Traitor's Crown (Stones of Terrene Book 3)

by RJ Metcalf

  Even with the compulsion running through the guards and prisoners, none seemed too inclined to pick a fight with Finn and his shield of fire. Instead, the bonded turned to what probably looked like easier targets—Zebediah, Brandon, or the remaining five Lasimian shock-troopers—but there they found they were wrong. Zebediah cut a swath through any who came close, not hesitating to leave a trail of dead or dying. And Brandon followed in his wake, the reluctance to fight against those who had no choice buried under the desire to right the wrongs here—which required some sacrifice, whether he liked it or not.

  A man clothed in as much blood as garments limped toward Brandon, the point of his sword aimed for Brandon’s face. Brandon parried the sloppy strike, knocking the weapon from his attacker’s hand. The man’s mouth opened in a yell that was lost in the noise of battle. He launched himself at Brandon, hands outstretched and fingers curved into talons. A whisper of sorrow shot through Brandon as he stabbed the man in the heart. The body slid off his blade and fell onto the churned terrain.

  Where was the leader of this patrol? Brandon scanned ahead, desperate to see through the mass of forced soldiers. There! A flash of white ink on black skin was all he could see, but it was enough. He glanced behind him, and cold unrelated to the weather slid down his spine. They were surrounded. Brandon swore. “Finn!”

  Finn moved, shifting his blazing shield. “Everyone, duck!” The fire winked out, and he raised his hands, palms out. Brandon dropped to the ground, sticky mud squelching between his fingers.

  A wave of energy exploded from Finn, sending the adversaries surrounding them flying or stumbling back, one even falling on the sword of the prisoner behind him. Brandon’s jaw dropped as Finn sent out a second blast in quick succession.

  It was like the blast he’d created during the sage duel in Columbine, only this time his power was used as a weapon. And an incredibly useful weapon.

  The Lasimian shock-troopers charged at those struggling to rise, shocking countless enemies. Zebediah rushed the leader, knocking into the slender man and grappling him. Zebediah wrenched the guard’s arms behind his back. “Brandon!”

  Brandon leaped over an unconscious prisoner, lacking Zebediah’s finesse. Uncertain if the prisoner had to be actively listening to him, Brandon fisted his hand in the guard’s shirt, drawing his attention. “Stop fighting and listen to me.” The man immediately relaxed in Zebediah’s grip and stared at Brandon, a look akin to wonder in his eyes. Zebediah nodded approvingly and Brandon continued, focused solely on the leader. “Order your men to stand down. We need to reach the other leaders and stop Artemis. Now.”

  Zebediah let go, and the leader turned away, shouting orders at the bonded soldiers. Eerily similar to ripples in a pond, the bonded stopped in mid-strike, mid-run, mid-parry, each taking a step back from their foe to listen to their leader.

  A wave of dizzying relief hit Brandon, and he reached out to steady himself on Zebediah’s sturdy shoulder. It had worked. One leader down, four to go.

  This was going to take some time.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Ben

  The sensation of a thousand knives stabbing into Ben’s calf made his lungs seize from the agony, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off Raine as she raced down the hill and toward Andre.

  Go home, Ben. Live long and happy.

  Raine’s farewell—what else could it be, if not that?—echoed in Ben’s mind as he slid down the hill on his butt, trying to hurry even when running was impossible.

  How could she think he’d up and leave at this point? More importantly, why would she run headlong into danger? Did she even want to see Finn again?

  Her actions echoed hauntingly similar to Sara’s—the weeks and months after her abuse. The way she’d disregard others’ feelings toward her, too lost in the shame and self-hatred and pain. His heart squeezed. Raine. What had happened in that prison?

  Whatever her reasons, he wasn’t about to stand idly by and watch her get herself killed.

  Even if it meant risking his own life in the process.

  She’d take care of Andre. He and Geist would deal with Artemis, and if they were all lucky, taking Artemis out of the picture would at least surprise or slow down the army and give the airship soldiers a chance to protect the town. Best case scenario, it would free Andre and thus Raine. Worst case scenario, he didn’t want to think on.

