Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)
Crown of Blood and Ruin: Chapter 17

Children.

I stared at my sister’s face, looking for anything to indicate I’d misheard. Herja met my glare with one of her own. Whatever she’d suffered, it paled in her determination now.

“Herr Lönger.” Stor’s voice came again, and it carried a sharper edge. “Enter,” he muttered to someone, no doubt a guard.

I shook my head. The time to stand here mindlessly was over. I gripped Herja’s shoulder. “Where?”

“The smaller tent.”

So, not Magnus’s wife or mistresses. No. The guards at the smaller of the canopies guarded my sister’s children. Her children. A dark, hot anger boiled in my chest. She had admitted one man won this game . . .

I forced the thoughts back. I would embrace the swell of bloodlust later, but now our plans would change.

Returning the seax to the sheath on my waist, I lifted my palms. Fury would reveal us, but it would signal Elise, Tor, and Halvar that our plans had gone sideways. The flap to the tent rustled and heavy footsteps slapped across the planks.

In a crouch, I touched the earth. A fiery hum burned through my fingertips. The boards cracked. A fissure split the soil. The tent swayed as rock and dirt erupted from the narrow gash. Our guest shouted a cry of surprise, and his thick body stumbled into view around the corner. Herja did not need me to instruct her and had her blade buried in his chest in another breath.

I shredded the earth at her back.

Fury opened my mind, as if I gained a third omniscient eye. Sol, Halvar, Tor, they’d all described a similar sensation when using their magic. Though I did not literally see what was not in front of me, there was a knowledge that came from my power. I knew where to bend and mold the earth against our enemies; I knew where to leave it intact for our people.

The more focused I was with my strikes the more taxing fury became. I could go for hours if I simply bent everything and took out my people while taking out the Ravens. But homing in on enemies and allies added a level of exhaustion and left me unable to use magic for long without resting.

I pushed deeper. Each surge divided parts of the Magnus camp, smashing stones against guards, tripping those who tried to flee, toppling trees over carriages.

All the chaos magnified once I stepped into the light of the camp.

Stor roared commands at his guards as the ground tilted and swayed and split into jagged pieces.

His eyes found me. I grinned and swiped my hand over my chest. A jagged shard of rock and soil rammed to the surface. The man was plump and awful, but he still moved like a warrior.

In the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ari striking at a guard. He was outmatched in the sword, but it wasn’t long before the guard clutched his skull, shrieking of some sort of pest stinging his head.

Ari turned his satisfaction to me, a cruel smile on his face. Shouts rose from the trees as our people surged into the camp. Steel scraped over steel. Grunts and cries filled the night as Magnus’s protection faced our greater numbers.

“There!” Herja pointed at the distant tent.

The guards around the tent had scattered, leaving us a clear entrance. Together, we sprinted across the camp, avoiding blades. I pushed inside, and smashed into a thick, armored body. A guard stood in the neck of a narrow space before a large room much like Herja’s tent.

His eyes widened for half a breath, then he reached for his sword. He wouldn’t get the chance to strike at me before I had the dagger Stor Magnus offered me shoved through the bottom of his chin.

As he gulped and spluttered through the blood, I shoved him aside and rushed into the room.

“You want to leave!” A young, but deep voice shouted at me.

“No, Gunnar.” Herja shoved around me, darting into the room. “No, he’s safe.”

Something itched in my head, a deep, annoying jab of desire to turn on my heel and abandon this tent. I rubbed at the spot and glanced around.

Herja stood on her toes, her arms wrapped around the shoulders of a tall boy—at least sixteen turns. His bright, brown eyes were locked on me, threatening me silently. He shared my sister’s scowl, no mistake, but the sharp edges of his face belonged to another.

A man I looked forward to meeting someday.

Behind the boy’s legs a pale, innocent face peeked out. A small girl with the same, big eyes, but golden hair like Elise’s.

“Laila.” Herja sobbed and clutched the girl to her body, joy carved into every line of my sister’s face. “I shall never tire of saying your names out loud.”

