“How many are inside?” Vera asked the woman.
Sandoe’s mouth bunched. “We don’t know. They won’t let anyone but their closest go in. We’ve just been patrolling this entrance for the last hour.”
“You were supposed to be in that inner circle,” Aini said.
Walker shrugged, but the movement was tight like he braced for a sudden attack. Being a mole in King John’s camp was nothing Bran envied, that was certain. “I thought I was,” Walker said. “Just before he sent Sandoe and me on patrol, the king told me the order of attack had altered and that he was waiting on a message from inside the city.”
“Did he say anything else?” Thane eyed the tent behind them.
“No, but I do know he sent three flyers over the Firth of Forth to land near Arthur’s Seat. Said something about back up.”
Bran didn’t like this one bit. He gave Thane a look that said as much.
Thane raised his eyebrows. “Aye, friend.” He put a hand on Bran’s shoulder. “I agree with that face you’re making, but we’re in it, good or bad. We can’t pull back now.”
“What about this?” Bran held up his grainy fingers.
“We need to go. Before this change or whatever it is happens and we lose this chance to surprise John,” Vera hissed. “He has someone, possibly more than that, inside the walls. We must move now.”
“Agreed.” Thane gave the group one last encouraging nod, then pushed into the king’s tent beside Aini.
All hell broke loose.
Thane went down fast, glasses flying, four men on him and stretching his hands and feet wide so he couldn’t grab the stone necklace or a gun or anything. He struggled hard, the chocolate giving him superhuman strength, but there were just too many against him.
The kingsmen must have heard them coming.
Aini was treated likewise, face slammed into the earth, eyes blinking back tears.
Bran put a hand to an explosive, but before he could even finish the thought, he was on the ground alongside Myles, Vera, and Neve. Why hadn’t Bathilda warned them about all the kingsmen in here? Where were all the ghosts?
A figure in all black walked out of the tent’s second room. Gold rimmed the edges of his jacket and boots. His shoulder-length curls were oiled to a shine.
King John was here. In the flesh. On the battlefield.
Bran’s mouth went very dry. He tried to swallow and ending up making a ridiculous choking noise that had Thane doing his level best to twist and check on him despite the huge men holding him down.
King John leaned down toward Aini and put his hand on his knees. “I bet I can guess what you’re thinking. Even though I’m not an abomination like you and your people.”
Aini’s glare could’ve melted steel.
The king just smiled. “You’re wondering where your ghosts are. I bet you thought you could slip in here and have all the Dead on your side, hm?” He shuddered, then straightened obviously trying to hide his own fear of the paranormal. “We consulted some old tomes and discovered the key to unlocking this problem was very simple.”
“It’s salt, isn’t it?” Neve’s voice came from Aini’s right.
Salt. It hadn’t been sand near Bran’s boot outside. It had been salt. Suddenly he remembered Nathair talking at a gathering about his great-grandmother and how she’d banished a mean spirit from a barn at Inveraray with salt. The story had been one of a million and easy to forget among the others that were filled with seemingly more poignant information about clan loyalty and politics throughout the British Empire.
Bran locked eyes with Aini. Was John right? Did the salt keep the spirits out? Her eyes closed in defeat. Yes. The salt erased their key advantage. Now all that remained was the manner in which King John would kill them all.
“Pull back the roof, the walls.” John waved his fingers—heavy with gold rings—at the surrounding canvas. “I want to see my city. My Edinburgh. She is in chaos, and I will rectify this situation as a true king. I will show these rebels what royal blood can accomplish.”
Bran said a quiet Fare well to Viola and prepared to die.
Chapter 20
Destined
Thane watched the king’s boots shift in front of his nose. The smell of dirt rose through the fine carpet on the tent’s floor as Thane twisted to try to see Aini. Rage scorched his bones, his flesh. They had her pinned like a beautiful butterfly, wings trapped, no chance of flying now. She couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. The ghosts couldn’t pass the ring of salted earth. They were ruined.
“Thane,” Bran whispered. “Remember Moot Hill?”
