The Witch King

by H. E. Edgmon

  I—

  Okay.

  Instead of responding to that statement, I decide to try and stab him. I swipe the knife at his chest, and he manages to curl his body backward and avoid being sliced open.

  Instead of fear, when Emyr looks down at me wielding a knife on him, he looks...excited? Light burns in his dark eyes, a dangerous kind of smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  I thrust the blade out again, and this time, when he maneuvers away, he yanks the sword up from his bed and uses it to block my assault. Steel clashes against steel, the sound ringing throughout his bedroom.

  He continues like that, never trying to hurt me but blocking my every strike with ridiculous ease. I step this way, he steps that. I throw my body forward, he slides his back. It’s a strange sort of dance I didn’t know I could enjoy until this moment.

  “Don’t get cocky,” I mumble, licking my lower lip, watching him for a weak spot. “You’ve got years of practice on me. Give me time and I could totally beat your ass.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he says smoothly, in the sort of way that makes me want to beat my own ass. He seems to think this is my admission of defeat, that I’ve given up, and he kneels down to open the trunk at the foot of his bed, presumably to store his sword.

  That’s when I press the dagger against his carotid.

  Emyr freezes. The only parts of him that still seem to be working are his eyes, which flick up to meet mine, and his pulse, which I can see fluttering against the tip of the blade.

  I’ve got him on his knees in front of me, I’ve got a knife on his throat, and he’s looking at me with a mixture of fear and that familiar, inscrutable expression I’ve come to expect when his gaze lands on me. And I’m...

  Incapable of coherent thought.

  “Like I said,” he finally whispers, so quiet I nearly don’t hear him. “It’s about knowing what you’re doing with it.”

  The door to his bedroom opens again and I almost fall on my ass I scramble back so quickly, the dagger falling to the floor between us.

  Kadri is standing in the doorway, expression tight, gray energy as fierce as a tornado around her shoulders. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

  Emyr scrambles to his feet, dropping the sword into his chest like a toy. “Ah, no, it’s fine, Mother. Did you need something?”

  “There are protestors gathering outside on the steps.”

  “Protestors?”

  “Derek’s men.” Does she shoot me a foul look, or do I imagine that? “I would feel more comfortable were you to come and wait with your father and me until they disperse.”

  I wonder if it’s as exhausting having people protest your legitimacy as it is comforting having a mother who cares about your safety.

  “Oh. Of course.” He nods, rubbing a hand against his throat, talons pressing into the spot where the knife was only moments ago. The gesture appears to be a subconscious one.

  “Wyatt, you should return to your room, as well,” Kadri says plainly.

  “Mother, if there are safety concerns at play, perhaps Wyatt and Briar should join us.” Emyr’s gaze flicks quickly between my face and Kadri’s.

  “I’d rather not.” The words come tumbling out before I can stop them. But, seriously, I think it would do me and my hormones some good to not be so close to Emyr for a while.

  Kadri appears skeptical. “We’ll install a Guard outside your door to make sure you and your companion are left undisturbed.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay.” I nod and head toward the door. I need to find Briar. Hopefully, Jin’s made good on their promise to keep her close, even though I’ve been gone longer than I imagined I would be.

  “Hey,” Emyr calls at my back, and I look at him over my shoulder. “You were looking for me. What did you want?”

  “Oh.” Shit. Um. “I just, uh. Wanted to say hi.”

  Emyr raises his eyebrows. I scramble out the door and away from this side of the palace as quickly as I can.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MY BODY IS NOT MY BODY AND

  I AM NOT MYSELF

  By nightfall, the protests have escalated. The number of fae traditionists—their own word for themselves—on the steps has risen steadily all day and now there are dozens of them out there, shouting obscenities. Their energies converge into a buzzing, multicolored hive of little creatures, all screaming in unison and swarming in the air around us.

  Their chants climb the walls of the castle until they reach the balcony outside my and Briar’s room, where I’m watching the crowd.

  FAE FIRST, FAE FOREVER!

  FAE FIRST, FAE FOREVER!

  FAE FIRST, FAE FOREVER!

  A trickle of fear tiptoes across my shoulders like a crawling spider.

  Jin and the other witches have gathered on the other side of the lawn. I can see Roman, Solomon, and Lorena there, front and center. They have chants of their own.

  FASCIST FAE? NOT TODAY! HAVE OUR BACKS OR GET OUT OF THE WAY!

  FASCIST FAE? NOT TODAY! HAVE OUR BACKS OR GET OUT OF THE WAY!

  The Guard stands between the two sides, armed fae in full battle uniform. I’ve never seen the battle uniforms in person before, only in illustrated copies of our history books. They differ from the typical uniforms in that these black shirts are made of something thick and leathery, like shields wrapped around their bodies. They’re also sporting red cloaks, clasped across their throats and trailing down their backs, hoods pulled high. A glimmering magic can be made out inside the hood, no doubt some sort of Influencer magic intended to shield their faces.

  A shimmer of pink and green catches my eye, and I turn my head to look away from the protestors to the edge of the woods. I have to squint, but I manage to make out Clarke and Wade standing by the tree line. Wade throws his arms out, yelling something at his sister. Clarke reaches for him to grab his hand, and he pushes her away. She says something else, holding her hands out to him, as if she’s pleading. He shakes his head and crosses his arms.

