as he speaks, winking before returning the blade to its sheath and pulling out the twin daggers at his hips. "Besides, elven weaponry is far superior." He tosses the two daggers up into the air, and they seem to glow a faint green. I sense magic before they land in his hands. The elves' magic has always been a bit of an enigma to me, but it seems to be centered around their weaponry.

Tor finishes strapping weapons to himself and looks fierce as he glances around at us. "Are we all ready?" It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes since Revna came into the tent to tell us we were under attack, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Looking around at the three of them, I pray to the Mother that we are strong enough to survive this. "We stay in a triangle formation. Clarissa is in the middle," my tribesman directs, and I want to protest, to tell him that I don't want anyone to put themselves at risk because of me, but I know it's pointless.

Taking point, Tor leads the way, and we leave the relative safety of the tent, hurrying away from the ceremonial stones as the sun begins to set behind us. Following Tor, I hear the sound of fighting in the distance, but we head in a different direction. "We have strategies for attacks like this. I'm to take you to a safe place," he tells me as we hurry along stone paths, jumping over low stone walls and past tents. We pass a couple of bloodied tribesmen as we go, but we still continue on. I'm just beginning to wonder if we're actually going to leave the camp when we come to a sudden stop.

Instantly, I know something is wrong. The atmosphere is buzzing with a thick, sticky aura that makes me nauseous. Tor's whole body has stiffened, his hand hovering over his sheathed axe as he looks around. We're in a small, circular clearing with tents facing inward, and it's obviously some sort of meeting place, but it's completely empty.

"We were supposed to meet them here," he says in a low voice, and that's when I realise that things aren't going according to plan. We are far away from the fighting now. In fact, I can hardly hear it above the pounding of my heart and the harshness of my heavy breathing. Clutching the staff in my hand, I'm suddenly glad it's not made of wood as I'm sure I'd snap it clean in half. Tor was right to give me a weapon, and I'm really thankful that he thought to give me one. If I'm about to die, I want to go down fighting for freedom for my mates and me.

"Someone's coming," Vaeril announces, his supernatural hearing picking up what we have yet to hear, and although we have no way of knowing for sure, we all know it's not the tribes. I sense it the same way I just knew that something big was going to happen in the forest when Grayson found us, except this time, it's not going to be a friend that greets us. None of this has gone to plan, we've been separated from everyone else, herded.

"Lots of people," Naril helpfully adds, stepping in behind me as they tighten the protective triangle around me. They don't say as much, but their actions tell me one thing—somehow, they've managed to surround us, which gives away something about our attackers. They're fast and silent, fae of some sort. My bet would be elves, but until they show themselves, we won't know for sure.

Everything goes silent. I can feel their eyes on us, I know they're out there, but for some reason, they've stopped. Is it a tactical move? Are they trying to make us panic and rush into making a rash decision? Are they buying themselves more time? Or is it purely to show they have the upper hand? Tor barely moves from his position in front of me, and for a moment, I'm worried about him, but when I place a hand on the small of his back, he angles his body slightly towards me, never taking his eyes off the area where we know the enemy is waiting, but I can see an excited gleam in his eyes. He's enthusiastic. I remember what I was told about the mountain tribes, about how they train from a young age to fight, about how they gain glory from battling and defeating their enemies. In reality, there probably is some part of Tor that will enjoy fighting and defending his territory.

"Do we know who it is yet?" I ask in a low voice.

Tor shakes his head, but it's Vaeril who answers. "Not for sure, but I have a good idea. Whoever it is, they know how far we're able to see and are standing just beyond." I look at him over my shoulder. His mouth is set in a grim line, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am—elves. If it's elves we're about to fight, then the queen has found us, and somehow managed to march an army here almost silently. Also, if this is the queen's doing, Vaeril is going to have to fight his own people. A wave of nausea washes over me again, not because I doubt that he will do it, but because I know he will , and that's because of me.

"Somethings happening," Naril whispers, and I shift from foot to foot, preparing to move when the fighting starts and trust my fae instincts.

In the distance, I see movement. At first, it's difficult to tell what it is, just a dark mass, then bodies but no individual features. It's not until I hear Vaeril's low curse that I realise something is wrong, or at least, more wrong than being surrounded by your own people. "What is it?" My words are quiet, and I don't take my eyes from the elves making their way towards us. I can't see their ears or make out their other features from here, but only elves can walk in armour that silently. Although, only some of them are wearing armour, and those who do wear the armour of the guards while the rest are wearing a mishmash of clothing. It's like they were told to march on us immediately and they dropped everything, leaving in the clothing they happened to be wearing at the time. Something isn't right here.

I can make out their faces now, but none of them make eye contact as they come closer. In fact, they all seem to be looking straight past us. They form a line in front of us, but I know from the snarls coming from Vaeril that we're surrounded.

