Emlyn pulls his bow off his back, quickly stringing it with practiced fingers. “You really don’t. Odds are, we’ll die, but he can’t yell at me if I’m dead. Now be quiet.”
He really doubts the plan that much?A knot cinches within me—but this is why I need to help. If Taran really can’t do this on his own, then I need to be there for him.
I follow Emlyn back to the level we met on, then we continue to the fourth floor. At the first window we come to, Emlyn peeks out, his back pressed against the tree trunk that serves as the adjoining wall.
“Shit.”
He leans a little further, looking down. I poke my head out, following his gaze.
We’ve moved further along the castle, to where a wooden balcony curves around the outer walls, two levels beneath us. At least a dozen guards fill the space, armed with bows, nocked and ready to let fly. Just where the balcony turns out of view, I glimpse a woman in a regal gown, the deep green of the surrounding pine trees, with a crown of golden antlers resting upon her raven hair.
The queen.
Power radiates from her, sizzling the air as if resisting her command would burn you alive. The same dread that filled me when Taran bent Merfyn wraps its tendrils around my chest. The realization that I’m powerless against her.
Especially without incanting.
I tear my gaze away, scanning in the direction that holds her attention. There’s not a wedding guest in sight, but a small hill rises above the surrounding gardens. A wooden arch decorated with hanging flowers stands atop, and Taran hides behind one of its posts.
My heart drops with a sickening lurch.
“They have him,” I whisper. “If he moves, they’ll let loose.”
“Ancients, Taran,” Emlyn mutters. “Just bend them already.”
But he won’t. I know it in my heart. That fear of becoming his mother, combined with facing her for the first time in twenty years…
He’s frozen, just as I’d feared.
After a quick look around, Emlyn’s grip on his bow tightens, then he steps onto the window ledge.
I shoot a glance at the queen—she hasn’t noticed us. “What are you doing?”
“I need a better shot.” He carefully moves onto the branch growing beside the window. It sways beneath him, but he slowly inches his way forward.
“This can’t be safe,” I mutter to myself, then climb onto the ledge, gripping it tight as I brace myself. Close enough to help if I need to, but not enough to be in his way. Not that I’ll be able to do much outside of giving him a hand or incanting.
My stomach clenches. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.
Emlyn shifts, sliding his arrow into place. The branch lurches beneath his weight, dipping sharply. My pulse spikes—
A loud crack pierces the air. Emlyn’s bow drops from his grasp. I shoot my hand out as he reaches toward me.
The world stills as the queen turns. Her fiery green eyes lock onto us, seething with fury.
Something stirs within me. Recognition, that I have something to protect. Something she wants to hurt, and I need to do everything in my power to stop her.
But she speaks before I can.
“Fall.”
Despite the distance, her voice echoes through my mind.
I’m no longer on the window ledge. She told us to fall, and we did.
The ground rushes toward me. Brilliant green veiled in shadow, about to be splattered with the deep, dull red of my blood.
On instinct, I incant a gust of wind, the familiar power flowing through me.