  Wonder what that’s about. Maybe Clarke is trying to sway Wade to the witches’ side? I don’t know much about this guy and his politics, but he is Derek’s brother. And if his relationship with Tessa—whatever they are to each other—is any indication, he probably hates my guts.

  A knock on the door tugs me from my observation and I slip back into the room as Briar opens it.

  Emyr steps inside, looking far more haggard than he did this afternoon. He’s changed clothes again, too, now wearing a simple pair of brown trousers and a black cloak. It doesn’t look like him at all. “There was supposed to be a Guard at your door.”

  “There was.” I shrug. “He decided about an hour ago that he’d rather be outside with all the excitement.”

  “Of course he did,” Emyr snarls, flashing fang, and that definitely is not exciting to any part of my body at all. “I was concerned you might’ve decided the same.”

  “Worried I might have the audacity to stand next to the other witches and demand equality?” I ask, sliding my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie and leaning against the bedpost.

  Emyr scoffs, dark eyes rolling. He opens his mouth to speak, but Briar interjects before he can.

  “What set this off tonight?” She tugs nervously at a curl hanging down her chest, gaze flitting from Emyr to the window and back again.

  I’m curious about that, too. There’s no way it has anything to do with what I did in Emyr’s room earlier, on his laptop. I’m not sure if anyone’s seen that yet, and even if they have, it wouldn’t have reached these particular protestors. So, why the outburst tonight?

  Emyr runs his claws over the back of his neck. “This has been building for some time. Now that you’re here and my parents are beginning to make arrangements for the wedding, things have gotten worse. This was inevitable. We should have been better prepared for it.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t understand the hatred for the witches.” She shakes her head, wrapping her hand around the bedpost by my hip, resting her chin against the side of my head. “It’s not as if they’re a different species. They’re your children, your siblings, your cousins. They’re your neighbors and, for some of you, your friends. Why this divide?”

  Emyr looks to me as if he expects me to answer. I just wave him on. I have my own ideas about why the fae hate us, but I’m curious to hear what his reasoning is.

  He sighs, hard, reaching up to tug at his curls. “It is an old prejudice. There are people who will hate anything that’s different from them. The witches are something different. That’s all.”

  “Humans are different, too. Do you hate them as much?”

  “I don’t hate anyone.” Emyr presses each word out slowly through his teeth. “But yes. There are some among us who hate humans.”

  “The fae came here from Faery. Sought safe haven here when your own world was collapsing. And now you hide away in these kingdoms, plotting for some confrontation the humans don’t even know might be coming, and throwing your unwanted children into our world to die.” Briar is clearly upset, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, yellow energy shaking all around her.

  Again, Emyr looks at me. But I see him only in my periphery, because I’m too busy watching Briar, concern tugging my eyebrows together.

  We’ve talked before about the fae penchant for abandoning their witch children outside of the kingdom. How my parents thought I ought to feel lucky for not being left for dead. I didn’t realize that story had affected her enough to stay with her, but clearly it did.

  It almost doesn’t matter, though. Because Emyr doesn’t get a chance to respond.

  An explosion BOOMS across the night, rattling the stone floor beneath our feet, the mirror on the dresser falling and shattering into thousands of tiny shards.

  I reach for Briar’s hand, yanking her toward me. “What the fuck?”

  Terrified screams filter up, mingled with bloody war cries and a stream of curses. Another BOOM nearly knocks Briar and me off our feet, and Emyr’s hands reach out to curl around each of our sides, steadying us. My legs shake so badly I’m not sure I would be able to stay upright if not for his warm grip on my waist. Bile rises in the back of my throat, threatening to gag me as fear begins threading its way through my body.

  The windowed doors that lead to the balcony burst open with a ball of fire, more shards of glass erupting into the bedroom with the force of the blast. Emyr’s wings snap out to create a blockade between the glass and our bodies, but I still feel a dozen tiny fragments slice my skin.

  Flames lick their way into the room, blackening the walls and turning the curtains to ash. It won’t be long before they reach the bed and grow out of control.

  “Come on!” Emyr motions for us to follow him out of the room. As he does, our magic begins to twine together again, black and gold weaving into one another to create a bubble around our little trio. Briar’s energy trembles quietly at the center.

  As we make our way down the hallway, inhabitants of the palace—off-duty Guards, Committee members, and their families—pour out of their rooms, shouting, wailing. A window down the hall bursts open as another gust of flame eats its way into the castle. A servant girl, a little witch, frantically whispers an incantation, and frost builds along her hands and arms. She tosses bundles of snow toward the flame, but it doesn’t do anything to subdue the quickly growing inferno. She keeps trying, even as the flames slither closer to her body, until an older woman grabs her and drags her away.

  I watch them flee, feeling helpless in the face of the fire. Fire is the only magic I know, the only thing that ever came naturally to me when I was forbidden from learning anything else. What good would fire do me now?

  Emyr isn’t good for much in this moment, either, though I take some comfort in knowing he’ll be able to heal Briar if she gets hurt. That’s more than I’ll be able to do.

