Page 36

Four days later, Aemyra turned the corner from visiting little Edwyn. Her fingers smelled pleasantly of mint and she was delighted with the improvement in the boy. He really was an agreeable child. She had no idea how Elear and Elizabeth had produced such a well-tempered son.

“We must fly, Brother.”

Evander’s voice rang out through the throne room, causing her to halt.

“We should wait until Clan Leòmhann chooses a side. If the chimeras declare for Draevan, the west will be lost to us,” Fiorean replied.

The two brothers stood before the throne, torches flickering in their sconces, and for once Alfred was nowhere to be seen.

“You mean declare for your wife, ” Evander spat.

It was too late for Aemyra to back out of the room, so she stood tall. Evander’s skin was sallow, his eyes bloodshot, and there were open sores on his forehead from where the crown had been rubbing against his skin.

“Why is she wandering the halls without an escort?” Evander asked, gesturing wildly toward Aemyra.

Fiorean laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She was taking herbs to little Edwyn. He is much improved.”

“Yes, well, how convenient the heir to the throne was not so lucky,” Evander spat, shoving his brother’s hand off him and storming from the hall.

Fiorean made to chase after him, but Aemyra stepped into his path. “He wishes to fight with Kolreath?” she asked worriedly.

“Your father has made camp at the southern tip of the Deàrr Mountains. We believe he means to march on Fyndhorn,” he replied, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

Aemyra stiffened. “Without the backing of Clan Leòmhann?”

Fiorean nodded grimly.

“My father will try to cut off the Leuthanach army before they can defend àird Lasair,” Aemyra said, spitting a filthy curse. “If only he had waited a few more days.”

In a swift motion, Fiorean grasped her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “I must go after Evander. Let me do what I can.”

“Of course, go,” Aemyra said, watching him leave.

Praying that Fiorean would be able to talk some sense into his brother before he set off with Kolreath to burn her army, Aemyra stilled when she found herself alone in the throne room.

The space was large, dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling, with stone pillars lining the space. The stained-glass wall was nothing short of spectacular. Even at night, when the flickering torches illuminated the painted crystal from within.

But it was the golden throne on the raised dais that commanded attention. She wondered if her feet would even touch the ground when she finally sat upon it.

Fingering the garnet necklace that hung around her neck, Aemyra turned her back on the throne that was hers by birth.

She would sit the throne when her people were safe.

Making up her mind, she left the great hall and hurried back to their chambers to change into her breeches. The time for playing the part of princess was over.

If Fiorean succeeded in calming Evander, they could stick to their original strategy of ousting Alfred and freeing Sorcha before liberating the priestesses and bringing the royal guard under Fiorean’s command.

It wasn’t a plan to be enacted overnight, but if Draevan had her army encamped less than fifty miles south, they would have to expedite the process.

Perhaps she could mix a sedative for Evander. The man drank so much wine he wasn’t likely to notice until he was asleep in his neeps.

Lifting her skirts, Aemyra walked as quickly as she dared up the two flights of stairs to her rooms. If she broke into a flat-out run, it would only cause suspicion.

But time was of the essence.

Lost in her thoughts, she pushed open the heavy wooden door without knocking. Coughing slightly at the smell of incense, she wafted a hand in front of her face.

Stumbling on her skirts, Aemyra came to an abrupt halt as she realized who was sitting at the table.

Athair Alfred.

“What are you doing here?” Aemyra asked.

Alfred crossed his hands over his stomach. “Waiting for you.”

Aemyra took one step toward the table. She had him alone with no Covenanters protecting him.

“Did Katherine send you here to distract me while Evander summons Kolreath for war? Here to blackmail me into joining him?”

Alfred’s smile widened. “No.”

She barely had the time to glare at him before she heard the door opening behind her. To her surprise, Sir Nairn stepped into the room, leaving Aemyra standing between the two men she desired most to kill.

