I laugh in response and spin, kicking him in the kidneys.
The fire spreads, and before long, the entire back wall is alight. The smoke is thick, and soon, a haze covers the chapel, making it hard to see.
Aethelbald coughs.
“I would rather burn this castle to the ground than surrender!”
The loud banging on the door soon erupts into roars as men break down the wood and enter the chapel. They are a mixture of Wessex, Mercian, and Northumbrian soldiers.
I was right. I had trusted blind faith, hopeful that without the church’s consent, the armies would follow their rightful kings and that would buy us some time. But without a king, they follow whomever they believe will lead them to victory—no matter how corrupt he is.
We are more than outnumbered now. And I know that Aethelbald hid in here on purpose, knowing I would seek him out. It seems he, too, had a backup plan.
Ulf, Aedan, and our men fight, but they cannot keep up. Ulf and I lock eyes, and he shakes his head, reading my defeat.
Even though I will not surrender, I will also not sacrifice my men.
Searching in my pocket, I find what I need.
It was always my last resort.
I didn’t tell a soul because this was always my choice to make. And I devour that choice in one mouthful.
This is the only way for those I love to be free.
I peer around at the bedlam, which is worse than I ever thought. I knew it would be a bloody war, but this is a bloodbath.
We need a miracle.
And when three heads land at my feet, I realize that perhaps the Lord has delivered.
“It cannot be,” I mutter under my breath as I witness Skarth the Godless destroy anyone who stands in the way.
He was supposed to be out cold for hours, and unless day has eclipsed into night, then he has just proved what a true phenomenon he is.
His presence somehow stokes my fire, and I am charged once more.
Aethelbald yanks a sword from a soldier’s back and now comes at me with two weapons.
Again, he cheats.
“Say hello to your father and grandfather from me,” I say, picking up a blade and tossing it.
It embeds into his leg.
My comment enrages him, and he flies into a fury as he charges me. He slices through the air, connecting with my arm. He cuts through the material, leaving only a superficial wound.
“Aunt Emeline!” Benedict screams, tossing me a bow.
Although I wish he weren’t here, I am thankful for the extra manpower.
I catch the bow and pull out the arrow from King Raedwulf’s chest and load it into the bow. I shoot it, and when it embeds into Aethelbald’s pectoral, excitement courses through me because perhaps we can win.
I went into this with no game plan.
There were no tactics. Just fight and hope for the best.
This battle will always be remembered because it was fought by the underdogs who refused to give up.