What had he said? Moot Hill? That was the place where the old kings had been crowned. Thane had gone there with Bran during their stay with Callum. Thane had felt welcomed there—strong, powerful, and at peace. But what good was that memory now?
The kingsman who held Bran pushed his face into the ground with the sole of his shoe. Bran grunted in pain.
Thane spat blood from a deep cut inside his cheek. “Your earl and his men are still fighting out there. You haven’t won yet.”
The King John laughed as two figures were escorted by kingsmen to bow before the king. Thane frowned, trying to make out their faces. When the guard beside the king shifted his weight, Thane caught a clear view of both new arrivals. His stomach dropped like lead through water.
Nathair. Jack Shaw.
They stood like physical embodiments of the lives Thane could’ve led. Earl, fanatic. Gangster, opportunist.
He’d rather die.
“Offering surrender are you?” Thane shouted. This was the possible change that Walker and Sandoe had heard about.
His heart squeezed until he thought it might burst. Would he never be free of his father and the unique pain the man injected into his soul with every sick smile, loaded turn of phrase, and false promise? He hated the blood he shared with the man. Hated it.
And Jackie. Thane swallowed bile. He’d put steel to Aini’s flesh. He’d made her hurt. Being imprisoned injured a person so much more than a simple cut.
Anger flashed through Thane’s chest and down his arms as he stared at his two closest enemies, his two temporary allies. He’d held onto it, but now, now that they would surely give Thane and Aini up if King John offered terms, the blaze of righteous fury would no longer be ignored.
“What’s it to be then, Your Majesty?” Nathair asked. “Do we have an accord?”
King John raised his big nose into the air. “Call the French ships off right here. Now. And then we will talk.”
Jackie shook his phone jauntily, flipping his coat back and flashing the blood-red silk lining. “I’m the only one with the password to do so and I won’t call off our allies unless you declare your ceasefire over the loudspeaker for all to hear.”
Where did this man get his confidence? It was like he had some unending stash of it in that ridiculous coat.
John’s eyebrows lifted to meet his hairline. He looked utterly calm except for the angry flush sneaking up his neck. “I’ll just keep blasting until the French ships come closer then. Your choice.”
As if pressing his point, a flyer came to life behind them. The propellers thudded away like war drums and tossed dirt and salt into the air, flapping coats and hair riotously. A flash lit the night, and Thane knew more had died and more of the city was in ruins. His stomach lurched. So much damage that could not be undone. So many dead and dying. It was disgusting that Nathair and Jack would treat the rebels’ deaths like nothing. If they came to an agreement with King John, those who were dying right now would have died for no reason. Thane wanted to tear the world open and throw Nathair, Jack, and John in and watch them burn.
“None of us wants Edinburgh to become a pile of stone, Your Majesty,” Nathair said. “Would you agree? It has made you quite a lot of gold these past years.”
Thane realized his hands were shaking with the anger and determination flowing through him. If he could just move enough so that the Coronation Stone touc
hed the skin of his chest or neck, he could call up the curse. He could win. Maybe. If the ghost rulers were stronger than the salt. Inching a shoulder forward over the carpet, he rolled a small fraction and attempted to shift his shirt lower. One of the men holding him rammed his boot harder into his neck. Thane’s muscles spasmed, sending pain shooting through his upper back and head.
“Most of which you skimmed away into your own coffers, Earl.” The king’s voice was low and dangerous. “You call off the French ships now. You give me the Seer and the…Heir,” he said, his tone slick and toxic, “to do with as I please. Then you both walk free. I will call the ceasefire only when you make the call.”
Thane couldn’t let this happen. After all the work and all the terror, this couldn’t be the end of all they’d worked toward. He refused to believe Aini’s father Lewis, his mother Senga, Aini herself, and so many more had suffered for nothing. His teeth ground together and his pulse pounded behind his eyes.
Nathair was whispering to Jack. Vipers hissing at one another.
