The floor rumbled beneath their feet, a sign the coatl was stirring in the bowels of the castle.
“You used me.” He’d done her dirty work, cleansing Munster of everyone who wronged her, exposing Mór’s affair, imprisoning O’Reilly, and killing the witches.
“You killed none who did not deserve death. Isn’t that the duty of a warden—to bring justice?”
“And now you’re going to kill thousands of innocent people.” He gestured outside the doors of the throne room. “Do you call that justice?”
“You think they are innocent?” she demanded, full of fury. “Underneath the gold and splendor, this kingdom is rotten to its core. Those who rule it are evil and corrupt, and its people are ignorant and cruel. They would condemn someone to death simply because of the accident of their birth—because they were different. Women are sold into bondage like cattle, and you call that justice?” She shook her head and drew closer to him, ignoring Faolán’s snarls. “If we want justice, we have to take it for ourselves.”
Berengar could not forget the memory of the kiss they shared, when he’d seen her true face for the first time. Her rage—her pain—it was there, lurking just beneath the surface in each of their preceding encounters. No matter how he’d hardened his heart, she had torn away the wall he’d built around it, until now it was raw and exposed. He wanted to hate her for it, but he found he could not, because he understood her suffering in a way no one else could. He knew what that kind of anger did to a soul—he had the blood on his hands to prove it.
“Was it all a lie?” he asked. “Was any of it real? Did you bewitch me with a spell or give me some potion to make me love you?”
Her eyes flashed with terrible anger. “You dare ask me that?”
She shook her head and regained her composure before speaking again, and Berengar thought he had never seen someone look quite so sad.
She gazed upon him with a tenderness that surprised him. “They call you a monster. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew better. I might have loved you then, even from the start. When the world looked at me and saw only a cursed, defiled princess, you threw yourself in front of that arrow without hesitation. Despite everything you’ve endured—all you’ve suffered—your heart is true. Yes, there is anger, but also kindness, courage, and compassion. With you, I was no longer alone. You woke something inside me I never expected to feel for anyone. That night at the inn, I would have gone away with you.”
The night of Alannah’s coronation, when I fought Agatha, he realized, Ravenna was protecting me. Before that, she’d sent Ronan to come to his aid against the Danes at Knockaney.
“I know you feel the same. It doesn’t take a sorceress to see it.” The princess reached out her hand to him across the distance that separated them. “I accept you—your scars and your anger and your past—without condition or hesitation. We can rule Munster together, perhaps even all Fál.”
Berengar shook his head. “It’s not too late. You don’t have to do this. These people don’t deserve to die.”
Her expression hardened. “What was it you told me? This is who I am. It’s the life I choose.”
Berengar unlimbered his axe. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do it.”
Her laughter reverberated across the empty chamber. “You’re going to stop me with that?” She dragged a finger across the air, and suddenly the axe was in her hands. Ravenna lifted the axe as if it weighed nothing, turning it over to examine it more closely. In response to her touch, the charms Morwen inscribed appeared as a series of symbols running down the haft. “For all her failings, Morwen is a passable enchantress. The rune of resistance is a nice touch. Father always saw to it she had the best.” Ravenna cast the axe across the room, and it landed at his feet. “I’m afraid it won’t be enough to stop me.”
Berengar bent down to retrieve the axe without taking his eyes off her. He’d barely managed to hold his own against the Witches of the Golden Vale, even with Morwen’s help. If Ravenna was a sorceress, it made her one of the most powerful beings in all of Fál. He had never before faced such a threat. Yet for all her power, by her own admission, she’d only learned to control her powers after her brother’s death. Most practitioners of magic took years to fully reach the limits of their power, and Ravenna was still a young woman.
The floor rumbled again, and it took all his effort to retain his footing.
“Time is running out,” the princess said, pacing the floor. “It won’t be long now.”