“Rather an obvious trap, don’t you think?” Aemyra asked with more bravado than she currently felt.

Neither of them replied.

“All right, boys, how are we doing this, then?” Aemyra asked, rolling her shoulders.

“Careful,” Sir Nairn said in a scathing tone. “That is not how you address the leader of the faith.”

“That pendant makes you far too confident, Captain,” Aemyra gritted out.

Alfred skirted around the table, the long chain attached to his belt clanking. “We wish for your cooperation. Convert to the True Religion and accept your role within this family.”

Sir Nairn placed his hand threateningly on the hilt of his sword. She would need to incapacitate the captain first, disarm him, and then use his sword to eviscerate Alfred. If she could rip one of their pendants off their necks with the blade, all the better.

“I refuse.”

The priest pretended to laugh. “You would rather face the consequences?”

Aemyra shrugged, keeping one eye on Sir Nairn. “I wouldn’t deny the existence of the Goddesses even if it was with my last breath.”

Both men smiled.

“We thought as much.”

Before Alfred had even given Sir Nairn the signal, Aemyra was moving. Ducking under the first swing of his broadsword, she aimed a kick to the back of the captain’s knee, and he went down heavily to the rug, before she had to jump back to avoid her guts being spilled across the floor.

Alfred had wisely backed up against the far wall. “The demonic magic polluting your blood makes you so eager for violence,” he reprimanded.

Sir Nairn rose and swung again, and she was forced to retreat toward the fireplace. Fiorean’s chambers were large, but the reach of Nairn’s sword meant there were not many places Aemyra could go where she wasn’t in range.

She feinted right. When he clumsily tried to intercept her, she grabbed the poker from the fireplace on her left and brought it up to meet his hasty swing.

Sparks flew and Aemyra smiled to see the white-hot iron inches from his icy eyes. Her magic couldn’t hurt him directly while he was wearing his pendant, but this poker would burn just the same.

With an indulgent smile, Aemyra summoned her magic. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

But when she connected to the well of power in her chest, nothing happened.

Sir Nairn smiled again.

Her magic was gone.

How?

There was a clanking sound and the smell of incense wafted over her once more. Aemyra cursed herself for being so stupid. Alfred indulged in a smile as he let the chain drop from his belt.

“Did you really think our only conduits were food and water? We have been observing you for days. Clearly Prince Fiorean has fallen for your manipulation. Come now, Aemyra. I assure you that cooperation will be far less painful.”

Heart pounding, Aemyra swung the poker desperately toward Sir Nairn and managed to move his sword. Ducking a punch from his gauntlet-covered hand, Aemyra struck again, attempting to pierce his armor where it was weakest.

A grinding noise came from behind her, but she had no time to discover what Alfred was up to, as Sir Nairn seemed determined to add to the growing number of wounds on her body.

“Rolynd.” Alfred’s warning tone cut through the room.

Nairn halted his advances, and Aemyra lunged for him. Unfortunately, the movement left her back exposed and before she could skewer Nairn with the poker, hands grabbed her.

Panicking as her makeshift weapon was pulled out of her grip, she found herself being dragged toward the table by two black-robed priests. A small opening in the wall told her that Alfred had opened a secret passageway.

Another trap.

Cursing her stupidity once again, Aemyra briefly wondered if she was even fit to be queen with the amount of mistakes she was making.

She thrashed in their hold, snapping with her teeth and kicking with her feet. Anything to make them let go of her. They couldn’t kill her while she was being used as leverage.

She managed to grab a small tureen from the table and launched it toward the window. The glass broke with a satisfying crash, the incense dissipating slowly through the hole.

When three more priests appeared through the secret passageway, it became clear that she was far more vulnerable than she had believed. Not wasting any more time, she used the one weapon that was left to her.

Aemyra screamed.

A shattering sound erupted from her throat and echoed through the room before one of the priests clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose.

