Of Blood and Deceit

by Rachel A. Collett

  “The people of Anolyn are not your people. Anolyn is not your kingdom. Castiel is not your prince.”

  At the mention of his name, my face heated.

  Weylan glanced away. “And I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  I shifted. “What are you talking about?”

  “He watches you too closely.”

  A scoff cut through my forced calm. “I am an enemy and a traitor. Of course he watches me closely. And I know these aren’t my people. I’m not an idiot.”

  He smiled as if I were. “These people would hang you the instant they learn who you are.”

  A weight sat in the pit of my stomach. He was right.

  “Listen, Ilianna. Lucan wants to take you back to your uncle.”

  I smiled, exposing my teeth. “I’d sooner die—”

  “I know. I have no intention of taking you to him. You’d never be safe from him.” His eyes trailed to the burn on my neck.

  I covered it with my hair. “Then where? Your resistance?”

  He stood to pace the forest floor. He glided his hand over his tightly trimmed hair.

  I blinked, trying to force my vision. “How did you get me out?”

  “We have our ways.”

  My palm tingled at the memory of Mikael’s blade against my skin, and I almost smiled. “Mikael was more than happy to help you, I gather.”

  A smirk twisted his features. “You’re very clever. I’ve always thought that. Well, we couldn’t have done it without insider help, and then there was Oscove. Did you know he was once a soldier?”

  “Of course.” I remembered the markings on the farmer’s hands. He may have changed occupations, but there were some things a person couldn’t erase.

  “He knew Meyrion’s layout.” He shifted closer. “Can you move?”

  “Help me stand,” I said.

  He did as I asked, steadying me when I swayed. I looked down to see someone had put my boots on for me. Lucan wouldn’t have cared if I froze. I ignored the bothersome thought of Weylan touching my bare feet and legs.

  “If you have no intention of letting me go with Lucan, just what do you expect to happen when he returns?”

  Weylan grinned. “I don’t expect him to return.”

  Boots rustled in the distance. A dozen men rushed into the vicinity. I stepped wide and crouched low, readying for an attack, but the men merely stopped in front of Weylan and saluted. They wore the clothes of commoners from Anolyn, but their paler skin screamed Eira.

  “Report,” Weylan commanded.

  One man glanced to me, then answered. “They are circling him as we speak.”

  “And their orders?”

  “Kill on sight.”

  Weylan clapped his hands. “Excellent. Gather any supplies you find here. We’ll assemble with the others at the next checkpoint.”

  My heart raced. I needed to think fast. To get away. “You’re very sure of yourself,” I said, turning to face him. “Do they know who they’re up against?”

  Weylan pished. “Of course.”

  “Do you?”

  The wrinkles between his brows made him appear older than he was. “Even the feared assassin Lucan Osrick can’t defeat against twelve of my best soldiers.”

  He moved to the side of the shack where a horse was tied to a fence post, and I followed. “The way you spoke to the king of Anolyn made it sound as if these resistors of yours couldn’t lift a sword.”

  He shook his head, giving me a look that warned me to hold my tongue. He didn’t know me well enough if he thought that would work.

  “Lucan is Johan’s assassin,” I reminded him.

  “He’s just a man,” Weylan said in a whisper. He stepped in closer. “And I may have made our plight a little needier than the truth, but if I had been able to convince the king to help, it would’ve made a takeover all that easier. No thanks to you.”

  “Do you expect me to feel bad? To help?”

  “You should want to help. Your uncle did everything in his power to keep you under his thumb, and yet you fight against the ones that could free you?”

  “You free me by taking me captive?” Again, I held up my tied wrists and the fresh wound for him to see.

  He lifted his hand as if to take mine, but I pulled away before he could touch me. He hesitated. “Listen, Ilianna. There’s—” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “There’s more to it than what I’m saying, but I can’t tell you more until we’re safe.” He cut a line to the farmer’s hut. As he got to the door, a man on a horse galloped into the clearing.

  His face red, the soldier leaped from the animal. “He’s gone, General.”

