Wicked Crown (Shattered Kingdom Book 2)

by Angelina J. Steffort

  And even if there weren’t, and her words only made Raynar pause long enough for her magic to get through the pudding-like wards to Raynar—

  She felt tendrils of power snake forward at her thoughts, and once more, she sought Nehelon’s gaze, which, this time, seemed to contain an understanding of what she was about to do, and he pursed his lips as if holding words in that wanted to rush from his mouth.

  Raynar is afraid his followers will turn on him. Gandrett thought the words at Nehelon before she checked for the Dragon King’s reaction … how he remained sitting like a statue, ice crystals covering the throne beneath him and spreading along the dais, down to the floor where Lord Tyrem’s body had been discarded.

  She let her magic flow faster and sensed the way it invisibly curved and coiled around every layer of the wards … and so did Nehelon’s power, familiar by now as it pierced through the wards in crisp and clean lines.

  Together. She more felt the word than heard it. And when she turned her gaze back on Nehelon, his Fae lips had parted in a feral smile.

  “Nobody? Are you sure? You want to be on the winning side, don’t you?” he asked into the room and played along with her distraction as if most of his focus wasn’t going into getting their magic close enough to the Dragon King to at least trap him. Destroy wasn’t an option as Brax’s presence reminded her so readily when his fingers dug into her bicep. As if he stood a chance at restraining her—

  Raynar snorted on the throne, hiding the concern in his eyes as he glanced at Kyle and back at the other guards. “The winning side is with me,” he clarified—not just to the guards. A threat, open and ringing loudly in Gandrett’s skull as her magic was half up the dais. Raynar didn’t seem to see it coming. At least he gave no sign if he was aware that there were powers spearing for him, readying themselves to cage him—whether bars of stone or leashes of water or bonds of fire, Gandrett didn’t care. As long as they found a way to keep Raynar away from Addie and prevent whatever he needed to do to finish that process that would make him near-invincible.

  The Dragon King hissed, allowing his ice to spread farther as some of the guards halted … not pondering in confusion, Gandrett realized to her dismay, but sizing up the new formation with Kyle at her side. As she measured each of them, she knew that none of them would make up their minds because their minds were no longer their own. They all were wearing that empty expression that Kyle alone hadn’t shared. So a distraction was what it would remain. Not a sudden tilting of the odds.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  She had gone crazy. That was what Brax was thinking as Gandrett addressed the guards and invited them to run over to their side. None of them would. Wasn’t that obvious? Hadn’t enough men died? Wasn’t his father’s death proof enough that this was not a moment to experiment concerning how far to push a tyrant ruler who had recently returned from the dead and seemed to have a bone to pick with the Fae who was now the only barrier between Raynar—who, by the way, was possessing his brother’s body—and Gandrett, who no longer seemed like she was up to the task of cutting down any more soldiers. Her skin had turned gray, and her stance was unstable. So he tightened his grip around her arm, ready to take her full weight should she collapse.

  Brax’s eyes were still locked on his brother—who no longer was his brother—even though there was a Fae right there in the room. A Fae who had been able to mislead this entire court for a decade. A Fae who, for some reason, had cared a lot about whether Josh lived or died. Who had gone above and beyond to free the Prince of Sives from the claws of the Denderlains—

  And Josh … he couldn’t be just gone. There had to be some part of him left in there … fighting.

  Brax had been following the events in the great hall in a daze—the same great hall where he had spent his childhood. Blood covered up the pattern on the polished stone floor. The cold was making it almost impossible to think, and his fear wasn’t just for his brother, who might still stand a chance if they managed to contain him somehow—he would only give up on Josh if there was no other way and even then—but for Mckenzie and his mother. They had left the great hall earlier before everything had happened. But where had they gone? Had Josh—Raynar—set plans in motion to stop them? To use them as hostages as leverage against him. Against Sives and anyone in this house who dared stand in his way?