The fabric had been dipped in something, and Aemyra shut off her airway the minute she felt her senses dull. The cloth was removed, but before she could muster the energy to scream again, a gag was forced roughly into her mouth by Sir Nairn.

She felt hands encircle both of her ankles, restraining her on the table. Sir Nairn stepped back to give the Chosen space and a white-haired priest began chanting from the Tùr.

Athair Alfred had disappeared.

Hands and feet throbbing painfully, Aemyra wondered what was to become of her.

She didn’t wonder for long.

Aemyra’s vision blurred as one priest withdrew a curved instrument from his bag.

True fear shot through her entire body, and she fought the sedative with all of her might. She knew those instruments. Orlagh had used them when a babe threatened a woman’s life. But in the wrong hands…

Her shoulders twisted painfully as she fought desperately to escape the priest’s hold. Tears were burning her eyes as her muffled cries fell on deaf ears. She could not let them mutilate her.

They didn’t want her siring female heirs. It didn’t even matter that Aemyra might never want children—the Chosen were not going to give her the option.

One of the priests was fighting against her bucking legs, trying to get a grip on her skirts.

“Help me!” Aemyra screamed as loudly as she could through the gag, setting her pride aside with the garbled plea.

With one last disdainful look, Sir Nairn walked out of the door, closing it softly behind him.

Nausea churned in Aemyra’s gut when the priests began chanting, and her entire body shook with acute terror.

She had boldly claimed a dragon with less fear. Had rescued children from the guards and faced down priests in the tavern without a shred of concern for herself. But this? This was entirely different.

The priests rucked up her skirts, exposing her to the room, and she let out another petrified sob.

Hela herself barred the gates of the Otherworld to those who violated women. It was a crime punishable by death, a direct offense to the Great Mother.

But what was about to happen to her was unheard of. Unthinkable.

She loosed a scream of pure fury through the gag until something tore in the back of her throat and one of the priests pinched her nose shut. With access to her airway cut off, Aemyra silenced herself before she fell unconscious. She didn’t want to acknowledge the part of her mind that wished to welcome the darkness.

The graying priest was observing her privates clinically and Aemyra tried to remind herself of Orlagh’s words.

I am the light. I will shine.

Bucking and writhing on the table, she tried to tug one of the priests off balance. They gripped harder until she risked her knees snapping and the graying priest spread her legs wider.

Unable to watch what they were doing to her, Aemyra hated herself for closing her eyes. For giving in.

“The sins of the Dùileach shall not be passed on to the innocents,” the priest said, pausing his prayers. “Savior, we ask you to cleanse her body so the evils of magic remain with her alone.”

Aemyra couldn’t believe what she was hearing and called out silently to the Goddess who had gifted her. Swore that she would do anything, would be anything, if only she could be spared.

I am the light. I will shine.

With nothing else to do, Aemyra prayed. Not only to Brigid, but to every one of the five Goddesses.

That these priests would burn, that the air would be stolen from their lungs, that their cocks would shrivel and their bodies become dried-out husks.

As she felt fingers poking and prodding between her legs, Aemyra cried into the gag and suddenly knew what it was to be truly alone. No one was coming, not her dragon, not her husband, and certainly not the Goddess she believed in so fiercely.

Aemyra felt cool metal slip inside of her and she prayed that the wickedly sharp instrument was at least clean. Then she resigned herself to her fate. Coming out of this with an infection would kill her if the mutilation of her womb didn’t.

The priests began chanting in unison.

“Savior, we pray. Root out her wicked ways and renew a right spirit within her heart. The stain of the Dùileach must be ripped away from the women who are possessed with evil power. For they cannot resist the demon’s call as men can. Cleanse her, Savior, and spare her scourge on the next generation.”

Aemyra screamed through the dirty rag that was stuffed to the back of her throat, as the first lance of pain speared through the most intimate parts of her.

The door slammed open.

“Get your filthy hands off my wife!”