  Weylan balked. “What do you mean?”

  “The assassin. He’s—”

  But his voice broke, then gargled to a stop. The point of an arrow protruded from his neck, cutting off his remaining words.

  I jerked back, nearly falling over in my retreat.

  The man fell to his knees, grasping for the arrow. Weylan moved. He seized my arm and twisted, catapulting me through the door of the shack. I painfully rolled over the dirt floor and knocked over a small wooden table that collapsed on me. I groaned, turning over on my back. Papers fell to the ground in a flurry, but the room was covered with them. Drawings. Dozens of them, pinned to the walls and fallen to the ground.

  “Stay down,” Weylan ordered from outside. Did he forget I was still tied?

  “I’m a sitting duck in here,” I said through clenched teeth, but he was already gone. I scrambled to my knees, searching for a better place to hide, barely registering the sad state of the cottage, and spied a darkened corner. A tub, small but cast-iron, hid there.

  I crammed myself behind it and fingered the edges until I found what I was looking for. A rusted shard of metal protruded from the edge. I moved my bound hands to saw though the bands. A paper floated down from the wall to land inside the tub, and I froze.

  The picture was a charcoal sketch, so familiar to me… Because it was me.

  And I had seen one like it before. The sketch the prince showed me on the day of my release from prison. Castiel had said it was sketched by someone that had seen my face and lived to tell the tale. A soldier named Nolen Odessa. Nolen’s body had been brought to the castle by the farmer, Oscove.

  My gaze traveled the walls. They were covered with sketches. Some charcoal, other’s blood. Some crude and angry, but others beautiful portraits, so like my own face without the flare and prompt of the Demon Daughter. How could this man have known me so well?

  They were all the same… except for one.

  I crawled to the space on the wall where a drawing stood in stark contrast to the others, and I plucked it from its place.

  A picture of me, holding a ruby-sweet. No flames. No Demon Daughter.

  I dropped the picture.

  The body of Nolen had been brought to the king before we went to the first harvest. The artist—Nolen, wasn’t dead. Oscove was Nolen.

  Lucan’s voice rang over the din of battle outside. He had brought with him his own army.

  I cursed, but the words froze on stiff lips when someone appeared in the small room next to me. I stumbled back into the stick wall of the shack.

  Cyris the wraith watched me, a curious glint in his eyes. “Why does the Demon Daughter cower?”

  “The Demon Daughter sleeps, and I’m not cowering. I was thrown in here.” I displayed my bound hands.

  One brow quirked up. “And those stop you from fighting? Curious. No wonder he worries for you. Help is on the way.” Then he disappeared.

  “Cy—”

  But at that moment Lucan and three other men blasted into the room, blades drawn. Red covered Lucan’s hands and shirt, but the blood wasn’t his.

  He smiled. “Hello, Princess.”

  I shot to my feet but crouched low, readying for attack.

  Lucan nodded to the others. They spanned out, blocking all escapes. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  I glared. “I�
��d rather not.”

  He twirled his knife and sheathed it. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t be willing.” Dropping low, he moved forward with lethal grace.

  I had no weapon. No way to escape. The wraith’s words grated on me.

  And those stop you from fighting?

  Fists clenched, I shifted into a defensive stance Melia had taught me and waited for their attack.

  A sound pierced the air and traveled painfully along my spine. A second later, the roof was ripped away by talons that raked across a soldier, instantly killing him. The other men dropped to the ground shielding their faces. I scuttled to the wall as Ketrina soared away with a bone-chilling cry. The shack never stood a chance against the strength of the falcry. The roof tumbled to the ground in a dusty heap.

  Without looking back, I leaped over their prone forms and tumbled out the door. The soldiers had stopped fighting, shock etched upon their faces. They seemed frozen in place by the witness of the mythological bird and the collapsed building, but my sudden appearance snapped them back into focus. The battle recommenced. I scanned the darkening sky for Ketrina, but she was gone. The sun hung low, dulling the effect of carnage that surrounded me.