  His eyes were on Joshua’s face, so cold that it hardly resembled his brother. So full of loathing was he … as Raynar flicked his fingers at the guards, apparently bored with Gandrett’s words and no longer willing to wait for whatever he had planned to do to her. With immortal grace, he rose to his feet—and halted, half upright, as if bound by invisible thread.

  Brax didn’t have time to watch what was happening on the dais, for around them, the guards were finally attacking, some of them with injuries that should allow no mortal man to stay upright—but then, they were no longer mere mortals. They were the Dragon King’s armed puppets, and even though the latter was cursing in his invisible bonds, they were ready to neutralize the Fae male who seemed to be the source of whatever it was that held Raynar in place.

  “We’ve got him,” the chancellor hissed, his gaze locked on the immobile figure hovering above his throne. Brax’s heart got a bit lighter as hope spread in his chest. Hope that the Fae male may contain the Dragon King long enough that they may put him in shackles—bind him by any means necessary so he could pry that piece of shit immortal from his brother’s body.

  “Watch out!” It was Kyle who warned him as one of the guards surrounding them leaped at him, trying to get past to Gandrett—

  As Brax met the man’s blade with his sword, he realized that the guards weren’t only coming for Nehelon, but they prioritized Gandrett in a way that could only mean that what he had seen of her magic—magic, she had magic, he still couldn’t believe it—wasn’t the last of her power, and she was working with the Fae male to bring down Raynar. To bind him so they might figure out a way to drive the Dragon King out of Josh’s body and to Hel’s realm for good.

  He grunted under the heavy blow of another sword, letting go of Gandrett’s arm to balance himself as he struck back with an efficient hit on the man’s neck. Oh, he had paid attention when the chancellor had beheaded the other guard, that it had been the only way the man stayed down. And that was what he intended to do—even if it meant killing men who had been in House Brenheran’s service for years, decades—until they could focus on Raynar and Raynar only. Behind him, Kyle was engaged in combat with two guards at once while Nehelon had taken on the one raising his sword in dangerous proximity to Gandrett, whose focus was on the Dragon King even if she held her sword securely in her hand.

  He parried another blow from the guard he was fighting, feeling his arm throb where he had been hit before as, from the corner of his eye, he saw that Gandrett wasn’t reacting fast enough when a blow came her way, one that couldn’t be defended with the chancellor still too far away to leap in to her defense. And Brax … his own path was blocked by the guard he was bringing down. With horror, he realized that he wouldn’t be able to reach her in time—

  And just like that, the blade sunk into Gandrett’s side like a knife into butter, and a scream erupted from her lips as the man pulled it out again and lifted it to strike once more, his eyes indifferent as he aimed to slaughter the fragile creature before him.

  Brax noticed the look of horror on the chancellor’s face as crimson blood trickled from the wound so fast her clothes were already turning the color of death on the side where the fresh blood seeped into them. And knowing that the chancellor, as a Fae, was the only person in this room who might be able to save her with his healing powers—if he was lucky enough to possess those—more guards stepped in to block his path to the Child of Vala, who was swaying on the spot, her balance failing her as she fought to keep upright, alert, her sword still clutched in her hand, her grip loosening as she pressed her other hand against her wound and winced. She wouldn’t last long if they couldn’t get her
out. If the chancellor couldn’t get to her. If they didn’t manage to defeat those few guards that were still standing after the chancellor had been relentlessly cutting through necks without even a hint of regret, his focus narrowing solely on the bleeding woman, whom nothing but her steel will kept afloat.

  Kyle was cutting down whoever threatened to close in from the other side, clearing the back of the room, so Brax reeled around and plunged his sword into the neck of the guard separating him from Gandrett and didn’t stop to watch the man’s head fall as he severed it with a clumsy cut. His free hand was already reaching for Gandrett, grabbing for her torn tunic, and he pulled her back, out of reach of the blade that was sailing toward her … and loosed a gasping curse as they slammed hard into the floor, his shoulder screaming, Gandrett landing atop of him, a heap of limp flesh.

