Page 46 of What Fury Brings (Wrath and Fury #1)

Olerra was quite pleased with the way the battlements had turned out. There were archers at every section of the wall. Each gate had vats of pitch and rocks for throwing. Her soldiers had even gotten at least four hours of sleep before the king arrived. His own forces would be tired from marching.

Olerra took the stairs confidently with Sanos at her side.

She was still unused to attaching that name to him. It wasn’t the name he’d worn when she’d fallen for him, but it was the name he now used when she had to give him back.

She was so angry at him. Yes, because he’d lied, but even more so because he wasn’t his brother.

She couldn’t keep him, and that made her furious.

When Olerra reached the top of the wall, she looked out at Atalius’s troops.

The king’s forces were larger than what she’d managed to put together on such short notice.

But the Amarrans were stronger, and they had the home advantage.

A fight would likely go their way, but they would take heavy losses.

Glenaerys and her mother stood twenty feet away along the wall. They’d no doubt come to watch Olerra fail and to get as far away from the southern gate as possible to claim innocence should they be found out.

Queen Lemya stood in the dead center above the main gate, and Olerra took her right side. Sanos, true to his word, kept pace with her. Ydra took his other side.

The army waiting beyond the gates carried torches.

They flickered in the night, showing hints of Brutes in full body armor.

At Olerra’s appearance, King Atalius separated from the majority of his forces, riding forward on his horse with a large retinue of personal guards surrounding him, all bearing shields.

As though she would resort to firing an arrow at him.

Tempting though that would be, it would only lead to war.

And there was no honor in killing a monarch before they’d had a chance to parley.

Olerra took her whipblade from her side and wound the rope up her arm until the blade was grasped firmly in her hand. She put her arm around Sanos’s neck, letting the blade rest against his jugular.

“This is all a show for him. Play along, and we might pull this off.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

She could see Atalius’s lip curl even from this distance. Olerra hid her smile.

It was impossible to forget the sheer size of the Brutish king, but Sanos had forgotten what the mere sight of his father did to him. A couple of months in Amarra without his father’s wrath had done that to him.

Now, seeing Atalius ride forward on his horse, Sanos remembered what it was to be afraid.

If he thought his father wouldn’t recognize him trussed up in Amarran clothes, beardless, and covered in makeup, he was very, very wrong.

The king’s eye cut toward him like a knife. It pierced his skin with disapproval. With hatred, even. Sanos could tell his father was tracking his skin, mentally mapping out how he would beat him once he got him alone.

Or perhaps the king was plotting how he would make Sanos’s death look like an accident.

With Andrastus handed over to the Amarrans, his father had to be considering if Canus would make an acceptable king.

“Well, you made the trip,” Olerra called down to the king. “Hope the weather was good to you.”

The blade wasn’t exactly digging into Sanos’s neck, but he brushed it whenever he swallowed.

He may have been taller than Olerra, but she had no problem angling him into the deadly position.

He knew the chaste kiss from earlier had been for his father’s benefit, but his cheek still burned from the contact.

He ached for her. Ached to make things right between them before he was handed off to his father.

Almost as much as he wanted to throttle her for his current predicament.

“I’ve come for my son,” his father said.

“I don’t suppose my missive reached you on your travels here?” Olerra called down. Sanos was surprised that the queen did not speak. Why was Olerra handling negotiations? She may have been general, but Atalius was at the queen’s gates.

Glenaerys also seemed surprised by this.

“I received no missive,” Atalius said.

Olerra nodded as though expecting this. Sanos could feel the motion with how close she was. She was so careful, though, not to nick his skin.

“If you will recall,” Olerra said, “I said a son was the price of your life back in Shamire.”

Sanos didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I never agreed to that trade,” Atalius said.

“You also didn’t take the alternative, which was begging for your life, so I made the deal on your behalf.”

Olerra stroked a finger down Sanos’s cheek. It was masterful the way she managed to hold the blade still in the rest of her fingers while she did it.

“I will decimate your city if he isn’t returned in one piece,” Atalius threatened.

“Will you? And tell me, do you think you can take the city faster than I can slit his throat?”

She was putting on a show for Atalius, but Olerra couldn’t deny that touching Sanos was nice, too.

She let her mouth hover above his ear. “Why do you have to smell so good when I’m so angry with you?

” She leaned into his neck until her nose brushed his skin.

No one else could hear the exchange with her low tone.

Just as she hoped, his skin flushed scarlet. Atalius had to be able to see it from where he stood, for his own skin turned purple. It was remarkable how light the Brutish skin was. It showed everything.

“You would start a war over this?” the king asked.

“Absolutely,” Olerra said loudly. “Despite being raised by you, he’s an excellent fuck.”