Invisible fire erupted along Thane’s shoulders. The man holding him down leaped back. The heat zipped down Thane’s arm and into his hand and a flickering sword materialized. He gasped and jumped to his feet, everyone else standing, open-mouthed, except Bran who wore a knowing grin. In shock, Thane stared down at the flaming, ghostly sword.
Clenching his jaw and arcing the sword he’d seen just once, on Moot Hill, Thane advanced on his father. He was sick with it, but he knew what he had to do. The image from his Dream haunted him.
“I don’t want to do this,” he said, “but I can’t let you hurt people anymore.”
The sword vanished and Nathair blinked—the only movement beyond Thane himself. Now, the room would erupt into gunfire and they would all be lost.
“I must do it,” Thane whispered, no idea who he was talking to. Maybe himself. Maybe the ghost kings. Time seemed suspended.
A shiver rolled down his body and the sword blazed into being.
Tears burned down Thane’s cheeks.
He ran the ghostly sword through Nathair’s chest.
Thane fell to his knees as his father’s body dropped beside Jack Shaw’s black boots. The world hummed and warped and Thane was outside of time, beyond pain and anger. This was justice and though it was horrible, it had to be done.
“Thane!” Aini’s voice broke through the haze and woke him.
Jack yanked a gun from a kingsman and made to aim at Thane’s head.
There was a shout and a noise like a strange wind instrument and then MacBeth’s knife was sticking out of Jack’s throat. Blood cloaked the man’s shirt and he crumpled to the carpet beside Nathair.
Aini was standing, panting, her stance wide. The hand that had thrown the dagger shook. “Your Dream. I remembered what you said, about bringing Death to them. To protect our people.”
Thane stood beside Aini, two beings draped in magic and prophecy, spinning the future.
None of the kingsmen or King John himself had moved. Shock, and perhaps a spell, had them all tied tight.
Chapter 21
Kings and Queens
Before the king could shake himself from whatever magic Thane had worked, Aini grabbed Thane and dragged him outside the salt circle.
She stood face-to-face with him, as an ally, a partner. Her heart drummed louder than any flyer as she stared into Thane’s silver eyes. “Claim your right.”
His aura fluttered, then brightened. He gripped the Coronation Stone at his neck.
Her own power flared to life, a shock of heat, a flood of possibility. At that moment, she was unstoppable.
The wind rose to a deafening roar. The ground shook like the very world tilted on its axis. Blue-white shapes curled from the earth in great, shimmering columns to become bearded kings, crowned queens, cloaked rulers from ages long forgotten. The aroma of sage, pine forests, and dark caves whirled into the air and whipped through Aini’s wild hair.
She grinned at the queens especially, fire in her veins.
Thane—stone in one hand and ghostly sword in the other—nodded. “It is time.”
Three kingsmen opened fire on Thane.
“Protect your Heir,” Aini called to the shimmering kings and queens.
Thane spun, his sword weaving through the air to create a glimmering, blue and white web of protection around him. Bullets fell from the weapon’s shielding like drops of rain.
A flyer lifted into the air and pointed its guns at Aini. She focused on the flyer’s cockpit, and with the gravity-reducing chemicals still riding her bloodstream, she soared toward the big, metal beast. Her outstretched hands blazed with supernatural light. The ghost rulers bolstered and fortified her. Their wall of otherworldly energy sang in her ears.
She smiled like a vengeful angel and threw all her own energy forward. “Take them down,” she commanded.
The crowned spirits enveloped the flyer. With a great crunching sound, the metal crumpled like it was made of sand.
Bran, Neve, Vera, and Myles fought the kingsmen inside the salt circle, their strength from the chocolates making them nearly impossible to defeat.
“Leave the salt circle!” Aini drifted toward them. The ghostly army flanked her and more spirits blossomed beyond Thane, ready to join in.
Bran glanced at Aini as he used a dagger’s hilt to crush a kingsman’s nose. “Here!” he said to Myles. “Out of the circle!”
Neve, Myles, and Vera followed him out of the sparkling ring, still fighting.
In the distance, the colored plumes of spirits shifted up, down, and around the city.