  Her blood warmed his skin as it seeped through his tunic, hotter than it would normally feel … but the room was still icy from Raynar’s power—a Shygon-given power if he had pieced Josh’s stories from Eedwood together correctly.

  Gandrett moaned, her skin tone a shade paler even than a minute ago when her magic had been all that had strained her. The sound was like a knife to his chest, but he couldn’t slide her off his body and check on her condition. The guard whom they had just dodged was about to deliver another strike.

  So Brax ignored his protesting arm as he reached behind her back with his sword and prepared to redirect the blow away from Gandrett, right into the floor. From the burning in his muscles, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold against the force of the man whose sword was now coming for them if he tried to parry it and hold his ground. His own strength was coming to an end.

  A deep breath. Another. And another. Brax wasn’t nearly ready when the blow fell straight down, the impact driving a yelp from his mouth. He pushed up to meet the blow, the guard’s blade not wanting to slide off to the side but seeming intent to find its way straight into Gandrett’s back.

  He cursed again. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up any longer, his shoulder screaming in pain as he shifted just enough to bring his own flank out from under Gandrett’s body. She murmured something too low for him to hear over the steel that was grinding against steel, the shouts and screams of the men the chancellor and Kyle were fighting in the background, his own heart hammering in his ears like a drum of death—

  His strength faltered, and all he could do was scream her name as his arm was pushed back, the guard’s blade finding its aim—

  Nehelon ducked under the blow that came his direction then stabbed right into the neck of the man who had been trying to fell him. The smell of Gandrett’s blood fogged his mind like a red veil that came with rage.

  Rage—

  It had settled in every fiber of his body as that guard had sliced into her side, spilling her precious blood. Mechanically, he lifted his blade and cut clean through the man’s throat, not bothering to watch how the head dropped to the crimson-smeared floor before the knees even buckled. Kyle was doing a great job containing those guards and Brax—

  Nehelon found the youngest Brenheran son diving for Gandrett right when the guard who had injured her was about to strike again. They landed ungently on the stone, Brax grunting as he readied himself to defend the limp body that was resting on top of his.

  Nehelon let his hands and centuries of experience do the fighting, finding one neck to sever after the other, his Fae heart racing in his chest as he pushed and pushed himself to get through the line of men faster. As if they knew he was the only one who could heal Gandrett, they were cutting him off from her. And for each one he killed, another one stepped up.

  Gandrett’s chestnut braid hung to the floor, her face buried in Brax’s shoulder, her arms limp and bloodied, no reaction coming from her other than a grunt of pain as the youngest Brenheran brought up his sword arm to catch the blade that was diving for Gandrett’s lower back … and failed so terribly at forcing the man back or redirecting the blow that all Nehelon could do was contain the scream that wanted to erupt as he watched that steel sink lower and lower toward that exposed skin—

  Maybe it was the gods’ mercy that the tip of the blade was blocked from his view right as it was about to pierce her skin. Maybe it was his punishment for allowing himself to dwell in one or two sweet moments with the girl…

  Brax’s curse broke through the noise of combat, but Gandrett’s gurgling scream didn’t come.

  Instead, her voice, incomprehensible, so low that all it did was wash a wave of relief through him that she was still alive, still breathing and alert enough to form words, wove through the world that seemed to hold its breath … as did he.

  Spurred by the sound of something more than that murmur, Nehelon wielded his sword with new strength. Anything that would allow him to get to her in time—anything.

  He didn’t care for the icy, vicious laugh that followed him from the dais where, together, he and Gandrett had frozen Raynar. He didn’t react to the words the Dragon King was hissing, the lines of revenge that let Nehelon remember that he would suffer before the end—as would anyone he was stupid enough to care about. He didn’t even care that the grip on his magic was gradually slipping, loosing the hold he still had on Raynar, as he battled his way through to the young woman who he couldn’t see dying.

  He just couldn’t.