I was an intruder on a private, loving moment, but we had no time.

“Herja,” I said.

At my voice the boy, to his credit, stepped in front of my sister and his. Brave. Like his mother.

“Gunnar,” Herja said, touching his arm. “This is my brother. Valen.”

The boy lifted his brow and studied me under softer eyes. “Your brother?”

“The Night Prince of Etta. Remember me telling you of him?”

Gunnar nodded slowly. “But . . . how—”

“We have no time to explain,” I said. “Boy, do you know how to fight?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Give me a bow and I will not miss.”

I didn’t have a bow, but I tossed him the dagger. “A blade will have to do for now. We fight our way to the trees.”

“Gunnar,” Herja said. “Do not reveal your Talent.”

“Maj, I will—”

“Do not. Not here,” she snapped.

“You have fury?” I stepped closer.

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but Herja stepped in front of him. “He is not Night Folk but has strange magic. I am told he is called an Al—”

“Alver.” I interrupted, studying my sister’s son. “I’ve met several. You did something to me, didn’t you?”

“I had only just begun.” He smirked with the same arrogance as my sister.

I knew little about the magic of the east, but according to Junius it could manipulate bodies much like Night Folk could manipulate the earth. I rubbed the spot where my head still ached.

“Don’t make him use it, Valen. It is painful for him and drains him of his energy too quickly.”

“Maj.” Gunnar’s youth betrayed him. While cries of battle waged around him, he still managed to whine to his mother. “I’m getting stronger. I can use it.”

“Fight with a blade,” I told Gunnar. “Do not give them any other reason to take you. Herja, take the girl, make for the trees. If we are separated, look for Elise. My wife.”

A faint smile teased my sister’s lips as she gathered her daughter in her arms. “Seems we both have much to share with each other.”

Oh, I had many questions. Most pressing, who the father of these children was and how I could replace him.

Gunnar accepted Herja’s knife. She held her daughter. I offered my nephew a single nod, then blades raised we abandoned the tent.

Blue pyre ignited the night outside. Tor and Halvar worked side by side, devouring the Magnus camp in their fury. But there were more guards—the Ravens we’d spotted had arrived. More than we thought.

My blood heated in my veins. My first thought was of Elise. Where was she? As if she sensed my desperation her voice carried to the stars. “Guard the king! Guard the princess!”

Blood and death littered the camp. Fallen guards were still warm at my feet, but I grinned at the sight of her.

A wildness, a ferocity had taken hold of the soft-spoken Kvinna I first met. She pointed from her place between Siv and Casper in my direction. Dark blood stained the short blade in her hands, and her icy braids were damp with sweat and gore.

She was a damn queen.

And her command carried. Folk from Ruskig moved their stances, driving a line of guards away from us as we kept to the edge of the camp.

At the soft cry of a young girl, I was drawn back to the reality that my sister was unarmed and everything about our plans changed the instant young ones were brought into the battle.

I needed to get them out of sight, to safety.

I’d already used a great deal of fury. To use more would make me useless with a sword. But I did not need to drag them into the heart of this fight.

One hand cupped the back of Gunnar’s neck as I drew him close. “Take your mother and sister to the trees. No magic, understand?”

He nodded briskly, doubtless a little stunned at the madness around him. I gave him the extra dagger.

“Go. Quickly, now.”

Gunnar turned to his mother, took her arm. Herja gave me a worried glance. So many words hovered between us, questions, stories, memories. We would have time to reconnect soon enough.

We had to have time.

As they ran, a Raven came. Then another and another. The cuffs of my shoulders ached the more I used the blade, but it was working. Little by little the camp quieted. Stor Magnus was nowhere in sight. I had plans for the man.

Elise fought her way closer. There was a drive inside me to use fury and shove her back into the trees, protected and guarded. The way I’d divided us once the curse had lifted. But there was a fine line on what I feared more: her safety or her wrath.

