[2018] Reign of Queens

by Melissa Wright

  “No!” Brianna yelled.

  My heart dropped. Morgan smiled, his gaze slowly moving to where Brianna stood, separate from the others. She’d been the only one safe. The only one he wouldn’t risk shooting.

  He needed her.

  “She’s immune to your sway,” Brianna said. “We both are.”

  Emily’s hand shifted to her back, but I stilled it. This was no time to stab Morgan, not when he’d turned the whole of his army against us. At least she still had a chance. She, and Brianna, could live.

  Brianna’s shoulders straightened, and her eyes roamed Morgan’s men. “You can’t make us bend to your will,” she said. “You’ve proven that.”

  Morgan slipped a hand casually into the pocket of his slacks, as if her speech was no more than entertainment.

  “If you kill another,” she said, “I will not go with you. Ever.” She stepped forward. “What you had in my mother will be lost to you. Again.”

  At her final threat, he took pause.

  Brianna gave him a moment to fully appreciate her words. And then, “I will submit to you, to save the others.” She took a deep, steadying breath, willing this last-ditch effort to work, making this one sacrifice that would take everything from her. “It’s the only way, Morgan. Reverse the sway, and I will go with you freely.”

  The muscles on Emily’s arm tensed completely, but I held her in my grip. If Morgan accepted this, it would give them all a chance. He wouldn’t hurt Brianna. Not until he knew.

  I squeezed, hoping to somehow convey the idea that this could buy us time. We could rescue her. Before he tried the union, she could escape.

  Morgan’s head tilted to the side, considering her offer.

  Brianna took another step forward. “I can give it all to you,” she said. “Everything my mother did.”

  After a moment, he laughed, a kind of joyous, disbelieving chuckle, and then raised his hands. “Deal.” He smiled. “But my brother comes with us.”

  Emily’s hand fell from her blade, and her head jerked to stare at me. She knew, without a doubt, that I would go. I had to, to save her. To save Brianna.

  It was the only way.

  And I would not show Morgan my weakness for her again.

  “Release them,” Brianna said as I walked forward.

  Morgan shook his head absently at her demand, but glanced briefly at the men surrounding them. When his gaze returned to Brianna, he held out a hand.

  She didn’t move. “All of them.”

  A guilty smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and he tipped his head in a nod before turning back to his men. I wondered how Brianna knew, if this was part of her gift, or if she was bluffing.

  Morgan concentrated harder this time, even laying hands on several of the men.

  When he finally turned back to her, Brianna met us at the center of the room, where I stayed a few paces back from my brother.

  He indicated the men should go, but then stopped, holding up the first finger of his left hand. “One more thing.”

  The flash of metal caught my eye a split second before the realization of what he was about to do kicked in. To anyone else, it might have seemed he was merely returning Emily’s blade, but to me, it was a certainty. Morgan had never dealt with knives enough to know how to properly wield one, and the looseness in his grip told me in the last few hours, he’d learned. Not well enough to be a marksman, but enough to kill Emily, even at this distance, and he’d done so specifically for this. To return the injury she’d given him. I was acting without thought, flying through the air to tackle him and break the wrist that held her blade.

  Brianna gasped as we landed at her feet, Council and Division men shuffling in the confusion of an instant’s events. They stared on at Morgan’s bloody nose, his torn shirt, the knife that now lay beside us as my hands wrapped tightly around his throat. I didn’t know what was happening behind me. I didn’t see Emily’s response. All I knew was that this monster that had once been my brother was not going to heal out of this. He would not take another breath.

  But something had happened. Something in Emily’s gaze or something in the strength of my reaction, or some unknown trigger caused Morgan to come out of the immediacy of the fight, to understand my response. It was as if I could see it click. Deep within his eyes, he knew.

  His face was purpling, but his eyes stared past me, and when they returned, it was no question he saw the bond. He knew what the Division had planned. He knew there was another way. And he could see it wasn’t Brianna, but Emily. The girl immune to his sway. The girl he’d tried to kill.