All of a sudden, as if as one, they stop. The lack of sound is eerie. With this many bodies, there should be sound—the rustling of clothing, the shuffling of feet, the steady inhale of their breaths—yet they stand as still as statues, staring ahead. Naril is fiercely whispering something quietly to Vaeril in elvish, and when I glance at them over my shoulder and see their expressions, my stomach drops. In the whole time I've known Naril, I've never seen him afraid before, but that's exactly what I see in his expression right now—fear.

I feel like there's a vice tightening around my chest. I need to know what's causing that look on their faces. "What—"

"Movement," Tor interrupts, his voice low. Turning to face the front, I lean past a tense Tor to watch. Two elves are making their way through the other elves, their armour marking them as guards as they almost silently come to a stop at the front line. It takes me a couple of seconds to recognise the older one, since I'm used to seeing a smile on his face.

"Kaelir!" I shout out. The guard had been kind to me when I first was brought to Galandell. The queen ordered me locked up like an enemy, but he was kind to me regardless, and since then, we had become friends. I haven't seen him since the ball where he felt really uncomfortable when he'd been ordered to attend by the queen. Why would he be here? He's a prison guard, not a soldier. Could it be that he's here to help me rather than fight against us? Don't be foolish, the elves are attacking the tribespeople, even if they thought the tribespeople took you against your will, look at them. Something isn't right here , my inner voice chides, and my goddess mark glows in agreement.

My eyes flick to the smaller figure at Kaelir's side, and I realise I know him too. "Elier!" Distress lines my tone now as the direness of the situation starts to dawn on me. The young soldier doesn't react to my voice, he doesn't even flinch as I call out to him. I'm aware that Vaeril and Naril are talking in low voices behind me, but I'm so focused on my friends in front of me that I pay no attention to them.

Kaelir raises his head and looks directly at me. "Give us the girl, and we will let the rest of you live. This is your only warning." All the hair on my arm stands on end as he speaks, and I can't pinpoint what's different about his voice, but it just sounds wrong . Although his eyes are locked onto mine, it's like he's not actually seeing me.

This is not the kind elf I know. Frowning, I step forward. "Kaelir—" A tight hand wraps around my arm and jerks me back, stopping me in my tracks, although from the look Tor's giving me, I know I wouldn't have gotten past him anyway. Snarling, I turn and rip my arm from Vaeril's grip. "There's something wrong with him!"

"Clarissa, he's a forsaken, look at him!" Naril shouts, gesturing towards the elves who are standing in the same positions as before, like they've been frozen in time. He may as well have slapped me, the words hitting me in the chest as the implications of what he said sinks in.

"Naril," Vaeril warns, his eyes flicking between us and the threat of the elves surrounding us. Tor is humming low in his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot while spinning his axe in his hand. I know this is not going how he planned, and he's not liking these developments at all.

Looking over at Elier and Kaelir again, I see all of the odd things I noticed before, plus things like the fact that none of the elves are blinking. Feeling sick to my stomach, I pull my gaze away, unable to look any longer. "What? No, that can't be right," I argue, even though I can plainly see it, but I refuse to admit it, to say those words out loud. Raising my eyes, which I hadn't even realised I dropped, I look at Naril. "You said that the forsaken are…"

"Dead," he confirms, not mincing his words, even as I flinch away from him. "Your friend is dead, and now we know that somehow, the forsaken are working for the queen."

Vaeril snarls, whether because of Naril's lack of tact or at his words, I don't know, and I never will, because we're out of time.

"What is your answer?" Kaelir asks in that strange, echoing voice, his eyes locking onto me again, and an odd feeling runs over me.

"No, you cannot have her," Vaeril shouts, his voice strong as his hand lands on the small of my back. "The queen will never have her again." He ends on a snarl, and Tor and Naril agree with their own snarls before falling into defensive positions and raising their weapons.

"Then you have sentenced all these people to death." That strange feeling runs over me again, but I don't have a chance to think over it because the elves attack as one, converging on us like a swarm of locusts.

"Stay together!" Tor shouts, as he lashes out at one of the forsaken, his axe slashing clean through his neck and chest. Naril is using a short sword, his fae speed making it difficult for me to keep up with his movements, while Vaeril uses daggers to stab his foes.

"Remember, they're already dead, they feel no pain. To kill them, you have to sever the head from the neck," Naril instructs, his voice smooth, even as he ducks and battles one of the forsaken, not sounding at all out of breath. The others make noises of agreement while I stand in the middle, clutching my staff and feeling helpless, wishing there was something I could do. After all, this is my fault. The queen sent the forsaken here because of me.