Before Aemyra could register what was happening, a sword sliced through the face of the priest standing between her legs and Aemyra felt the hot spurt of blood over her thighs.

The hands restraining her disappeared, the sharp instrument sliding out of her to the floor with a clatter. Aemyra ripped the gag from her mouth with trembling hands and breathed through choking sobs.

“Your Grace, forgive us. We were only…”

The priests were pleading for their lives as Aemyra’s vision finally cleared to see Fiorean withdrawing his sword from the back of her would-be surgeon’s head, cold murder in his eyes.

Katherine was leaning against the doorframe, looking like she might be sick.

Fiorean’s face was a mask of death as priests scrambled for the secret passageway. “Find Evander. They will all die for what they have done to my wife.”

One priest dropped to his knees, pleading mercy as Katherine hurried away.

Why was she with Fiorean? Had she known of Alfred’s plan and suddenly developed a conscience?

Aemyra fought with the tangled skirts of her dress, trying to pull them down over her knees. Pain lingered within her.

His hand glowing red, Fiorean grasped the kneeling priest by the neck and the smell of roasting meat met Aemyra’s nostrils, turning her stomach. There was a disgusting gurgling sound before a sickening pop, as Fiorean burned the priest’s throat away with his magic.

Then he threw the body to the floor.

Chest heaving, Fiorean rushed to the table. His boot connected with the surgical instrument and his face paled.

“What did they…” Beside himself with fear, Fiorean reached up to cup Aemyra’s face, as if making sure she was alive. “Did he?”

There was a lingering trace of fire in his hand, stuttering slightly as he breathed in the residues of incense. But when Aemyra felt the smear of blood from the priest’s throat on her cheek, she leaned over the side of the table and vomited.

Fiorean did not move from her side.

“They tried to cut out my womb.” Aemyra had to force out the words from behind chattering teeth. “Or at least damage it beyond repair.”

As if speaking the words suddenly made what had happened to her more real, Aemyra grabbed Fiorean’s sword and wrestled it from his grip.

Throwing herself off the table, Aemyra sprinted for the door, ignoring the throb of pain deep within her core.

“Aemyra!” Fiorean called after her, but she was already tearing through the corridors in pursuit of Sir Nairn.

Her mother’s words rang in her ears as she ran, her feet surprisingly steady.

I am the light. I will shine.

She would burn the darkness from this world.

Aemyra fixed her grip on the sword, its hilt slippery with blood, and she pushed herself faster.

She would not show mercy. Not tonight.

“Aemyra, wait!” Fiorean called after her, but she was quick. His legs might have been longer, but she was fueled by hatred and the torches flew by in a blur.

Finally, she saw a crimson cloak billowing around the bend.

She made it to the courtyard where the guards held sparring practice. Sir Nairn stood beside the weapons rack, looking for all the world like he was supposed to be there.

“What is the meaning of this pursuit?” the captain asked, sword sheathed, standing comfortably.

But Aemyra noticed his eyes darting around as if looking for a sign from his beloved Savior.

He would not find one.

Fiorean skidded into the courtyard just as Aemyra launched herself at the captain, sword held aloft and a scream of rage on her lips.

Sir Nairn met her blow with ease. With each thrust, Aemyra felt herself growing more grounded. This was what she knew—swinging a blade reminded her that she was in control. That even without her magic, she would decide her own fate.

Nairn sidestepped her, trying to make it look as if she were attacking him for no reason.

“My prince, please control your wife,” Sir Nairn said as the sound of shrieking steel rang off the high walls surrounding the courtyard.

“Aemyra?”

Fiorean phrased her name like a question as he stalked toward the two of them, plucking a sword from the weapons rack. Aemyra bared her teeth at the captain as she hooked her sword between the pendant and his neck, ripping it from him.

If the binding agent hadn’t been in her system, he would already be burning.

“He was part of it,” she called out to her husband between labored breaths.