  “Derek’s men are trying to bring the palace down,” Emyr growls, flashing his huge fangs, gold dripping into his eyes and sliding against his arms. “We have to get outside. I’ll take you to the cabin—you’ll both be safe there.”

  “We’ll all be safe there,” Briar corrects. “If they burn the castle down with you inside, Derek gets the Throne.”

  My heart beats a little faster in my chest, adrenaline and fear making my palms slick with sweat. I glance at Emyr’s face and see nothing but a hard, emotionless mask.

  “Either way, we have to get out of here,” is all he says.

  We wind our way down a flight of stairs to the floor below. It’s even more frenzied here, people screaming and frantic bodies pushing and pulling at each other, trying to escape. The fire is worse on this level somehow.

  I wrap my arms around Briar’s shoulders, and Emyr stands tight to my back. The three of us move in tandem along with the rest of the crowd, making our way toward the next set of stairs.

  What we find there is chaos.

  Both groups from outside have infiltrated the palace. Fae Influencers, the only fae with the ability to manipulate the elements, throw balls of fire like tiny blazing meteors into the walls, making mountain rock crack and glass shatter under the impact. Some have rendered themselves invisible, balls of fire, more elegant and controlled than anything I’ve ever managed to wield, appearing from thin air. Others practice protective measures, sending debris flying another direction when it threatens to come down on them. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like they’re trying to bring the place down from the inside.

  Still, Jin’s group of witches fight back against them. They toss vials of potion at the flames, some concoction that stamps out the magical fire—but not without consequences. Everywhere the fire is extinguished, black smoke bubbles up, thick and noxious, making my eyes sting and my throat tighten. They use their magic against the fae, too. Some of the witches have cloaked their bodies the way the Influencers have. Some draw sigils on the walls with their own blood, pressing their palms against them to radiate magic that robs the fae of their breath or steals their senses. Others wield knives coated in black liquid, no doubt some kind of toxin, swiping out to slash the skin of the fae.

  Fae Feelers sense the intentions of the witches before they can strike, using their inhuman speed to counter their attacks before they can even move. Their Healers erase their wounds before they succumb to them.

  Lorena, in the heart of the chaos, reaches into a satchel at her side and produces a handful of black powder. She tosses it into the air and, when it connects with the fae, it burns their skin, leaving them stumbling away and screaming in pain. Iron filings? It won’t be enough to stop the assault, but it’s certainly enough to slow it down.

  I’ve wondered before what would happen if the witches rose up, who would come out on top if the playing field were truly even. If an equal number of us could form a united front against them. Maybe tonight we’ll find out.

  As the Guard rush into the fray and civilians around us scream, Briar turns in my arms and pushes at my chest. “Go! We have to find another way out!”

  Emyr wraps one long arm around us both, steering us away. “Come on. I know another route.”

  We slip away from the screaming battle, down a small adjacent hallway. The echoes of the clash die out behind us and it gets quiet, almost painfully so, the only sound our footsteps and labored breathing.

  “How much farther?” I ask as we make our way down a small staircase and into a narrow hallway. I have no idea which part of the castle we’re in now, and I can only hope Emyr still knows where we’re going.

  “Not much.”

  We round a corner and find the hallway filled with even more smoke, so thick that everything more than a few feet in front of us is obscured. Briar’s hand tightens in mine.

  “We have to turn around,” she manages to
cough out. I shrug out of my hoodie and hold it to her mouth until she takes it from me. I am not going to let her die here.

  Emyr stays close behind us, one hand on my shoulder, the other on Briar’s back. “We can’t. We have to keep moving or we’ll end up trapped in the castle.”

  He stoops forward and puts an arm around the back of Briar’s knees, then hoists her up as easily as lifting a feather. He turns his back to me, wings spanning the hallway. When he glances at me over his shoulder, I can only stare openmouthed.

  “You must be joking.”

  “I can get us out faster if I carry you. She can’t breathe this smoke much longer.”

  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Briar... I groan and reach for the back of his neck, then pull myself up his body. I curl my arms around his chest, reaching down with one hand to hold my hoodie tighter to Briar’s mouth. My knees tighten around Emyr’s slim hips. “Do not drop me.”

  “I would never,” Emyr huffs. And then he takes off at a run.

  There is nothing even remotely pleasant about clinging to Emyr’s back while he races through the smoky halls. Within seconds, I’m nauseated enough that I have to press my face into the back of his neck and squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to vomit across his wings.

  One of his curls tickles my nose. I nuzzle my face tighter against him. I think—and I’m probably totally imagining this—I hear him purr.

  When Emyr comes to a stop, I assume we’ve reached our destination. But when I open my eyes, I find we’ve stopped for another reason altogether.

  “Is that...?” Emyr asks, squinting at the body on the floor.

  “Tessa?” I leap down and take a few steps closer.

  My sister lifts her head and meets my eyes. She’s tucked in on herself, knees against her chest, arms around her legs, wings creating a bubble around her body as much as they can. When she looks at me, I see that her mascara has made tracks down her face and her pale cheeks are tinted red from crying.