  The struggle went out of his limbs, but not because he was giving up. He went slack, because he was using all of his focus on something else. His hands rested on my forearms as the rage swept through him. If he couldn’t win, no one would.

  When the idea came into my head, I could do nothing to stop it. Because it was my thought now. My objective. I was powerless as my grip on Morgan let go to find and grasp the knife beside us. Time stilled, but it did nothing to save me. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t warn her. My movements were swift, too practiced, too fast, and in a fraction of a second, and I was standing in front of Brianna. No one realized she was in danger. No one knew to stop me. My left arm braced her shoulder and my right swung true. I could do nothing else.

  I could do nothing else.

  Brianna stared into my eyes as her blood ran down my arms, rushing warm and wet through my hands, over the hilt of the blade I had stabbed beneath her chest.

  “It was the only way,” she breathed.

  Recompense

  Somewhere behind me there was a scream. Brianna’s legs gave, and I caught her, speechless as I wrapped my arms around her. Brendan was suddenly there, taking her free of my grasp, and Emily, gods, Emily.

  Emily was screaming.

  “Get her to a hospital! For Christ’s sake, help her!” She frantically searched the room for someone to respond, and then Brianna’s hand slipped over hers and their gazes locked. “She can’t heal,” Emily whimpered. “She’s not like you. She needs a doctor.”

  Brendan was shouting orders, and Division men were rushing to her aid. They had a surgeon on staff. They would help her.

  A wheezing croak came from the floor beside me, and I looked down to see Morgan’s laugh. Nothing remained in me then but black rage. I was on him, pummeling him with blow after blow. I knew a hundred ways to kill a man, but this, this wasn’t going to be an easy death. I was senseless, beating and bashing without thought or reason until I was empty. A shell. And I became aware of a hand on my shoulder.

  Morgan was unconscious, blood bubbling from his nose in small, weak puffs. But that was not what stopped me. It was the blood on Brendan. It was Brianna’s blood.

  It was a reminder. She had said my brother must live. To keep the rest of us safe, Morgan could not die.

  I lifted a shaky hand to my chest, wiping the dampness as I surveyed the room. Emily was gone. Morgan’s men were struck dumb, staring fixedly at the unmoving body beneath me. They had to know. Once Morgan had released them, they had to understand they’d been under his power.

  “Go home,” Brendan said weakly. “Go home and we will work this out tomorrow. Aern,” he murmured as he wrapped a hand around my bicep to pull me to standing, “come on, you’re injured.”

  I glanced down, surprised to find the knife wound in my side. I’d not even felt it.

  Brendan’s gaze fell to Seth and Eric, and he gestured with a jerk of his head for them to tend to the others.

  “Wesley,” he called, searching the room until he spotted the boy’s red mop, “Brianna said she’d instructed you on dealing with Morgan.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. I thought he seemed somehow taller, but I was leaning heavily on Brendan now.

  “Then get to it,” Brendan said. “We’ve got a secure room on the lower level. It looks like he’s out, but make sure no one touches him.”

  Wesley nodded. “Absolutely.”

&nbs
p; He rushed toward Morgan, calling orders to several other men for assistance, and I glanced at Brendan.

  He shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just doing as I was told.”

  I coughed, and it tasted of copper.

  “Right,” Brendan said, “let’s get you some rest.”

  When I woke, Emily was at my bedside, hand wrapped loosely in mine. I blinked, and then jerked to sitting as the memories came back to me.

  “Whoa,” Emily murmured, moving to still me before I made it to my feet. “It’s okay.”

  “Brianna—”

  “She’s fine.” She pressed me back to sit on the edge of the bed before her. “She’s resting. The doctor was able to stitch her up.”

  My shoulders fell. “Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry—”

  She put her fingers to my lips and saw the sick horror in my eyes. I had stabbed her sister.

  She brushed her hand over my forehead, leaning forward to leave a slow kiss in its wake. “There’s nothing to forgive, Aern.”