  A soldier ran at me, and I twisted, landing a solid kick to his stomach. When he doubled over, I came down on the back of his neck with my bound fists. He crumpled to the ground.

  An arm seized me around the shoulders. Another snaked and tightened against my neck, cutting off my airway. Weylan dragged me toward his horse as I kicked and flailed beneath his strength.

  Could I use my magic? I grabbed for him, but my bound hands couldn’t make a solid grasp. He twisted me hard and picked me up, flinging me over his shoulder, which slammed into my solar plexus. My breath knocked from my lungs and sparks of light sliced through my vision. In a last-ditch effort, I flung my body hard. It was enough to loosen his grasp. I fell to the ground on my side, slicing my arm on a jagged rock. I reeled for air.

  Weylan was on me a second later. My head pulled back as he yanked me by my hair. He slid his blade beneath my neck. his voice rough against my ear. “You’ll come with me, Ilianna, or I swear I’ll kill the prince and your friend… what’s her name? Melia? I’ll slaughter them both.”

  And there he was, the Weylan I knew so well. I closed my eyes and stopped struggling, recognizing the promise in his words.

  “That’s my girl. Now—”

  “You weren’t going to leave without me, were you?” Lucan’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

  Weylan glared at me, a warning in his eyes, and stood. He faced Lucan. “Was thinking about it.” His lips twitched at the corners. “You know Johan’s rule is coming to an end. It’s only a matter of time before he’s overthrown.”

  Lucan laughed, slowly moving through the trees, inching closer. Blood leaked from a split on his forehead. “And who’s going to replace him? His bastard of a niece?”

  My jaw set and I rolled to my knees. “I don’t want anyone’s throne. I don’t want any of it. I’m not a pawn.”

  My uncle’s assassin scowled at me. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, fool? That’s all that you are. To anyone. No one cares about Ilianna Drakara. No one ever has.”

  I tried not to let his words affect me, tried not to hear the truth in them, but failed.

  My voice came as a whisper. “Just go. Both of you. Leave me alone.”

  Someone called out to Lucan. The handful of soldiers remaining had finished off the rest of Weylan’s men. They crept forward to close the trap.

  Lucan smiled. “As you can see, that’s not going to happen, Princess. You’re coming with me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Weylan contradicted. He crouched low, his knife at the ready.

  “No one is going to take her,” another voice said, but not one I had expected. Oscove—or rather, Nolen—came out from behind a tree, a crossbow in his hands. He aimed it at Lucan, then Weylan, but seemed to think twice and aimed it at Lucan again. Lucan’s men stopped their advance.

  He beckoned me to him with frantic gestures, but I stayed in place.

  “What are you doing?” Weylan asked, raising his hands high.

  “I didn’t help get her out of the castle so she could be your slave.” Nolen adjusted his target. “I did it to set the Demon Daughter free. That’s her destiny. To be free.”

  “Is it really?” Now Cyris joined the group, his hand shoved deep into his pockets. “What an interesting situation you’ve gotten yourself into, Ilianna.”

  Nolen eyed the stranger tentatively; the others didn’t seem to recognize his presence at all. My brows pinched together, but I ignored the demon. “Nolen, you need to leave,” I said, even though my heart twisted in disagreement. I rose from my knees. “Go.”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I—I’ve searched for you for so long.” He spoke to me, but his eyes scanned the line of men, his movements erratic. “When I found you at the castle, I thought you would recognize me. I hoped—but how could you?” He laughed, a tear falling from one eye. “I’m not the same anymore. I tried to get your attention so you would come for me.”

  “My attention? How—” My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. “You—you killed those men, didn’t you?”

  His glance shifted to mine. “They were all bad. You would’ve killed them if you knew what they were.”

  From the corner of my eyes, Lucan shifted. “Don’t,” I said, pointing to him. Nolen refocused his attention back to the real danger.

  Stealthily the wraith inched toward Lucan.

  “Set her free, now,” Nolen said with the jerk of his head to Weylan. “And if you do anything to hurt her, the first arrow goes through your eye.”