  Tumbling dirt and sliding rocks sped his descent down the hill, and he tried to look up to judge where to angle his crazed momentum. Artemis stared at him from where she stood in the middle of the road, her eyes wide. Her lip curled, and she gestured to two of her bonded prison guards, both of whom gave terse nods before drawing their swords. They started across the wide, stamped dirt path, nearly fifteen meters away.

  “Left is mine,” Geist called out from just behind Ben. He passed by Ben with a burst of speed, brandishing his sword as soon as his boots hit the road.

  Ben yanked on his leather gloves as he skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Worry for Raine thrummed in his blood. He pulled out his steam pistol, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He loaded it and aimed at the guard now rushing at him. Ben steadied his breath and his hand, giving himself over to his military training, then pulled the trigger. Steam crystallized in the cold air, and Ben’s opponent dropped.

  He shoved down the twinge of guilt that threatened to rear its head. It was unfortunate, having to kill someone who had no choice over their own actions. But there was no way to reason with the bonded. Brandon had made that quite clear. War was war.

  And it sucked.

  Ben reloaded and pumped his pistol as fast as possible, watching Geist slice his blade into his foe’s leg. The man stumbled and swung his sword wildly at Geist, just catching Geist mid-chest. Geist’s shirt split, blood already staining it. Geist pressed a hand against his injury, his steps faltering.

  Ben bared his teeth and he shouted, drawing the bonded man’s attention for a brief second. It was all Ben needed. He shot him and staggered to his feet, then hobbled to Geist’s side, his attention split between Raine fighting Andre and Geist. Ben grabbed Geist’s shoulder, trying to get a clear view of the damage. “How bad is it?”

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” Geist muttered, wincing as he moved his aside to show the long gash. “It’s not deep. It just hurts like a whale.” He nodded toward Raine, then to Ben’s steam rifle. “We have to help Raine. Can you take on Artemis with that thing, and I’ll watch your back?”

  “Deal.”

  Artemis and her remaining guard had nearly reached the town proper, passing by the large white building marked as a processing and shipping local for the salt mined in the Hollows. She looked over her shoulder, her narrowed gaze taking stock of the two dead guards, and Andre still fighting Raine. Artemis’s pace sped up.

  Geist grasped Ben’s shoulder and they followed.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Raine

  Sweat poured down Raine’s back, instantly chilling in the cold air. Her arms burned, and the cuts on her skin blazed from the salt dusting her clothes. Grit filled her mouth, drying her tongue, and the scent of incoming rain mingled with blood and scorched flesh. Fear pumped in her veins, every pulse reminding her that life, in fact, was sweet. That despite the horrors of the last month, she wasn’t ready to call it quits. She wanted to save Andre, yes. And she also wanted to live.

  She actually wanted to see her grandfather again.

  She wanted to fight and win.

  But how she’d do any of that when fighting Andre, she didn’t know.

  He was stronger, and had years of experience that she lacked. She barely deflected his strike aimed at her knees, and she felt the little catch in her pants from the tip of his sword.

  His eyes drilled into her, his desperation, his anger, his fear, all visible in each line in the skin around his mouth. Even as he fought her, every move trying to incapacitate, his reluctance shone in his face.

  She didn’t want to kill hi
m. But she had to stop him. Even from himself.

  He didn’t seem to be trying to kill her either, rather, trying to slow her, trying to prevent her from following Artemis. What had that woman told him to do? What had her command been? Whatever it was, Raine wouldn’t allow herself to be dragged to Artemis. She’d die before she was turned and forced to invade her own people.

  A loose rock rolled under Raine’s boot, and she slipped, hand splayed out in an attempt to catch herself. Andre didn’t hesitate, following her down, his sword at her neck.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Ben

  Ben shoved his pistol in its holster and yanked his rifle over his shoulder, priming the pump and adjusting the pressure to account for the wind that gusted through. This would be the furthest he’d ever shot with this particular weapon, but he knew it would work. Theoretically. Weston was pretty sure it’d go that far, at least. Hopefully the prince was right.