Berengar lifted the axe and charged. Ravenna raised her hands, and the room grew dim as a wave of living shadows poured from her hands with such strength it sent the axe flying from his hands. Berengar ignored the axe and kept running. He moved to draw his sword, but the princess muttered a word under her breath, and suddenly he was immobilized, unable to move. When Ravenna reached out her hand to his face, Faolán positioned herself between Berengar and the sorceress.
“Let him go!” Morwen stood at the throne room’s entrance, staff in hand. She raised her palm and trained it on Berengar. “Trí mo chumhacht a shocrú saor in aisce. By my power, be set free.”
Berengar’s fingers closed around the sword, and he wrenched it free, training the blade on Ravenna. The sorceress ignored him and looked only at Morwen, her face full of contempt.
“I see you learned from your battle with the witches, sister.”
Morwen stopped at Berengar’s side, and her gaze darted to the shattered coatl egg. “What have you done, Ravenna?”
“I thought perhaps you might sense the power I unleashed, but you should have known to stay away.” Ravenna’s eyes narrowed at the magician like a snake waiting to strike. “Do you know what it was like, watching as Father gave you all the love and compassion he held back from his own heirs? I hated you for years. Even then, I would have let you live, but now that I see you…I think I’m going to enjoy watching you die.”
Berengar glanced at Morwen, who nodded in response to his unspoken question. They attacked in tandem, moving as one. Berengar flung himself toward Ravenna and brought his sword down to meet her. No sooner had she deflected his blade than Morwen thrust her staff at Ravenna to cast a spell. The sorceress spun around and countered the spell with a burst of shadow magic. Berengar swung his sword at her again, and again she deftly avoided him, causing him to nearly collide with Morwen.
Ravenna stopped his next attack dead in its tracks. “Ithe scrios sruthán.” The sword shook violently in his hands and the metal burned as if fresh from the forge. Berengar tossed it across the room moments before it shattered into shards, which Ravenna then redirected at Morwen. Morwen barely managed to deflect them in time, and the shards reassembled into a sword at her feet. Faolán ran at the princess, distracting her long enough for Morwen to run her hand along the surface of her staff, and the red rune at the head glowed with red light.
“Dóiteán,” Morwen shouted, the same spell she’d attempted in their battle with the coven. This time she spoke the word with confidence. A column of flame shot out of the staff, trapping Ravenna within a flaming circle.
The princess clapped her hands together, her feral delight visible in the firelight. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.” She held out her hand to touch the fire, and the flames drained into her outstretched palm, forming a fireball. “My turn,” Ravenna said, heaving the fireball at Morwen.
Berengar hurled himself into Morwen, pushing her aside as the fireball struck the place where she had stood, leaving a scorch mark on the floor.
“On your feet, Morwen,” Ravenna said. “Did you truly imagine a magician could stand against a sorceress?”
When Morwen leapt to her feet, the sorceress knocked her back to the floor with another blast of shadow magic. As she attempted to rise, Ravenna sent her crashing into a pillar.
“Enough.” Berengar snatched his axe from the ground and ran at the sorceress, but she picked him off the ground and sent him flying across the room with an invisible force. She did t
he same to Faolán just before the wolfhound could strike.
Ravenna’s attention returned to Morwen, who reached across the floor to grasp her staff and pushed herself to her feet in defiance of the princess. She raised the staff to cast a spell, but Ravenna made a single downward slash with her fist, and the staff clattered to the floor.
“Pick it up,” Ravenna hissed.
When Morwen attempted to retrieve her staff, her arm froze. Ravenna spread her fingers out like claws and lifted Morwen off the ground with magic. Morwen fought against her half-sister’s hold, her feet dangling in the air as she gasped for breath. Berengar snatched his battleaxe from the floor and rushed toward Ravenna, who unleashed a stream of living shadows at him with her free hand. The warden used his axe as a shield, and the black magic struck the silver rune at full force. With Ravenna’s attention divided between Berengar and Morwen, the rune was able to absorb most of the attack. Still, the force of it pushed him back on his heels, threatening to knock the axe from his grip. Berengar held onto the axe with all his might and struggled against the unrelenting stream of shadows, advancing little by little toward the sorceress. Ravenna glanced from one to the other, her frustration mounting as Berengar neared striking distance. At the last moment she released her hold on Morwen in order to hit Berengar at full force with a wave of shadow magic. Berengar met her outstretched hands with the flat of his axe, and the silver rune produced a twang as the spell rebounded on them both.