  A nauseated groan came out as my forehead dropped onto her side and she pulled me to her, rubbing a hand over my hair until my arms wrapped around her. It wasn’t until she shifted that I realized we weren’t alone.

  I drew back from her to question why there were men outside my door.

  “Brendan wanted to speak with you as soon as you woke,” she explained.

  My brows drew together, and she stared at me like I was missing something obvious.

  “To see what you wanted to do about the men.”

  “The men?”

  She glanced at the door, then back to me. “Your men.” Council.

  I closed my eyes.

  A full minute passed.

  Emily whispered, “Aern?”

  “Just. Just give me a minute,” I said through a wince.

  I heard the smile in her voice. “Well, don’t take too long, it’s nearly morning.”

  I opened one eye. “Tuesday?”

  She looked confused for a moment. Nodded without much conviction. “Yeah, I think so.”

  I blew out a deep breath before standing. “Tell Brendan I will be down shortly,” I said to the men waiting outside.

  Emily began to step back from me, but I enfolded her tightly in my arms. “Tuesday?”

  She waited.

  “I have something for you.” I kissed her, slow and deliberate, and when I finally pulled away, she blinked dazedly.

  “Do I get this every Tuesday?” she asked.

  I smiled. She’d forgotten her birthday. I would tell her later. After we’d seen Brianna. After the men were dealt with. After I knew everyone who’d been lost.

  She saw the nausea rise up again, and tugged on my hand. “Come on, let’s get some breakfast and take care of the men.”

  I walked with her through the halls, but drew to a stop as we approached a large picture window. The sun was coming up, spreading over the trees in waves of crimson and orange.

  “It can wait a few minutes,” I said, glancing at Emily as the light colored her cheeks.

  She smiled, and we stood together as morning dawned.

  We were linked. We had created the union, fulfilled the prophecy. Brianna was safe, and she would restore our heritage. Morgan was no longer a threat. There would be no war, because the Seven Lines were in my control.

  We were going to live.

  My chest eased where I’d not realized it had been bound, and I took a deep breath.

  Emily looked up at me, her green eyes finally clear of the ceaseless worry over her sister, the prophecy, finally looking ahead to something else. Something unknown.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I sighed. “I guess we rule the world.”

  She glared at me and I gave her my best crooked smile as I pulled her tighter to my side.

  The Story Continues…

  Thank you for reading Bound by Prophecy. Please look for book two in the Descendants Series, Shifting Fate

  FREY

  Frey

  Crap! I stubbed my toe on a root, one of the pitfalls of living in a tree. It throbbed and I slammed the door in frustration as I left the tree.

  It only took a moment to realize what I’d done.

  I picked up the pace as Aunt Fannie’s curses came screaming through the closed door. She was determined not to let me forget what a burden it had been to take me in, even if it used every spare ounce of energy to do it.

  My mouth twisted, and I shifted into a run until I reached the little outcropping of rock on the west side of the village.

  I was still thinking about it when I slowed to climb through the tangle of brush in back of Junnie’s house, but once my fingers trailed the cool rock surrounding the structure, it fell away. When it felt as if I could breathe again, I rapped two quick knocks and then one loud knock on the small wooden door. It was the one sure way she’d know it was me.

  A wisp of bright blonde hair swirled around Junnie’s shining eyes as the door swung open, and I decided I must have caught her working; she looked flustered.

  Junnie was older than I, but remained striking with the blonde hair, blue eyes, and thin features that seemed to be standard-issue among the village elves. The Council had assigned her as my tutor, citing my advanced age as the reason I couldn’t learn with the others, but I suspected it was my stunning lack of ability that had landed me here.

  Junnie brushed a lock of hair aside. “There you are, my Fredora!” She was always trying out new nicknames for me. It was no secret I despised my given name: Elfreda Georgiana Suzetta Glaforia. I decided, not for the first time, my father must have been a drunken imp. Not that I could remember him, but I could definitely blame him because the father was always responsible for naming the firstborn. It wasn’t as if you could get more unoriginal than using the ancient word meaning “elf”, but he certainly hadn’t needed to follow it with a string of ridiculous, flowery—I stopped mid-thought, realizing my tutor was watching me.