Sir Nairn flourished his blade as if trying to stop the fight. Aemyra dared a glance toward Fiorean.

He had been poised with his sword held aloft, ready to intervene, but now the point was in the ground and his hands were crossed over the pommel.

Sir Nairn was looking grateful. “Thank you, my prince, now—”

Fiorean held up a finger.

“You mistake me, Captain.” His eyes tracked toward Aemyra, who was standing in her bloodstained dress. “I respect my wife enough to know when a life is hers to claim.”

Sir Nairn’s eyes widened as he turned back to Aemyra.

“Please,” Fiorean said, his voice dangerously low, “resume.”

Aemyra grinned ferally and swung her sword again. The captain barely got his weapon up in time to block her.

“Your Highness, this is absurd.” Sir Nairn’s eyes were wide with fear.

Aemyra parried his blows, keeping him on the defensive.

Evander stumbled into the courtyard, dueling three guards who had nothing to do with Alfred’s plan, his sword dripping gore. Katherine was nowhere in sight, no doubt she had gone scurrying back to Alfred.

“What did I miss, Brother?” Evander asked, a terrifyingly jovial edge to his voice. “This is excellent fun.”

Fiorean’s face was taut even as Evander gleefully stabbed an innocent guard in the gut, refusing to take his eyes off Aemyra.

“Rolynd Nairn decided to take the law into his own hands.”

Evander’s face darkened and he finally stopped swinging his sword, allowing the two uninjured guards to drag their companions off in the direction of a healer.

When Aemyra ducked under Sir Nairn’s blade and managed to pierce through the weak spot in his armor under the armpit, Fiorean nodded his approval.

As Aemyra jerked her sword out of the shallow wound, her lip curled at Nairn’s cry of pain. She spun around and held her position.

“Cailleach is very clear about what should happen to those who defile women,” Aemyra hissed. “Perhaps you have been listening to the Chosen for too long and have forgotten? Why else would you have dared?”

Drawing her arms back, pressing her palm flat against the pommel of the sword, Aemyra thrust the blade deep into Sir Nairn’s crotch.

His roar caused the birds gathered on the roof to take flight as the front of his breeches flooded red.

Fiorean had his eyes fixed on the captain with an expression of fury. Evander seemed to be searching for his next victim.

Aemyra threw her sword down on the ground and crossed the courtyard to her husband, the gravel crunching under her velvet slippers.

Fiorean had already unsheathed his dagger from his belt in anticipation of Aemyra’s next move.

Flipping the blade when her husband passed it to her, Aemyra turned to finish what the Goddess demanded as payment for Nairn’s crimes. He was begging for his life as he bled out on his knees.

Aemyra made sure he saw her face.

She grasped a handful of his light hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his throat.

“The Athair isn’t here to protect you now, you traitorous, hypocritical filth,” Aemyra hissed down at him. “This is for my mother. The gentle, kind soul whom you murdered. This is so you remember that a woman has her own power, and that you do not have any right to take it from her.”

Aemyra’s eyes sought out Fiorean’s face and she found him in the darkness. His fire barely constrained with his anger, tongues of flame snaking down the sword he held.

She tightened her grip on the dagger and drew the blade deep across the skin of Sir Nairn’s throat. Digging it in until she felt it hit bone, she at last loosed a relieved breath.

Her mother was avenged.

When she felt the last choking gasp leave his lungs as Nairn drowned in his own blood, she pushed his body onto the gravel.

Fiorean was looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Evander was slowly clapping his hands together even as his expression grew volatile. “What an invigorating sport, shall we continue?”

The guards fled the courtyard before Evander could corner them.

Fiorean ignored his brother as he folded Aemyra protectively into his arms. They turned their backs on the body of Sir Nairn as Evander began lopping the captain’s head off, wielding his sword like an executioner’s axe.

Aemyra allowed Fiorean to lead her back into the caisteal. An assortment of bloody weapons in their hands, hair burning as brightly as their inner fire.