  Ben’s neglected leg throbbed. He couldn’t run after Artemis. He had to make this count. For Raine. For Andre. For all the men and women fighting right now.

  Would taking out Artemis even help with the bonded that were battling? Or would they need to take out the leaders too?

  Doubts later.

  Artemis glanced back again, silhouetted by the pale dirt and gray sky, her unnaturally vibrant red hair providing the perfect target.

  Ben pulled the trigger.

  Artemis fell.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Raine

  Bitter defeat and stark terror sang through Raine’s soul as she stared up at Andre over the flat of his blade.

  What were his orders? Kill her? Subdue her? Take her to Artemis?

  She stared up at him through blurred vision, praying for some way to escape. Ben and Geist. Where were they? Did they see her? What was happening?

  The distinct sound that Raine associated with Ben and his steam pistol echoed off the hillside.

  Andre’s head jerked back, and he whipped his face to the side, searching the horizon for something.

  She didn’t think twice. She knocked his sword away with her own and surged to her feet, her blade now at his neck. A shudder ran through his body, and he loosed a shaky breath that was audible over the sounds of battle beyond them. He dropped his sword and lifted his hands, slow and deliberate.

  She blinked, but didn’t lower her sword. “Andre?”

  A tremulous smile crossed his face, and he waggled his fingers. She stepped back, keeping her sword at the ready. She pivoted slightly, trying to use her peripheral to see around him. Had Ben and Geist succeeded? Had they taken out Artemis?

  “Thank you.” Andre immediately signed, his expression tight, though a glimmer of pride shone in his gaze. “You stop me. I owe you debt.”

  Hot tears slipped down Raine’s cheeks, blazing heat on her cold skin. “No, you were right.” She lifted her borrowed sword, trying to convey what she could as words failed her. Relief and regret surged through her, tumbling in her stomach like ocean waves during a winter storm. “I—revenge. It wasn’t worth it.” Understanding lit his eyes, and she looked down, surrendering herself to the ache that permeated her bones. “I’ve only made things worse for myself.”

  Andre’s fingers felt far too warm as he tilted her chin up. He gave a gentle shake of his head before signing. “Learn. Move forward. Don’t look back.” He tapped a finger above her heart. “Heal. Grow.”

  Screams and the chaos of war swirled around her, giving voice to her anguish within. But his words anchored her, carving a small place to shelter for just a moment, and she let her exhaustion, grief, and hunger pull her to the ground. She set her sword aside, arms loosely gathered around her knees as she stared without really seeing.

  She was done.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Brandon

  Brandon widened his stance, willing himself to not give in to the weight of exhaustion as he listened to the last of Artemis’s leaders. Everything ached. His feet didn’t want to carry him any further, his hands felt too heavy for his arms, and his lungs throbbed from the cold.

  “She has to be dead,” the wiry man explained, waving his scarred hand in the direction of the town. “It was like something in me snapped, and I could control myself again.” He bowed, literally groveling. “Please, spare me.”

  Brandon nodded. “Report to General Titus for what you should do now.”

  The man scampered away, and Brandon forced himself to start moving toward the town, where he’d last seen Artemis. He wouldn’t trust what the man said. He needed to see her dead body for himself.

  Mist swirled in the chill evening air, peppering his skin. He eyed the darkening sky. They’d have to find her quick and hope for a miraculous cleanup of the battle before the storm hit. He shook his head to himself as he skirted around a charred mass of bodies and earth. No, there’d be no good luck for them today. Between the wounded that they were now fighting to save and dead they would need to take care of and say rites for, it would be a long, miserable night.

  The road stretched on before him, leading to the city. A few stragglers pocked the side. He slowed. Ben and Geist stood in the distance, talking to a townsperson, a body on the ground beyond them. Artemis, maybe? It might be red hair, but he couldn’t be certain. Much closer to him, Raine sat on the ground, facing Brandon, her expression bleak with exhaustion, and beside her …

  Beside her was someone he never thought he’d see again.