Ravenna’s silver crown went rolling across the floor, and Berengar was sent sliding backward. Morwen helped him to his feet—her staff in hand once more—and he looked up in time to see Ravenna on the dais, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. The princess recovered quickly, her face lined with hate as they stared at each other. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them, and Corrin marched into the throne room at the head of three units.
“Arrest these traitors, Corrin,” Ravenna said, eyeing the captain of the guard.
Corrin stopped at Berengar’s side and stood fast. At his command, the soldiers thrust their spears forward and advanced slowly toward the throne as archers took aim at the princess.
“It’s over,” Berengar said. “You will never be queen of Munster.”
Ravenna’s lips drew back into a smile. “This was never about the throne of Munster. A dark time is coming, Warden of Fál. The High Queen and her wardens will fall, and the shadows will again hold dominion over Fál.”
Morwen clutched her chest, her face a mask of pain as if sensing great evil. The earth trembled, and the ground began to shift under their feet. Stones fell from the walls, and the rose window shattered into a thousand pieces. The floor in front of the throne broke apart, and a monstrous serpent shot out of the hole between Ravenna and her enemies. The sorceress’ smile widened as the coatl unfurled its wings and unleashed a deafening roar. It lunged at the soldiers nearest the throne, tearing through their ranks and snapping them up in its jaws. The monster’s tail ripped free of the floor and swatted aside those who fled before it.
Morwen watched in horror as it laid waste to the throne room. “It will destroy everything.”
Berengar reached for his bow. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Keep the princess occupied.”
“I’ll try my best.”
The warden nocked an arrow and aimed it at the coatl. The other archers’ arrows all bounced off the monster’s scales, as ineffective as they might have been against a dragon. Berengar held the arrow steady even as pieces of the ceiling fell around him, waiting for the serpent to expose its underbelly before he released his hold on the string. The shot found its mark, and the arrow lodged itself in the coatl, producing a stream of green blood. The snake’s head turned swiftly in Berengar’s direction, and its diamond-shaped pupils fell on him. When it lashed its tail toward him, Berengar whistled and Faolán sank her teeth into its flesh. The coatl sent her flying into the wall with a flick of its tail, and Berengar nocked and released another arrow. Enraged, the serpent’s frenzied attack intensified, sweeping dozens of soldiers from their feet. Berengar took aim at its head, but the coatl’s tail came crashing down toward him, forcing him to leap out of its path. He lost his grip on his bow, and the column of soldiers behind him was crushed.
He glanced over at Morwen, but the magician’s luck was no better than his. She was barely holding her own against Ravenna, who seemed to be toying with her. Each new burst of shadow magic pushed her back farther and farther. When she pointed her staff at Ravenna in a final desperate attempt to counter her attacks, the sorceress uttered a spell that caused the entire throne room to tremble, and the staff shattered in Morwen’s hands. Morwen was knocked to the ground, defenseless, as the remnants of her staff were swept away.
“Finish her, my pet,” Ravenna ordered the coatl.
The serpent hissed in obedience and opened its jaws to devour her. Armed with no weapon, Berengar put himself between Morwen and the coatl. Just before its fangs closed around him, the amulet around Morwen’s neck glowed, and a sphere of light detonated around them. The force of the explosion sent the coatl crashing against the wall, which collapsed on it, exposing the throne room to the outside.
“Morwen.” Berengar reached for her as dust swirled through the chamber. She moaned, her eyes barely open. Blood ran down from her nose.
“A powerful enchantment,” Ravenna said while the coatl shifted under the weight of the stones, slowly working to free itself. “A pity you can only invoke its magic at such a great cost.”
