The flames from the nearby fireplace swelled twice their size, threatening to burn the priest where he’d backed the queen into a corner.
“Release her at once, Red!” King Hans roared.
The priest moved as far from the flames as possible while not releasing Queen Karin’s throat. “Say it,” he growled to Queen Karin. “The truth. You’re hiding something. What spell have you used?”
Bryn gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles.
Don’t say it, she urged the queen. Half the people in the room already knew about the possession spell, and the other half suspected it, but as long as the words weren’t uttered aloud, there was no way to prove it.
Though Queen Karin struggled to fight High Priest Red’s hex, whatever truth-telling spell he’d cast over her exceeded her own magical ability. Peeling back her lips in a grimace, she hissed through her clenched jaw, “We used the amplifier spell.”
The priest’s pinched face twisted in a scowl. Bryn felt a surge of relief and pride in the Vil-Rossengard queen for her quick thinking to mention the secondary spell instead of the main one.
Before High Priest Felisian Red could ply Queen Karin with another truth-telling spell, King Hans reached him. He shoved a heavy hand on the priest’s shoulder, spinning him away from his wife.
“Kora yoquin tertin.” The fireplace’s flames swelled, singing the priest’s crimson robes. The priest cried out and stumbled away from the fireplace, his fingers quick to unfasten his outer cloak and toss it onto the ground, stamping out the flames.
“What is the meaning of all this?” King Marthin wailed, turning to Bryn with horror on his slackened face.
“War,” Bryn said in a voice that sounded fierce even in Queen Amelia’s throat. “It means war, Marthin.”
Chapter 39
A ROYAL BATTLE . . . magic, swords, and wits . . . dog bites . . . broken glass . . . slashed throats . . . a new queen
“Guards! Stop this madness!” Marthin cried.
The Woll soldiers stationed at the door rushed into the library, drawing their swords as they approached the crowd. Prince Anter blocked the path of the closest one, wrestling the sword out of his hand before the guard could even finish drawing it. Anter thrusted his open hand toward the guard, shaking his head firmly.
“This isn’t your fight. Stay back.”
The unarmed Woll soldier looked torn, but seeing the other soldiers surround the royals, he gained courage and tried to take his sword back. Anter punched the man in the face, knocking him out.
“Anter!” Rangar called as he struggled to subdue Baron Marmose. “Get King Cedric! There’s only his signature and Marthin’s left to sign. Make Cedric sign it, and this all ends!”
As soon as Rangar finished speaking, one of the baron’s dogs let loose a folly of vicious barks and bit Rangar on the ankle. It stole Rangar's attention long enough for Baron Marmose to twist out of his grasp and back away from his sword's blade.
“You repulsive snake,” Rangar growled. “This was all you. The wolves, everything.”
The baron snorted derisively, though his heaving chest betrayed his nerves. His eyes flashed to Bryn. He made a lunge in her direction. Rangar jumped forward to cut him off.
“Queen Amelia,” Rangar called with enough presence of mind to use the queen’s name. “Get to Illiana—she’ll protect you!”
But Bryn was blocked behind the table on one side by the baron, and the other side by Queen Yves, who yanked a hidden blade out of the massive silver charm on her necklace. Bryn’s heart thundered.
If only I had my magic!
Trapped in a ninety-year-old body, unable to fight or flee without the hexmarks she’d worked so hard to earn, her mind clawed for a solution.
“Queen Amelia, duck your head!” Illiana shouted from the opposite side of the table. She raised her hands, speaking a levitation spell. One by one, books flew off the library shelves and slammed into Queen Yves’ body. Pummeled by the heavy volumes, the Rumese queen sheltered herself just long enough for Bryn to rush past her. Queen Yves blindly slashed her small knife, wounding Bryn’s arm.
Illiana grabbed Bryn, guiding her to the safety of the spiral staircase in the library’s corner. “Climb. Hurry. I’ll keep them away.”
Blood trickled from Bryn’s arm. It was a wound that, in her normal body, would have been barely a scratch, but the old queen’s body was far more delicate. She clamped one hand over the bleeding wound as she took the spiral stairs two at a time, around and around until she reached the balcony overlooking the library’s lower level.
From there, she looked down at a shocking scene.
In a matter of mere minutes, a true battle had broken out in Hytooth Palace. Woll guards clashed with whoever appeared as a threat, confused themselves about which side they were supposed to defend, so they settled for surrounding King Marthin with raised swords. Rangar and Anter, both formidable warriors and both now armed, were the next obvious targets. The guards’ swords clattered as they fought with the northern royals.