Tor cries out, and I spin to see him fighting with a fierce-looking forsaken, the blade of the axe buried into its chest, but it doesn't seem to affect him in any way. Tor tries to pull it out, but the forsaken grins and grabs onto the shaft, starting a tug-of-war for the weapon. With my heart in my chest, I leap forward, jabbing the pointed end of my staff against the forsaken's chest with just enough force that he lets go of the axe. With an almighty heave, Tor removes it from the creature's chest and swings, cleaving its head from its neck. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he gives me a quick, feral grin. "I fucking love you." I grin back at him. Sure, I'm covered in blood and grime, but right now, I don't care. His expression shifts, and he gestures for me to move. "Now get back."

I'm not sure how long this goes on for, but there are too many of them. Where one falls, two more appear, and I start to fear that we might not make it out of here. But from the distance, I begin to hear a strange roaring, and the sounds of battle grow closer as a triumphant bellow echoes off the mountains around us. Tor returns the hollering sound, his face stretched into a grin as tattooed, painted warriors appear from behind the tents, jumping on the forsaken and taking them down. We are still hugely outnumbered, but we might now stand a chance.

"Sorry we were late, Torsten. These bastards don't know how to die!" one of the tribesmen from the tent we had met earlier calls out, as he swings a huge, carved sword at one of the forsaken. Blood splatters across his chest in the process, only making his grin even larger.

"You just couldn't stand the thought of the elves getting more kills than you!" Tor goads, as he pulls his axe from another body. The sweat and blood of the forsaken covers his now bare chest, his jacket lost in the fighting. The two of them stop their bickering as another wave of forsaken arrives, descending on us out of nowhere. A tingling sensation falls over me, landing on my skin like a thousand tiny ants are crawling all over me. Gazing around, I try to work out why I feel so strange.

Look up.

The words are whispered in my mind, and I can't tell if they're from the Mother or my own subconscious, but I'm powerless to resist. Looking up, I follow the feeling and see that Kaelir is watching me from the side, and as if the goddess planned it herself, there's a clear pathway that would lead me straight to him. I know I shouldn't go, Tor said to stick together, and I know it could be a trap, but I just have this feeling that I need to try and save him. They'll try to stop me, and with good reason, so I have to do this fast, even though it feels like I'm betraying them with each step.

Go to him.

My wrist glows as the goddess's words echo in my mind. So, gathering all the courage I have, I run through the gap in the battle before I lose my nerve.

"Clarissa! No!" Vaeril shouts, panic ringing out in his voice as he immediately tries to follow me, cursing as the gap closes and bodies collide in a clash of metal and limbs. My companions try to reach me, but a wall of forsaken keeps them away. My heart breaks a little when I feel Vaeril lose control of his feral fae side, tearing into anybody who comes close to him. Tor bellows, ordering his fellow tribesmen forward as he swings his axe with abandon, carving a path towards me only to be overwhelmed by more forsaken. What have I done? My breathing stutters as I strain to try and see any sign of Tor, any hint that my mountain man is still alive under the writhing mass of forsaken. Naril is at his side, ripping bodies away, and several tribesmen are helping. When his head appears, gasping for breath, I feel like I can finally breathe too.

"You really are stupid." The statement is said in that strange, echoing voice, and although the voice is the same, as I turn to face Kaelir, I know it's not him I'm speaking to any longer. That strange sensation runs over me once again when his blank eyes lock onto me, shining like mirrors.

"Hello, Your Majesty." Hate runs through me like never before, lighting a fire in my veins, but somehow, I manage to keep my voice calm and level, pleasant even.

Kaelir—no, I can't keep calling him that. The forsaken tilts his head. "Hm, maybe not that stupid, just reckless," the queen remarks through her puppet, making him walk towards me. I'm sure she meant to make him saunter like she would back at the palace, but with the forsaken's body, it just looks awkward and stiff, so she gives up after a few steps. "Either way, you've helped me root out the traitors, and now you're going to die." With a snap of Kaelir's fingers, a forsaken appears at his shoulder and draws a weapon before slowly making its way towards me. "Goodbye, Clarissa." Kaelir's face is stretched into a grotesque grin, and I know the queen is going to enjoy watching my death. Maybe this was a trap after all. I couldn't save Kaelir.

Pushing those unhelpful thoughts from my mind, I tighten my grip on my staff and face the forsaken that's making its way towards me. I don't recognise him, but he's large and wearing a soldier's uniform, so he was probably one of the elves on border patrol. Taking deep breaths, and blocking out the sounds of combat around me, I try to calm myself and remember the training Eldrin gave me.

A low growling fills the air, and I do the one thing I was always taught not to do—I take my eyes off my enemy. I see another forsaken charging towards me, except I recognise this one. "Eldrin." I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest as he barrels towards me, his face twisted with rage, teeth bared, and daggers in hand. "No!" My voice breaks as I cry out, not because I'm about to die, but because he already has. We never had a chance to see what could have been.

