She nods. “Focus on what is at stake.”
I close my eyes, reaching for those soothing, cool strands of Aoife’s power. If Lord Telor dies and Braylon’s lies reach his men …
Zander’s right. Telor must survive.
With that fear firmly in place, I let my affinity flow.
Somewhere nearby, the ground rumbles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ZANDER
“They’ve slain my father! Prepare for battle!” Braylon’s hoarse shouts carry. But do they carry enough? No one will have seen him skewer his father in the middle of the open, dark plain, but they will believe him without question. Telor said he argued with his son about this parley, about going out at dusk. Now I can see it was all part of the plan, and surely, he spoke these words in front of others.
If Telor dies, it will be another false crime to hang on my shoulders, followed by one I commit when I’m forced to kill every one of those men in that camp. And then where does that leave Islor but weakened even further?
Rage fills me. The camp’s flames are still too far away, but my reach will likely find them just as Braylon’s shouts do.
Suddenly, my horse rears, the ground beneath its hooves tremoring. Kienen speeds past, his focus on the males ahead.
I watch with a mixture of awe and horror as all three drop into the earth.
Jarek slows down at my side long enough for me to catch his “What the fuck?” before he urges his horse forward.
The rest of us close in as Kienen hops off his mount, sword in hand. There is nothing to combust in this arid deadland, but thankfully, our elven vision does not need light to make out the crater in the earth, deep and wide enough to fit three fallen horses and the riders trapped beneath them, groaning from the immense weight and their injuries.
“A shame to lose such animals,” Elisaf says, his voice sincere. He has always been soft for the breed.
It is, but all I can feel right now is relief that we stopped them, however temporary it may be.
“That one is still alive.” Zorya points to the horse pinning down Braylon. “Maybe the witch can heal it.”
“Both its front legs are broken, and Gesine has more important things to focus on,” I counter as Jarek, Abarrane, and Elisaf drop into the pit.
“This one’s mortal.” Elisaf crouches to test his pulse. “And dead.”
“These other two will wish they were soon enough.” Jarek grabs hold of Braylon’s arms and yanks him out from beneath the horse, earning the beast’s distress and Braylon’s screams.
The third soldier fights Abarrane, but her merth blade against his throat stills him. “Another mortal.”
“That’s Lev.” I met him once, two decades ago when I last traveled to Lyndel. He was barely more than a boy, with a few spare hairs growing on his upper lip.
I steal another glance at the camp ahead. The lookouts still haven’t raised any alarms, which means they’re blind to how far things have gone awry. But soon, they will wonder what is taking so long, and a group will ride out. “Let’s get them back before Telor’s men decide to be brave.”
With help from Radomir and Kienen, we drag the injured soldiers up. Elisaf and Zorya each haul one onto their horse, keeping blades at their necks.
Kienen quietly climbs back into his saddle.
“That was you?” I point to the pit, though it’s not really a question.
He nods.
“Seems your pocket isn’t as small as Abarrane thought.”
“That remains to be seen.” With a sly smile, Abarrane takes off at a gallop.
He smirks. “I recognized that one’s helm—” He nods to Braylon. “He is the elven who was there to collect the vials that day.”
“If you had suggested that earlier, I never would have believed you.”
“I had no idea, and Tyree never told me.” He shrugs. “Clearly, he was working against his father, but to what end beyond shuttling poison, I could not tell you.”
“My guess would be power,” Radomir offers. “Lord Telor has been keeper of Lyndel and the rift’s guard for centuries and showed no signs of stepping down. What better way to get rid of your father than to blame it on the current king’s enemy?”
“And you, with all of your connections and web of information, were truly not aware of this?” I can’t help the accusation in my tone.
The sapling pushes his hood off to meet my gaze, as if I can read the truth in those black eyes. “I was not, Your Highness.”
I want to believe him. “We have a mess to clean up, and it seems I owe you my thanks, Ybarisan.” I hold out my hand. A peace offering.