Tall iron spires rise surrounding the castle’s courtyard. Inside the fence, royal soldiers have their swords at the ready. Their heartbeats are fast, clothes pungent from days-old sweat. A bite of adrenaline hangs in the air.
Outside the gates, Golden Sentinels flank the fence to prevent anyone from entering. It’s a battle line drawn in cobblestone and iron. Even before we pull up, curses are volleyed back and forth between the two armies like cannon fodder.
“My jewel!” Folke calls to Ferra outside. “Keep that pretty head of yours down!”
She yells back, “I know how to keep my head on my shoulders, Folke—do you?”
He chuckles. “What a woman.”
Folke mutters to himself around the fat cigar in his mouth as he aims the crossbow through the bars. He closes one eye for aim, then lets an arrow fly.
It slams into a hay bale outside the gate.
“Damn, old man,” I snort. “Your aim isn’t as good as it was once?—”
I have to swallow my words when a horse that had been foraging on the hay bale rears up, spooked, the whites of its eyes flashing. It tugs so hard on its lead rope that the threads snap. It skitters backward, dragging half a wooden rack with it.
Golden Sentinels rush over to capture the spooked horse.
“Gotta keep ‘em distracted,” Folke mutters. “And one more for good measure.” He lets an arrow fly in the other direction, this one glinting off a sentinel’s brass backplate. The soldier whirls, sword drawn, which causes chaos as no one knows where the attack came from.
“Captain Fernsby!” Ferra shouts toward the castle. “Open the damn gates, we’re coming in!”
The royal soldiers inside the courtyard call out to one another, rushing to roll back the gate just enough to let in our wagon. A dozen more soldiers draw swords, holding off the sentinels who try to push their way inside.
Exhaustion rolls off both warring armies, and I get the sense this is a daily occurrence.
“Basten,” Sabine whispers, fast and urgent. “I could help?—”
I can already see the fey lines breaking out at her fingertips, and I quickly grab her cloak to hide her fingers. “Not yet. We’ve got this.”
“Easy as a whore with her legs up,” Folke chuckles as he reaches through the bars and smashes the crossbow hilt on a soldier’s helmet.
There’s a collision of swords, a smash of metal, but then we’re clear of the gates. Myst and Ranger crowd in behind us, and Captain Fernsby slams the gate shut. A few sentinels who are trapped inside are quickly dispatched, their blood rolling into the gaps between cobblestones.
A stableboy rushes up to take Myst and Ranger to the safety of the castle stables.
Sabine’s eyes are big, her hand tightly gripping her knees.
“We’re safe,” I reassure her. “The horses, too.”
“It isn’t that.” She flicks her fingers with the quiet confidence of someone fully aware that they could bring lightning down on any attacker’s head. But her voice is rattled. “It’s…so different here from Norhelm. Even from Duren.”
“Welcome to a city at war, sweetheart,” Folke says around his cigar. He swings open the rear door to usher her out.
She still looks shaky as she climbs out, but then Ferra is stomping toward us, tearing off her stiff armor with ample grumbles. She sweeps her hands over her male-soldier’s face like washing away the dirt’s grime, using her godkiss to reveal her true high cheekbones and lavender eyes. She combs her fingers through her disguise’s tawny, ear-length hair, and it stretches out beneath her palms into glistening black locks to her waist.
Once she’s herself again—save the armor that hangs clumsily on her—she throws her arms around Sabine.
“Sabby! Gods, woman, we missed you!”
Sabine grins, wide and sincere. “I missed you too, Ferra.”
“This isn’t teatime, ladies!” Folke gives Ferra’s ass a hard grab as he herds her toward the castle. An arrow launches over the iron fence, which he dodges seamlessly. “Save the chitchat for when we aren’t being actively shot at.”
I wrap my arm around Sabine’s back, sheltering her as we rush up the castle steps and through the grand entrance.
Shadows fall over us.