  Andre.

  Brandon sped up, stumbling on weary feet as he jogged. Raine’s gaze flicked up, and recognition sparked in her eyes. She gave him a silent nod before saying something quiet that made Andre turn toward Brandon.

  Twenty years, the fall of Doldra, the loss of Clara and Sapphire, working for Everett, and then living in the Hollows had aged Andre, adding lines to his forehead and a shadow to his eyes. But the telltale wrinkles of his smile were also etched into the map of his face, and Andre’s intimidating stature hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Rather, Andre carried himself with even more grace and power than before. Everything about him giving an aura of danger.

  Then Andre saw him, and the atmosphere of menace dissipated in favor of shock.

  Brandon halted, barely five paces away from his former bodyguard, staring at Andre with what had to be the same look of amazed surprise.

  Brandon broke the silence. “I thought you were dead.”

  Andre grimaced and shook his head. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo of the blood-bonded.

  Brandon’s breath hitched. What if Andre had been given any dormant commands? Brandon rested his hand on his hilt, giving the activation stone on his sword a brief rub of his thumb. “Ignore any previous orders you’ve ever been given. You are to make your own choices from this moment on.”

  A smile, slow at first, then growing into an almost boyish grin spread across Andre’s face, and he bowed deeply. He signed, “Thank you.”

  The joy in Brandon ebbed. “What happened to you?”

  Raine shifted where she sat, craning her neck back to watch Andre. He gave her a questioning glance. She nodded and Brandon frowned. They must have met in the Hollows. But that didn’t explain the odd look.

  Andre lifted his hands again, and Brandon struggled to catch some of the words. How long had it been since he’d used sign? Fifteen years? That one mission with Jaxton,and since then, nothing.

  “I was silenced in the Hollows,” Raine’s soft voice interrupted, her gaze on Andre as he pointed toward the hillside. “Lord Everett wanted me dead, but the guards wanted me alive for their betting, so this is what they did.” Andre opened his mouth, and Raine flinched slightly.

  Brandon stared at Andre’s shortened tongue, rage bubbling in gut, burning away some of the fatigue. Brandon straightened, fighting to keep his voice even. “So they literally silenced you?”

  Andre nodded.

  Brandon ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to force down the bitterness of injustice and ha
tred. If Everett was still alive, he’d murder the whale-scum himself for this.

  “Your Highness.”

  Brandon turned toward the voice behind him, already recognizing General Titus’s gravelly voice. Brandon gave him a short nod. “Yes, General?”

  Titus swept his arm to encompass the milling prisoners and guards that had been bonded, and were now helping triage the living and arrange the dead. “We need to do something about them, Your Highness. They’ve all been bonded, so they—myself included—are at risk of being used by just any Elph that makes it this far south.”

  The desire to turn away from this problem and focus on Andre burned in Brandon’s heart. He sighed. “What would you have me do, Titus?”

  The General didn’t blink at Brandon’s drop of formality. “Give them a choice. Either return to the prison to continue working in peace or fight in the war.” Titus shrugged, and Brandon belatedly noticed the streak of blood staining the General’s side. Titus didn’t seem to be affected by it. “That, or order them all to fight. We could use an army for what’s to come.”

  “Are they all army material?” Brandon gestured to two men who had slumped into each other. “Some are political prisoners, correct?”

  Titus nodded. “You could order the softies to stay behind and keep the mine running while those that can fight join our forces.”

  The thought of forcing this many souls into fighting a war that they hadn’t expected to fight sickened Brandon. How was this any better than Jaxton? Brandon crossed his arms, considering the rocks by his boots. If he gave the men a choice: the Hollows or fighting, they’d have more than he’d had. And if it gave him more men against the Elph whenever they invaded, all the better. And the mine still needed to produce its goods if they were to make use of its wealth for the war.