She is queen, I reminded myself over and over, uncertain how my father ever survived watching my mother step into battle without losing his head in fear.

Keeping her in my sights, I fought my way toward her as she fought her way toward me. Halvar’s lessons were paying off. She had a new viciousness in her strikes. Imperfect, but effective.

But all at once, the world tilted.

“Night Prince!”

A familiar, wretched voice rang out over the camp. I did not need to look to know our plans were about to shift even more. With a slow turn I faced the edge of the camp. Jarl Magnus stood beside his father, lines and lines of Ravens at his back.

But the only sight that mattered was the grip he had on Herja’s hair and the knives he had leveled at her children’s throats.

I dropped my sword and lifted my hands. “Release her, or I bury us all. This war will end before it truly begins. I have the strength, and I will do it.”

“You would not do it. I have learned at least that much about the gaps in your armor—your blood, your family will always be your weakness.” Jarl looked down the line to the guard holding Herja’s daughter. “Kill the girl first.”

“No!” Herja and Gunnar shouted together.

“You don’t want to do this,” Gunnar shouted, but it weakened. He leaned forward, almost like he might retch. Still, he said the words again. “You . . . don’t want to do this.”

There was a pause, as if the guard hesitated. A gift from the fates, and I would not slap it away. We were severely outnumbered. Fury had weakened us, no doubt, and Elise, my sister, her children, our people would not die. Not if I could stop it.

Hands raised I lowered to my knees. “They go free, and you shall have me. No fight. No resistance.”

“Valen!” Elise’s cry cracked through my chest, but I had Jarl’s attention.

He raised a hand to stop the Raven against little Laila. “What is this? Surrender?”

“The children and the woman go free. Elise, and my people leave this place without harm, and you take me as a trade.”

“No.” Elise’s voice grew closer but muffled. Good. Someone in my guild had the brains to hold her back. Still, I heard her cries of rage as she lashed and kicked and fought to me. “Valen Ferus, you bleeding fool. What are you doing? Do not do this.”

Jarl chuckled and told the Raven to keep his blade at the throat of Laila. The little girl whimpered but did not cry out. She clenched her tiny fists. Brave for a child.

“It is a fair trade,” Jarl said, “but I know who the woman is, Night Prince. I can’t simply allow the second born of the Ferus line to go free.”

“She is a woman, nothing more,” I insisted, intentionally diminishing her value in their eyes. “You want our fury, take me. Herja has none to give you.”

“But she has the blood of your line.”

“She stays, or there is no barter, no trade, and many lives will be lost. Hopefully, yours.” He would die. Slowly. Painfully. Somehow this snake who always managed to slip through my fingers would die for what he had done to Elise, and now what he threatened against my sister.

“She is skilled with a blade. Too great a risk to run free.”

I scoffed. “A choice must be made, Jarl Magnus. I have set the terms. Choose wisely.”

Any arrogance faded. Now, blind hatred painted his features in an ugly twist. Jarl Magnus had been backed into a corner, and it was a dangerous place to put a man like him.

“She is of Ferus blood,” he shouted, more to himself than anyone, the dilemma stewing in his skull.

“Take me then,” Gunnar shouted.

Bleeding hells. My smile faded.

“Gunnar, stop,” Herja begged.

He ignored her. “You want Ferus blood with magic, take me and leave my mother and sister. I have the magic you want. I have the bloodline you want.”

“Shut up, boy,” I snarled. Stupid, stupid, reckless fool.

Jarl tilted his head, wholly invested in Gunnar now. He released Herja into the hands of his father and stalked over to her son. “Is this true? A little Ferus pup?”

“They are her bastards,” Stor said, nodding.

Jarl laughed, a deep bellow from his throat. “And who is the father?”

“A man from the East with the strange body fury of their mystics.”

“So, fury does live in these veins. Interesting. No doubt more valuable than a woman without a hint of fury.”

“Leave him.” Herja rammed her elbow into the ribs of Stor and earned a strike to the face.