Just as he's about to reach me, he jumps and, tears rolling down my face, I raise my staff and duck to avoid his attack…except the attack never comes. Spinning, I see he's pinned a forsaken that had been sneaking up on me to the ground, slicing his head from his neck. The body instantly stills, and I'm still staring at it when Eldrin jumps up to deal with the other forsaken. What in the Mother just happened? Blood pools on the ground under the stiffening body, staining the ground red. I know I should be paying attention to the fight that's going on around me, the sound of metal ringing in my ears, but I can't seem to pull my eyes away.

"You took your eyes off your enemy." Eldrin's gruff voice pulls me out of my internal panic, and I know it's him. He's not dead. As soon as he's within touching distance, I spring forward and grab his arms, needing to feel that he's real, that I'm not dreaming. I rake my eyes over his scarred face, which is pulled into his usual frown.

"I thought you were forsaken," I babble, and his harsh expression softens as he sees the tears dripping down my face. "I thought you were dead." My voice breaks, and I hiccup. I'll look back at this and be horrified by how I behaved, and I'll deny this ever happened, but as he sighs and pulls me against his chest, something settles within me. "You found me," I whisper, but he hears me anyway.

"I found you." There's longing in his voice, and when I pull away, I look up, but we both did exactly what he just scolded me for—we took our eyes off our enemy.

Clapping reaches us, and we jump apart like we've been burnt, as the queen, still using Kaelir as a puppet, watches us with interest. "Eldrin, you surprise me. You managed to stay hidden amongst my forsaken all the way here and go after someone else's mate. And here I thought you were loyal to me." There's a heavy pause as she lets that sit between us, and I know she would try to use it as leverage if she thought it would help her. "Never mind, I finally have an excuse to get rid of you. I tire of this." There is not an ounce of remorse or regret in the queen's tone as she uses Kaelir to snap his fingers, and suddenly, everything changes. All of the watching forsaken start fighting, but without any sense of direction or purpose, they simply start attacking whatever gets in their way, be that friend or foe. I can tell the moment the queen gives back control of Kaelir's body—she's still watching, but no longer directing.

Save him, beloved.

Staring at Eldrin, I take a deep breath, knowing what I need to do. "Will you keep them off me? There's something I have to do."

He frowns, and for a moment, I think he's going to argue with me, but something passes over his face and he simply nods. Closing my eyes, I extend my senses and center myself, trusting in the Mother. When I open them again, I feel ready. I start to run, knowing I'll need to be fast if I want to do this before the queen realises what I'm trying to do. Sprinting forward, I reach Kaelir and place my hands on his face, pressing them against his skin, my momentum taking us both down to the ground. At first there's no resistance, so I extend my senses. If the queen is using some sort of death magic on the elves, then I might be able to free them from it. I am some sort of magic breaker, after all.

"Clarissa?" the familiar voice calls.

I open my eyes and smile down at my friend. Except something shifts in his gaze and pain rips through my mind, like someone is dragging a set of daggers through my brain.

"I won't let you have him." His face is twisted now, his eyes empty, and I know I'm speaking to the queen once again. A pain like I've never felt before stabs into my head where I'm connected to Kaelir, and I have to let go, clutching at my skull as something wet drips down my nose. His body goes still under mine, and I know he's truly deceased now. She panicked, that's why she killed him, but I know her secret now—I can bring them back. I wasn't able to help Kaelir, but I might be able to help others.

The fight doesn't last long after that, and I was unable to save any of the forsaken. We burn the bodies. Apparently, we have to, part of the tradition to assure that the forsaken don't rise again. Our losses were surprisingly minimal, although there were many injuries. The elves were surprised and delighted to see Eldrin in one piece, but Naril keeps giving me suspicious looks, like he knows something went on between his brother and me earlier. There will be a big celebration tonight to celebrate their win and the return of the ‘lost child.' I don't feel like celebrating, but I will show up with my mates and friends to honour those who were lost today.

I still have so many questions about who I am and who my family was. My mother was the Queen of Arhaven, and she was murdered in front of me. My aunt is still alive and the leader of the mountain tribes, the wood elves believe I'm a goddess reincarnated, and there is a great evil infecting this world—and for some reason, the Great Mother has chosen me to help her.

If the elven queen is able to control the forsaken, then it only makes sense that she is the one creating them. Naril told me they are rare and only happen when the mourning process is not properly adhered to, but she had a whole army of them. Back in Galandell, she wielded death magic. She was able to control the growth of the flowers and then kill them at her will. I have no doubt this is her doing, and that she has something to do with the darkness infecting Morrowmer. I also know the queen picked Kaelir to inflict the most pain because she knew it would hurt me. She was right.

She thinks she can break and ruin me with her games, but I'm made of stronger stuff. All she's done is stoke my anger.

It's time to light the fires of war.