  And it wasn’t just because of that space she had occupied in his ancient, stone-like heart but because losing her would mean that he had failed the one task he had been given.

  Find someone to break the curse.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  It took all of Gandrett’s focus to breathe through the pain that spread from her side and slowly made her arms and legs go numb. She was vaguely aware of Brax’s arm reaching around her … of his body beneath hers…

  But there was no comfort in his embrace. It wasn’t even an embrace. He had pulled her out of harm’s way when she had been too occupied with freezing Raynar in place that she had taken her attention off the danger right before her—a stupid mistake that made her feel like a novice once more. If the Meister ever heard about this, she would get more closely acquainted with the rods the Meister used to punish the acolytes’ failures. Gods—if she made it out of here alive, she’d gladly take the beating.

  Brax cursed, and his body went taut as the sound of steel on steel ripped the air behind her—too close. Then, the muscles in Brax’s chest were quivering from the strain. She didn’t know what exactly was going on, but if Brax hadn’t wasted a moment to shift her off of him before he had met the blade above them, it had to be bad.

  With the last energy she could muster, Gandrett rallied the remains of her magic. She had long given up on holding that connection to the Dragon King. The gods knew if Nehelon had managed to contain him up there on that dais. For all she knew, Brax could be parrying Raynar Leyon himself behind her back.

  “Buy me a second or two,” she whispered, glad that her head was already resting on his neck and she didn’t need to strain herself to speak to him.

  The throbbing in her flank didn’t stop as she attempted to ignore it. No. It got angrier like a beast that demanded her attention. But she let it rage there and channeled the pain into her chest instead where her power was unfolding in weak, thin tendrils, fueled only by her determination to not let this be the end.

  Brax shifted his hip, pushing her own hip aside as he himself seemed to be rallying his strength.

  Gandrett didn’t wait for him to break but did what she did best—

  It was the first rule she had learned in her sorry life after she had been snatched from her home: if you don’t save yourself, no-one will. So she took a deep breath that made her feel like she would burst open where her body was already carved up, using the angle of Brax’s body to push herself off of him and roll onto her back … and stared into the emotionless eyes of the guard who had cut open her flank—and was about to drive his blade right into her again. The blade missed its aim by mere inches, scrat
ching over her hip right beneath the gaping wound he’d given her a mere minute ago as she slid away from Brax … and the tip hit the stone between them instead.

  Gandrett bit back a groan and saved her breath for letting her magic burn from her fingers as she reached out and wrapped her hand around the man’s sword-clutching fist.

  Every inch of her body protested as she pulled herself up against the shaking arm, the hand trying to pull out of hers … but she didn’t let go as she glanced at a greenish-faced Brax, who seemed petrified there on the floor, eyes on the blade that would have meant her certain death had she not moved, and his chest heaving one chopped breath after the other.

  Under her palm, the man’s skin was steaming and melting as was the sword beneath it, steel trickling onto the stone as she held him there in place while her other hand was searching the floor for a sword, a knife, anything that would be strong enough to cut through a neck … and found nothing within reach.

  Nothing.

  And her strength was fading … not that there had been anything left but that final bucking of her survival instincts.

  Just as the flesh in her grasp was dissolving into mere ashes, Gandrett glanced up at the man’s face. The emptiness in his eyes had given way to panic, his features torn in agony as he reached behind his back with his good hand and—

  Gandrett’s strength faltered, her power gone, her chest empty. She couldn’t react in time to throw herself to the side when the tip of a blade grew from his stomach and he tumbled forward, swaying for a moment. Gandrett already saw herself smothered by his weight. Suffocated by a stumbling soldier—how she hoped that wasn’t what would be carved onto her gravestone.

  The figure above her was falling … falling … as if in slow motion … while Gandrett’s vision was swimming, and she could keep her focus merely long enough to see the blade withdraw and reappear at the man’s throat, his head coming off with a spray of blood and landing by her ankles—beside the man’s ankles.