Sanos stiffened in Olerra’s arms, and the queen turned toward her. Olerra could read the look in her aunt’s eyes. Careful. Olerra knew what she was doing, though. She was getting Atalius riled up. Pushing him as far as she could without inciting him to war.

Glen tried to step forward, as though hoping to intervene, but Lemya raised a hand, and Glen returned to her mother’s side.

Meanwhile, the Brutish troops were sniggering. Atalius turned around, and they quickly silenced.

Now that the king was off-kilter, Olerra began her taunting in earnest. “But let me tell you exactly what will happen should you strike. You will launch your attack from there, attempting to break through our gate. While my archers slowly pick you off, your forces hidden on the south side of the city will try to sneak in through the other gate, thinking it less guarded. It’s not, by the way. It’s just as fortified as this one.”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence from the Brutish troops, their utter shock that she already knew their plans. Glen didn’t move a muscle, keeping her face carefully blank.

Olerra continued, “You might eventually break through, but we’ll have picked off a quarter of your numbers by then.

Next you will be bottlenecked as you try to enter the city, where my soldiers will mow you down by twos and threes, throwing their spears before you get in range with your swords.

Hot pitch will fall from the gate, burning those who attempt to enter.

Depending on how many are left, I might choose to ignite it.

“And then, when your numbers are pitifully low, you will retreat to lick your wounds back in Brutus. Or perhaps you’ll attempt the same thing you did last time, Atalius, and push ahead all alone to try to take on my army by yourself.

You will recall that last maneuver left you captured and in this mess.

We’d hate to bargain your life for a second son, now, wouldn’t we? ”

No response. The Brutes had all gone very still, Olerra’s words invoking rich fear, as she detailed out all their fates.

“We could play out the fight,” Olerra continued. “Or you could just leave. You’re better off attempting to send spies into the palace to recover him. A full-scale army? Was your plan to intimidate me into returning him?”

Olerra could see the veins standing out in Atalius’s neck from here. Not only had she’d outmaneuvered him again, she’d shamed him publicly.

A handful of men stepped out of the crowd, likely advisers to the king. They surrounded Atalius, all of them whispering in his ears, probably counseling him against attacking.

“You should listen to whatever they have to say,” Olerra said, further goading the man. “If you lose all the forces you’ve brought with you here today, your country will be vulnerable enough for me to wage an attack of my own. I rather like the idea of becoming queen of both Amarra and Brutus.”

The Amarran soldiers reacted to that. Some raised their spears, while others gave a low cheer. Glen didn’t like that. The king liked it less.

Glenaerys tried to step forward to say something again to the queen but was held back by Shaelwyn.

The chatting between the king and his advisers went on for some time. She wanted Atalius to think that a trading of princes was his idea, since he hadn’t received her letter. And if he didn’t get there on his own, she would propose the solution. Then she’d get him to reveal Glen’s treason.

When next Atalius looked up from his huddle, it wasn’t Olerra he glared at but Glenaerys. He shot her a meaningful glance, as though he expected her to do something. He was getting desperate to save face, keep all his sons, prevent a war.

One of the advisers gestured toward the front lines, and Olerra spotted the remaining Ladicus brothers. She wondered if Atalius had made them all come because of how she’d taunted the king at their last meeting, claiming he didn’t want them around to see his defeat.

They were easy to distinguish from the rest of the company with that near-white hair. The youngest, Olerra knew, was eighteen. He was shorter than the others, but only just—as though he had more growing to do. Ikanos.

The next had a well-trimmed beard perhaps a hand-length long. It had lines of brown mixed with the blond. His brow stood out further than the others, and he resembled the king the most with his facial features. Trantos.

Then there was Canus. He was bigger than the others, almost as massive as the king. He had a knowing gaze that seemed to see more than all the others around him.

And then there was the last. He was willowy and graceful. His hair was long, almost to his waist and straight as a stick. His beauty was leagues above the others, his skin unblemished. He didn’t bother growing a beard, or perhaps he could not.

The real Andrastus.

That was the man she was supposed to take.

He was beautiful. Clearly not a fighter like the others.

She could imagine this man reading poetry and enjoying days spent indoors.

It was laughable that she’d ever thought the man at her side was him.

No, the man on the battlefield would never drink hard ale or throw flaming daggers.

He wouldn’t kill for her or kiss her senseless or bark orders.

But this was the safest path toward their goals. She would prove Glen’s treachery, wed Andrastus, and become queen. Sanos would return home, challenge his father when his mother and sister were safe, and become king. Their countries would finally be at peace. It was a good outcome.

But it wasn’t the only possible outcome.

No, a plan was forming in Olerra’s mind. Something reckless. Something that had so much potential for going wrong.

But if it went right…