Leaping and slicing with his glowing sword, Thane cut down five kingsmen. Sweat darkened the hair at his brow as he fought for Scotland, for Aini, for all of them. The web around him pulsed in time with the ghost rulers’ light, fed by their magic. Aini had never been so proud.
Rising toward the stars, above Thane’s head, Aini threw her hands toward a mass of kingsmen with rocket launchers. The ghost queens raced to obey her, leaving the ghost kings to aid Thane. The queens twined their light around bodies and left the deadly kingsmen—those that had already murdered hundreds of innocent men, women, and children—unmoving in the cold mud.
Bran shrieked.
Aini looked down to see Bran jump between Thane’s back and King John’s sword. The king’s blade drove down through Bran’s arm and severed the limb completely.
Aini’s heart plummeted.
“Claim that man.” She pointed at King John.
Thane whirled to see Bran, to realize what his friend had done. With a fierce shout, Thane thrust his sword forward. The steel pierced John’s chest. Twenty of the brightest ghost queens and kings spun around the evil king, then dragged him screaming and bleeding to the ground.
“Stop his army and destroy his weapons,” Aini commanded the rest of the ghost rulers, watching them spread over the field. A deadly silence followed in their wake.
Aini rushed through the air to where Thane held Bran’s head in his lap. There was blood everywhere. The dark fluid stained Thane and Bran and the ground black. Myles, Neve, and Vera crowded around, all at a loss for words.
“Bathilda! Please! Anyone!” Aini studied the skies for help.
Bran coughed up a mouthful of blood and reached a hand toward Thane’s chest. Bran’s skin turned a dim shade of gray.
Thane pressed his forehead into Bran’s hair, eyes tightly shut.
Aini’s heart refused to beat. “Please!” She put her hands on Bran’s shoulder, right above the horrible wound Neve had stuffed with a strip of cloth. Pouring her energy into Bran, Aini tried to imagine the blood vessels closing and the skin mending, but her mind refused to lock into place. She couldn’t focus.
“We’re going to lose him.” Neve sniffed and put her hands on Bran’s ankle. Her face was a mess of dirt and blood specks.
Vera and Myles arranged themselves at each side of Thane, as if to hold him up. Aini choked on a cry for help. Where were the gho
sts? There was no time.
In the distance, flyers rose, then crashed over Arthur’s Seat, like birds shot down from the clouds. A shout came from the city—so many voices joined. But the words were lost in the cacophony of the ghosts’ vengeance on those who had hurt this land and its people. Bran’s body felt like a hollowed shell. His spirit was about to leave this life. She could feel it tugging at the strings of this world.
The ghosts weren’t coming to save this one man. He would die. Bran, Thane’s dearest friend. Aini took Thane’s hand in hers. It was cold. Thane bent low over Bran’s head and spoke into his ear. The night air blew over Aini’s cheeks and tried to dry her tears.
Then a warmth like one thousand hearth fires, one thousand summer breezes, one thousand embraces cocooned Aini.
“Thane. Wait.”
Could it be true? What was this?
Night became day as energy surged from Aini’s palm and into Bran’s dying body.
Thane stared at Aini, the raw hope in his eyes like firebrands.
Bran’s mouth opened wide and he breathed in deep and strong. The bleeding ceased. The exposed flesh near the torn fabric of Bran’s jacket and shirt smoothed into a scar that seemed years old. The severed limb, not far from where he’d fallen, disappeared. Bran’s arm didn’t materialize on his arm, but the shoulder seemed healed, and Bran was breathing. Opening his eyes, blinking, he glanced at Aini, then fell into what appeared to be a calm sleep, chest rising and falling regularly as darkness fell like blanket over the field.
Aini cried out in joy.
Thane watery eyes locked on her. His aura flickered like moonlight touched by fire. “Thank you, hen. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” His cheekbones reflected the colored light and a length of his hair fell over his forehead. “You are a wonder, Aini MacGregor. I am blessed indeed to have your heart.”
Gently, careful of Bran, she leaned over and pressed a simple kiss onto Thane’s lips.
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 61