They’ll be tired when they arrive. Horses spent. Guards weary from days in the saddle.
It is the closest thing to an opportunity I will ever get.
I close my eyes, reaching inward. The magic is there. It has always been there, even when I didn’t know it existed. Even when Snow’s curse had me believing I was human.
My power has been growing for many sun-cycles. Building and building with no outlet, no release. Even though I’ve used it once since, I didn’t unleash its full force. I couldn’t.
I almost killed everyone that night. I just managed to pull it back.
This time will be different.
This time, I won’t hold back. I won’t try to rein it in or force it into submission. I will open every gate and let it pour out of me with everything it has. I will become a weapon.
The guards will die. Many of them. Perhaps all of them.
And more than likely, so will I.
I’ve made my peace with that. The letter I left with Julienne says everything that needs to be said. Belen will know my wishes. Namely, with no other heirs to the throne, that I would like for him to rule should I not make it. I know that he will pick the right successor.
Taking Snow on in such a manner isn’t a good plan. It’s barely a plan at all. It’s a fool’s mission born of desperation and rage and the knowledge that Snow cannot be allowed to continue.
If I succeed, the realm will be free, and therefore I have to try.
I shift my weight, easing the stiffness in my legs. The sun is climbing higher. Beyond the shimmer of the barrier, the deadlands stretch out in their muted, rotting gray. It’s a stark reminder of what Snow has done to this world.
I settle in and wait some more.
Time passes slowly. The road remains empty.
Then I hear hooves coming from the opposite direction.
My body tenses. I press myself lower against the rock, peering through the gap.
A small group of riders appears on the road, their horses at a steady lope. They pull them up to a walk, just before they reach my hiding place. They’re shadowfae guards out on patrol, or perhaps they have been sent to intercept the queen.
“I still can’t believe it,” one of them says. “They caught the performer, and we weren’t a part of it,” he grumbles.
My body tightens, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.
“I know what you mean,” the other says. “It could have been us. We were south just last night. Why couldn’t she have tried to escape then?”
“I wish she had.” He sighs. “I hear she put up quite the fight. They think she might be a witch or a hybrid half-breed, or perhaps a mixture of both.”
“Are they taking her back to the castle?” his companion asks, taking up his reins a little.
“Yes, they’ll lock her up until the queen arrives. I don’t envy her. I’m sure she’ll end up being executed for her actions.”
“She shouldn’t have helped that deserter,” one snorts.
The first guard swears under his breath. “And we missed all of it.”
“I know. The bounty on her head is considerable. The lads who brought her in will split it among themselves.” He sounds bitter. “While we’re out here riding patrol on an empty road.”
“It’s not fair,” the other whines. “We’ve been searching for days.”
Their voices grow fainter as they ride on, still complaining. The hoofbeats fade until there is nothing but silence.
Something twists in my chest at the thought of Isla tied up and on her way to the castle. She will be tortured for information. If that doesn’t kill her, she’ll be executed.
