They had.
She grinned at them. Not just to prolong Reddington’s humiliation, but to impress upon the witnesses that Wynchesterswin. If any of the ticket holders were ever in trouble, they now knew whom they could call upon. She and her siblings eagerly took any opportunity possible to champion those who could not advocate for themselves and put unfair circumstances back to rights.
Elizabeth allowed her blade to touch Reddington’s throat one lasttime. Then she leapt away, swinging her sword toward the sky and holding it high in the air. Despite the exhaustion in her bones, she let out her best berserker cry of triumph.
Reddington’s soldiers stared at her in blank stupefaction.
The rest of the crowd went wild.
43
At the sight of Elizabeth holding her sword to Reddington’s throat, Stephen dashed down the narrow spiral stairs. His boots slipped on the worn gray stones in his race to reach her. Kuni and Graham had already burst outside. Stephen in red and the other Wynchesters in black-and-gold family regimentals reached the murder room at the same time. They streamed out the door into the front garden together.
“Victory to Castle Harbrook!” Jacob’s amplified voice shouted through the speaking trumpet.
The crowd cheered.
Kuni and Graham were hugging Elizabeth, but they parted in order to allow Stephen access. He pulled her into his arms and swung her in victorious circles.
“You did it!” He covered her face in relieved kisses. “You squashed Reddington like the dung beetle he is.”
Elizabeth laughed and kissed Stephen back, her eyes sparkling. “And I managed it at a measly forty percent!”
“Humph,” he said. “Speak for your body. As for your sword-wielding, you never slipped below one hundred percent Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth tipped the back of her head toward the vanquished dung beetle. “He never dipped below one hundred percent Reddington—which was his downfall.”
Stephen glanced over Elizabeth’s shoulder at the scene. “He’s still surrounded by an adoring public, I see.”
“He wishes he were.” Jacob grinned. “They want a refund for their tickets to the upcoming Waterloo anniversary reenactment. They’ve decided Reddington is nothing at all like the Duke of Wellington, and they’re demanding their shillings back.”
Marjorie threw her arms around Elizabeth and Stephen both. “You two were phenomenal! Elizabeth won the war, but you helped us win the battles. Your machines are marvelous, and the trapdoor absolutely divine.”
Stephen’s entire body felt electric with excitement and energy and pride. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d won against a bully. He couldn’t remember ever being part of a team like this at all.
“You are just as talented at throwing paint as you are at creating portraits with it,” he demurred. “Allof you played your roles perfectly.”
Tommy stuck her thumbs in her waistband and grinned. “All we did was follow the plan.”
“There were at least twenty potential plans,” Stephen reminded her.
“And I think we implemented all of them,” Graham agreed with a laugh.
They clapped shoulders and exchanged hugs for a few more minutes until Philippa gasped. “Oh no, the prisoners of war! They’re still locked in the cells. Come on, Tommy, we must let the men return home.”
The two rushed inside over the fallen door without a backward glance.
Graham pulled a small journal from his waistcoat. “That battering ram did real damage. I’m making a note to replace Miss Oak’s castle door posthaste.”
“Ineed to replace it,” said Elizabeth. “The wood was missing quite a few chunks before Reddington and his men showed up.”
Stephen gave her an indulgent smile. “That’s my berserker.”
At least, he wished she was his.
She nestled into him and sighed happily. “Nothing gives me more joy than to see Reddington and his army fall to a woman, a tinker, and a family of orphans. And my souvenir, of course.” She held up her wounded hand. “A future battle scar!”
Jacob peered at her hand. “That’s not going to scar.”
