Kasamere knows me, recognizes the magic in my blood that calls to its own. Kasamere remembers every drop of blood spilled on its soil, every warrior who has fallen beneath its canopy, and today the enemy won’t escape their fate. The forest has spoken, and its judgment is final.
I fight off the soldiers that manage to reach me through the carnage, sword bloody and arms growing heavy as I slash and kick them to the ground for the forest to finish what I started. The ground splits at my feet with each step, soil heaves like a living thing, and hands of bark and moss curl up from the depths below, dragging down the living with inexorable strength. Onesorcerer shouts a desperate curse, launching a wave of fire that should incinerate everything in its path, but it fizzles before it reaches me. The forest inhales deeply, and all that smoke and flame turns to harmless ash in the air, scattered by a wind that tastes of ancient magic and older promises.
After that, I only hear their screams of torment, growing fainter and more distant as Kasamere claims its due.
A female soldier tries to crawl away on her belly, one I recognize from training sessions in my father’s compound. Her leg is snapped at an unnatural angle, her hair caked with mud and blood, leaving a trail of red in her desperate wake. “Please,” she rasps, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please. . .Locke, you’re one of us, we grew up together, trained together?—”
“No,” I say, stepping toward her with slow, deliberate movements, my boots squelching in the blood-soaked earth. “I was. I was one of you, once upon a time. I no longer follow my father’s commands blindly, and neither should you, Suri. You had a choice. You made it.”
She sobs as the ground splits beneath her trembling form, roots beginning their patient work of dragging her down inch by agonizing inch. “There will be more,” she gasps, nails clawing desperately at the dirt, trying to find purchase where none exists. “You think this is over? You think the queen and your father will just stop because you killed a few soldiers? You’re a fool if you believe that?—”
I crouch low, watching her eyes widen with the terrible understanding of what’s coming as the forest swallows her whole, her final words cut off by the earth closing over her head. “Then let them come,” I whisper to the suddenly still air. “I will be waiting.”
When it’s over, the clearing is unnaturally still, as if the violence never happened at all. Every trace of the bodies and blood are gone, consumed by hungry roots and absorbed intothe eternal cycle of the forest. Only the faint hum of Kasamere settling back into satisfied silence remains, along with the barely perceptible shimmer of magic where death seeped deep into the roots, feeding the power that slumbers beneath our feet.
I stagger forward, exhaustion hitting me like a physical blow now my adrenaline has faded. My knees buckle despite my best efforts to stay upright, and I brace a trembling hand against the rough bark of a tree, leaning there heavily while I struggle to catch my breath. Rain, blood, and sweat soak through my clothes, making them cling uncomfortably to my skin. My hands won’t stop shaking, whether from exhaustion or the aftereffects of channeling so much raw magic, I can’t tell.
They thought they could corner me like some peasant, trap me in my own domain and drag me back in chains. They forgot who trained me, forgot the lessons carved into my flesh through years of merciless discipline. They forgot what I am, not just a soldier, but something far more dangerous. I was my father’s greatest weapon, his pride and his project, but he failed me in the end. Used me and Rue for so long, treated us like extensions of his will rather than people with our own thoughts and feelings. There is no love left between us. Only duty, and even that is fraying at the edges.
I slide down the tree trunk into a sitting position, every muscle in my body screaming for rest, when I hear the sound of hooves on the forest floor, moving fast and reckless through terrain that should demand caution. The rhythm is uneven, desperate, not the measured pace of a patrol but something else entirely.
I unsheathe my sword with hands that shake more than I’d like to admit, forcing my spine straight despite the fire in my joints. Another wave of attackers? Fine. Let them come. My body may be broken, pushed beyond its limits, but I’ll fight until there’s nothing left of me but blood and bones. I’ve bought herenough time, that’s all I needed to do, all that mattered in the end.
I close my eyes and try to center myself, drawing on reserves of strength I’m not sure I actually possess. If this is where I die, at least she’s safe. At least I got to feel the connection between us, that pull deep down in my soul that speaks of destiny and choice intertwined, and it’s enough. It has to be enough, I tell myself as the sound grows closer.
A horse comes into view through the trees, coated in sweat and foaming at the mouth from its own exhaustion, eyes wild with the kind of fear that comes from being pushed far beyond endurance. There isn’t a soldier on her back though. Instead, she carries my brother, bloody and slumped in the saddle like a broken doll. Rue’s dragging the reins with one limp hand, his usually immaculate cloak soaked through with rain and something darker, his face drained of color beneath a smear of dried blood that streaks from his temple to his jaw.
The horse comes to a trembling stop when she sees me, sides heaving with the effort of breathing. I sheath my sword and approach slowly, not wanting to spook an animal that’s clearly been through hell.
“Well,” Rue croaks, voice hoarse but still carrying that familiar note of smugness that means he’s alive and relatively intact, “you look a right mess, brother dear.”
Relief hits me so fast and hard it nearly knocks me over, a wave of emotion I wasn’t prepared for after hours of numbness and violence.
“Rue,” I breathe, stumbling forward on unsteady legs. “Shit. You’re bleeding.” The words come out rougher than intended, but I can’t seem to control my voice anymore.
He slides sideways in the saddle with theatrical flair, even injured and exhausted. I catch him just before he hits the ground, his weight familiar and reassuring against my chest.
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, collapsing against me with none of his usual grace. “Just a scratch, really. You should see the other fellow. Oh wait, you can’t. He’s rather thoroughly dead.”
“Since when do you let people stab you?” I question, trying to keep the worry out of my voice and failing miserably. What the hell happened back there? Whatever it was, it was enough for him to ride his horse this hard without rest to get back to me. The animal is half-dead on her feet, and Rue never mistreats his mounts. At least I assume he was trying to get back to me, the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
“I was making a rather eloquent point about their questionable loyalties and general lack of intelligence,” he groans, some of his usual spark returning despite the pain, “and then someone had the audacity to stab me before I could finish delivering what was truly a devastating insult. Honestly, the youth today have no appreciation for verbal artistry.”
I tear a strip from my already-ruined shirt and press it firmly to the gash beneath his ribs, feeling warm blood seep through the fabric. He hisses like an offended cat and tries to swat me away with hands that shake from blood loss.
“Stop whining like a child.”
“I’m not whining, I’m dying,” he protests with wounded dignity. A beat passes, then he adds with perfect comedic timing, “Very dramatically, I might add. This is exactly the sort of death scene I’ve always imagined for myself, tragic, beautiful, with perfect lighting.”
“Always the performer,” I mutter, tying the makeshift bandage tighter and ignoring his theatrical wincing.
He slumps against the nearest tree, eyes fluttering half-shut as he takes in the unnaturally clean clearing around us. “Where’s the wolf? And our dear Esme?”
“Briar Row,” I say, the words coming easier now that I know they’re both safe. “They’re with Lucky. She’s got them hidden and protected.”
Rue exhales slowly, tension leaving his shoulders like air from a punctured bladder. “Thank the old gods and the new. Take me to Lucky immediately. She owes me the finest whiskey in her collection and a healing poultice the size of my considerable ego.”
All I can do is smile at his recovery. If he’s being catty and dramatic, then he’ll survive whatever happened to him. We both will, somehow.