  Weylan took a slow step toward me, his arms still raised. “Ilianna belongs to Eira, Nolen. The Demon Daughter can help her people.”

  “You’re a liar!” he said with a strange laugh. “If you truly believed that, then you would know her true identity—the identity your people have given her. To many of the Eirians, she is an angel. To me she is an angel. Set her free. Now!”

  Weylan reached out with his knife to saw through my binds. They dropped to the ground.

  Nolen motioned him back, and Weylan complied.

  I gently placed a hand to his arm and guided him away from danger. Weylan’s horse was saddled and ready. If I could just get him on it with me—

  Nolen looked to me and smiled. It was only a fraction of a moment, but it was all Lucan needed. A breath of air and a gasp was my only warning. A knife protruded from Nolen’s chest. He reached for me and I grasped his cold hands.

  A shockwave of grief shuddered through me as I gathered him close. A scream ripped from my lungs. I tried to keep him up, but it was no use. He folded to the ground. Even in his last breaths he watched me, expectant. Pain and anger erupted in one deadly explosion.

  Nolen had wanted to see the Demon Daughter freed, and in his last breaths, he would. I opened my arms as she tore from the depths of her prison and my body became hers. Flames of black and gold engulfed me.

  Rescued

  Weylan’s horse reared with a frightened scream. It bolted, taking with it several others that had recently lost their owners.

  The Demon Daughter smiled at Lucan, reveling as the blood drained from his face. Fear transformed him to a coward in what would be his final moments. She couldn’t blame him. His dread called to her—wanted her to draw from its force.

  “Kill her!” he screamed.

  The group of soldiers shrank back, but only a moment before their courage pushed them forward. They charged, and the Demon Daughter sensed her new targets. Their essence wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She pulled them to her, eager to greet, and cut through them like wheat. One, two, three, and four fell before they could even lift their weapons to strike. The others ran.

  Cyris raced toward Lucan, wrapping him in his arms. My uncle’s assassin convulsed, then dropped to his knees beneath the weight of the wraith.


  A laugh bubbled to her lips. In the distance, the Demon Daughter recognized Weylan on his horse. The coward was escaping, but she would get him soon enough.

  The mortal Lucan, however…

  She moved to reclaim her initial target, but the assassin was no longer there. Only the shell of a wasted mortal.

  Red eyes glared from beneath a wash of blond hair, his arms raised in surrender. The wraith had taken away her fun.

  “Kill Lucan and we lose our advantage against your uncle,” Cyris said.

  The Demon Daughter opened her arms and smiled. “What more advantage do I need, wraith? Perhaps I’ll kill you instead.” Even though they stood far apart, the wraith’s dark energy was stronger than the average mortal’s. She reached out to touch the strands of his very soul. Power raced through her as she connected to him.

  Cyris shuddered, drawing back a step. “Kill me and you lose everything you need to know about your past. I can tell you who you are, Ilianna.”

  She stalked forward. “What does Ilianna care for an identity? I have given her enough to know who she is.”

  “Ilianna, snap out of it,” he yelled, and for a moment, I recognized who he talked to, but I wasn’t ready to come back. The Demon Daughter was powerful. When she was in charge, things didn’t hurt so much. Ilianna didn’t hurt so much.

  She flew across the expanse that separated her from her prey and snatched Cyris by the throat. She lifted him high, taking the knife from his own sheath.

  Ketrina screamed from somewhere above, and my attention snapped to the sound. Hoof beats thundered through the forest.

  “Ilianna, stop!” Castiel’s deep voice boomed, strong and familiar.

  Quicker than she had come, the Demon Daughter receded. Lucan’s body dropped to the floor.

  I gasped, turning to see the prince barreling toward me on his magnificent blue roan, Dhema. A line of soldiers followed close behind, including Melia and her mother. My head spun. My legs felt like lead. Emotion sprang to my eyes, but I forced myself to be composed. To not break at the very sight of him.

  He leaped from Dhema, then froze. His arms opened wide. His troop slowed to a halt, swords drawn, arrows aimed.