“Touch her again and you will know just what fury can do before you die,” I said in a tight snarl.

I was not the only one who had raised their hands to defend the princess. In my side view Ari gasped through exhaustion and held out his hands. Stieg, and Halvar beside him, awaiting my simple command to strike.

Jarl frowned, but flicked his fingers, so the guards pulled Gunnar forward.

“No!” Herja fought against Stor. She nearly broke free, but two Ravens rammed her head with the hilt of their blades.

A slab of jagged rock split the spine of one of the guards. A stillness creeped over the camp as they shot their stun at me.

“I said do not touch her.”

“Maj.” Gunnar’s voice cracked. “Let it be.”

Jarl glared at the dead Raven. “Leave the woman.”

“She knows the blade too well,” Stor argued.

“As do we.” Jarl narrowed his eyes. “We have the blood of the three Ferus heirs. It is all that is needed.” He abandoned his place, leaving Gunnar to his Ravens, and stalked across the space to me. On my knees, I met his eye. His smile was gone, his voice low. “I’ve waited for this moment, Night Prince. Now your poor brother will not be the only one who bears the weight of my frustration.”

My jaw tightened as Jarl commanded I be bound, my fury blocked.

“No,” I said. “I will not be bound until my people have been given the freedom to leave.”

Jarl let out a long breath of frustration but nodded with a jerk of his head. “So be it. Let the traitors pass. For now.”

“The Valkyrie is mine,” Stor said.

“And the Night Prince belongs to your king. You will not interfere.” Jarl outranked his father now.

The sod had no choice but to clench his teeth.

“Valen!” Elise shrieked her fear when the Ravens came toward me, and I did nothing. “Fight for the king, you bleeding fools.”

A shift through our people stirred at her voice.

“Keep my bride silent, Night Prince,” Jarl said. “Or I will take her as well, and she will never leave my bed until she stops breathing.”

Fury raged in my blood. How I yearned to crush his bones with the weight of the earth. I lifted my chin and shouted, “From your king, you will stand down. You will go.”

Hesitation halted the attack. Elise raged more as Tor began to pull her away. Ari and Stieg looked at me, as if they weren’t sure if I meant it. I gave the nod to Halvar. His fist slammed against his chest, and he urged them to retreat as he went to Herja.

I held my breath, waiting, ready to crumble the earth in one last surge should Stor and his guards do anything to my sister. Silent tears streamed down Herja’s face as she gathered her daughter in her arms, and allowed Halvar to hold her against his side, then start the slow retreat to the trees.

The Ravens tossed Gunnar to the ground. His gaze twisted to me. Fear lived there yet he said nothing. I held his eyes, silently reassuring him I would watch him, be with him.

Herja cried his name. Elise cried mine.

She struggled against Tor, murder in her eyes. “Valen, you promised me. Do not do this.”

A heady rush of fear could be felt from every man, every woman who’d come with us against the camp. I could not go to her, but I could speak.

“Raise them up, Elise. Command them!” I shouted at her as she was dragged into the shadows of the night. Our people followed into the trees, final glances found me and fueled the heat beneath my skin. “Bow to your queen! For Etta. Rise for Etta!”

Elise’s cries faded as Tor and the Guild of Shade forced their queen away from me.

I slouched forward. This was not the end. This was a misstep. One that would separate us, true. But as promised, I would not stop until I fought my way back to her.

Ravens bound my wrists and Gunnar’s. Bindings would do nothing against his Alver blood, but a hot sting scorched my wrists where the silver bands cut into my skin. They lifted me under the arms and forced me to my feet.

Jarl faced me, smiling. “I look forward to our time together, Night Prince.”

“As do I.” I returned the grin. A silent promise of all the plans I, too, held for him.

My heart left with Elise, my fears, my hopes, my love. I replaced the emptiness with dark bloodlust and imagined every way I would crumble the gilded world of the false king over his head.

Not as I imagined it would happen, but we would go to Ravenspire. Sol would get his wish.

I was coming home to visit him.