Amid the rubble, Berengar spotted the flame rune where it had landed when Morwen’s staff was destroyed. He lunged for it at the same moment the coatl broke free. When the serpent opened its mouth and let out a hiss, the warden hurled the rune at its open mouth. As Ravenna’s eyes widened in surprise, Morwen reached up from the ground and invoked the rune’s magic.
“Dóiteán.”
Just before disappearing inside the coatl’s jaws, the rune glowed red. Morwen slumped back, and her eyes closed. Berengar found himself alone facing the coatl. With Morwen’s staff destroyed, he wasn’t certain if the magic would work. The sound of a terrible explosion filled the room as fire shot out of the serpent’s mouth. The great creature shrieked and collapsed onto the floor, writhing in pain, its scales seared and blackened.
Berengar reached for his axe and turned toward Ravenna. The pair faced each other across the wreckage. No one else was left standing. They clashed at the heart of the throne room, exchanging blows that rattled the chamber. Her connection with the coatl had weakened Ravenna, and expending so much power had left the sorceress drained, yet her fury was such it took all his strength to withstand each of her attacks.
They wrestled over possession of the axe, and Ravenna turned the weapon back toward him, cutting into his armor. Just before it would have drawn blood, Berengar rammed his shoulder under her jaw and brought the axe around, but he stopped short of hitting her. Ravenna seized the opportunity to knock him to the ground with a blast of shadow magic. She held him there, pinned to the floor by magic, and stared down at him. Berengar peered into her dark eyes, waiting for her to deliver the killing blow, but at the last moment she hesitated. An arrow struck her in the back. Ravenna’s brow arched upward and she toppled forward, revealing Morwen behind her, the warden’s bow clutched in her hands.
Berengar caught Ravenna in his arms and lowered her to the floor. She was shivering, and there was blood everywhere, but he doubted the wound was fatal. He followed the princess’ eyes to his axe.
“Finish it,” she pleaded. “Kill me. I won’t be a prisoner again.”
He held the axe at her throat, but it wavered in his grasp.
“Are you not Berengar the Merciless?” she demanded, her voice angry. “Do it.”
He had killed hundreds over the years. What was one more? Ravenna was too dangerous to be allowed to live. If she escaped, she would only grow more powerful. He knew what was required. He’d done it so many times before, an
d yet, as he looked into her sad eyes, he glimpsed the suffering beneath her anger and found he could not bring himself to do it again. Despite her crimes, no matter how misguided her beliefs, there was still something of the girl she had been before cruelty and betrayal had twisted her into something monstrous. He understood, because deep down he knew it was true of himself, and he pitied her for it.
Maybe it’s not too late, he thought. For either of us.
Berengar lowered the axe, and Ravenna’s mouth opened in surprise.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”
Ravenna stood, cradling her injury. For just a moment, Berengar found himself looking at the woman from the tavern, so vulnerable and alone.
“Go,” he told her. “Leave Munster and never return.”
She would live, but as an exile and a criminal. Her title and wealth would be stripped from her. She would never sit on the throne. If she remained in Fál, she would always be a fugitive. That would be punishment enough.
Ravenna stared at him for a long time. The coatl slithered across the floor to her feet, its movements labored and weak. She rested a hand on its scaled surface, and the creature spread its wings.
“Farewell, Warden Berengar.”
Then she climbed on its back and flew away.
Chapter Nineteen
The days were growing shorter.
Berengar stood at Mór’s tomb. A steady breeze swept over the warden, carrying the last of summer’s warmth. Fall would descend across the land soon enough. He gazed upon his friend’s likeness, unable to reconcile the memory of the young man who had plucked him from the banks of the River Shannon and stood at his side against Azeroth’s hordes with the man who neglected his family and failed his kingdom. While it was possible the king’s power made him think himself infallible—a trap more than one monarch had fallen prey to—Berengar suspected it simply became easier for Mór to justify his wrongs with each new sin he committed. He must have told himself his alliance with the witches was for the greater good, as were the tributes he sent them. Mór probably imagined he was acting in defense of the realm when he sent his daughter away, when he was actually just protecting himself.
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