Page 90 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Seventy-Three

Yagrin

Nore held on to Yagrin, and the pace of his heart slowed.

“Are you alright?”

She trembled but pulled herself upright and dusted her clothes off.

“Quell is a genius,” she said, and it was the last thing Yagrin expected to hear. Quell led the Dragunhead toward Dlaminaugh. Jordan trailed behind them. Yagrin hardly recognized his brother.

Nore slowed her pace. “There are Darkbearers in the forest. And Ellery out there.”

Yagrin’s jaw hardened. He had the one thing he wanted—Nore, back in his arms. All he had to do was break the Pact and kill his brother.

The brother who’d just fought to save Nore’s life.

His hand grazed the shadow glove in his pocket.

Now was the perfect time to pull him aside and take his heart.

Nore was all Yagrin wanted. He could care less what happened with the Order and magic.

If that was true, why did he feel so ill about it?

Because his brother just saved Nore’s life.

“Jordan,” he called his brother, who he had thought was as good as dead.

Jordan stopped. Yagrin eyed his brother’s chest. Nore grabbed his arm.

But she didn’t need to say a word. Yagrin knew he was staring at someone he’d never met before.

His brother was no longer consumed with power, the one he possessed over people because of his last name and title nor the one humming in his veins.

He’d set it aside somehow. He’d stopped carrying the world on his shoulders.

Hadn’t Yagrin pushed Nore away for a similar reason?

Power corrupts.

But if that were true, why was Nore still alive thanks to his brother? Yagrin’s chin hit his chest.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered. His brother watched him, perplexed.

Nore shook his arm and gasped. “That’s it! Yagrin, you don’t have to.”

“I gave the dead my word.” His heart thundered.

“Your word about what?” Jordan asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all, brother.” He looked toward the forest. “Ellery’s in the forest where we saw Darkbearers earlier,” he said. “I took out a few, but I’m sure there are more. Where am I most helpful?”

Joy gleamed in his brother’s green eyes. Yagrin may as well have said, I love you.

“I don’t know what Quell is doing, but I trust her,” he said. “Do what you need to do about Ellery and the Darkbearers. I’ll come and help as soon as I can. Nore, I hope you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Jordan.” Nore smiled, and it was a real one.

“I need to speak with Quell.” Nore squeezed Yagrin’s arm again. She was up to something. He didn’t want her to go with him into the forest anyhow. It would be dangerous without magic.

“Send your Draguns,” he told her. “Send the dead. Send whatever you have.”

Nore kissed him before taking off. Jordan and Yagrin stood in silence.

“You’re going to make it,” Yagrin told him.

“If I don’t, tell Mother—”

“You will.”

He slapped his brother on the back affectionately before taking off toward the estate.

Yagrin loitered in the ice garden until a swath of dead came, along with three Draguns, two young men and a girl with silvery-streaked dark hair.

At first he was curious how Nore had convinced the ancestors, but he realized, as they marched toward the ominous quaking trees, that they shared an enemy.

“What are we looking at, exactly?” the silvery-haired girl asked. He explained what they saw the other night and that he wasn’t sure how many Darkbearers there would be, or what Ellery and Adola would throw at them.

“What are you sure of?” one of the Draguns asked.

“That if we fail, this House falls.”

The blanket of snow made the trek across the estate painfully slow.

They didn’t speak as they entered the forest. Yagrin’s boots were frozen.

Ellery’s camp was a tent made of stones and draped fabric.

A trench of fire had been dug around it, creating one narrow entryway.

Light glowed inside the tent. But it was what was around the campsite that raised the hair on Yagrin’s arms.

There were bodies everywhere.

Collapsed on the ground, folded over logs, as if they’d died suddenly, just sitting up. Their faces were purpled, mouths frothing. He smelled an overturned cup, and it reeked of something sour. Poison.

Commotion in the tent at the center of their camp shook Yagrin.

“I thought you said we are their only enemies,” a Dragun asked him.

Yagrin signaled for them to quiet. The Draguns opened their hands, drawing toushana from the air.

Yagrin had them form up around the tent, unsure if Ellery or Adola tried to escape, which direction they’d go.

The dead cloaked them all in shadow. They were as prepared to confront Adola, Ellery, and however many Darkbearers were in there as they were going to be.

Metal clanged.

Someone grunted.

“Now!” Yagrin screamed, ripping the tent open.

He froze.

“Oh my word,” someone said behind him. Yagrin ducked inside, trying to make sense of the horror in front of him.

Beaulah was hunched forward at a table, eyes lolled in her head, foam dripping from her purpled mouth. Her pale skin was tinged with death. Inches from her fingers was an overturned teacup on the table.

Across from her was Ellery, who didn’t move either. His glassy eyes were widened in shock. He was dead.

Adola sat in the final seat at the table. She rose and broke the silence.

“Cousin, I hoped Nore would be with you. Please accept this gesture of goodwill from the new House of Perl.”