  “Hey, Junnie,” I said, forcing a smile. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

  She smiled in return, straightening the deep blue sash that tied her tunic. “How do you feel about studying the lineages?”

  She knew I hated trying to memorize endless pages of names and dates, and didn’t seem surprised by my groan of complaint. “Well, let’s get to it then,” she said, leading me through the tiny living area toward the back room.

  She didn’t have or need a great deal of space. Much like me, Junnie was practically alone. Her family had all received the calling “to serve elfkind.” I didn’t know exactly what that meant, only that the elf usually left with fanfare and seldom returned in fewer than a hundred years.

  It was apparently a very honorable thing, though she never seemed proud.

  Just off the living area was the study, larger than the front room, stuffed full of documents and lit by a pair of dim oil lanterns. Dust covered the decrepit scrolls and books lining the walls, but aside from a well-used worktable, the room was clean. Settling onto my usual stool, I leaned forward, elbows on the carved edge of the table to prop my head up for the monotonous hours to come.

  It was hard to say how long I sat so, looking down on a huge volume entitled The Great Elves of Varkenshire, pretending to read. But my eyes had wandered from the page to a small thistle where it rested among some other potion ingredients. It had begun to extend its leaves.

  I was startled; Junnie was preoccupied with a lengthy scroll across the room and couldn’t have possibly been the source, and I had never made anything grow. I concentrated on the thistle then, eyeing each tiny spike.

  I knew the magic, though it had never worked for me before. To my surprise, the leaves turned up and the head began to turn green. The stem reached out new roots and new buds began to form.

  I gasped.

  Junnie swirled around. “What? What did you find?”

  “No, I was just… there was a thistle here…” It was all that had developed, the bulbs and seedlings were undisturb
ed, and I couldn’t help but think, Oh, sure, the weed grows.

  Junnie was across the room in a flash. She glanced at the changed thistle and then, briefly, me, but when I tried to meet her gaze, it shifted to the wall of books. “Well, good for you, Frey. Your efforts are finally paying off.”

  I stared blankly at her.

  “What do you say we wrap it up for today? I’ve got some business with Council.”

  I stumbled off the stool, half numb from being still so long, and made my way outside into the warm sun, unsure of my direction. The idea of lingering within sight of the village center didn’t have much appeal, but I was in no hurry to get back home to Fannie.

  Choosing instead a rambling, rarely used path out of the village, I found myself wandering idly through the trees and, eventually, into an abandoned, overgrown garden, where I tried to work out what to do with my now empty afternoon.

  Sitting surrounded by the various weeds, my tutor might have urged me to do something useful, like identify the species, but she wasn’t here, and I couldn’t help but attempt to repeat the process I’d used on the thistle in her study. I’d been warned not to practice without supervision, but the field felt alone as I concentrated on one weed and then on each of the others, spinning my charms in an attempt to develop them. I had no luck with the wild flowers and renegade vegetable plants, but a small thorn tree and a couple of noxious strains began to mature in response to the magic.

  All this time, I’d thought something was broken in me, that something had happened when I’d lost my mother, but maybe Junnie was right. Maybe I’d just needed to get my focus, to work until it came through.

  “Well, well, what do we have here? Is Elfreda making magic?”

  Evelyn’s sourness burned through me. It took everything I had to curb my reply, keep myself out of trouble. “Oh, uh, I didn’t realize… is this your…” I was struggling to answer. This wasn’t her field. The forest and surrounding meadows didn’t belong to anyone, only an elf’s home was theirs. But I knew from past experience Evelyn would punish me for being here when she happened along. Sure, not physically—no elf did that. But I could just imagine the way perfect little Evelyn would repeat the story in town. Poor Elfreda, sitting alone in the weeds, couldn’t even make grass grow. What can we do to help her? We should have a Council meeting on it, I’m sure. Poor, poor thing.