Latham only laughed. “I didn’t obey Solveig’s orders when I loved her. Do you really think I would follow them when I hate her?”
“You don’t hate her, Latham.”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“West, we need to go,” North said, urging him out the door. Anger was quickly replacing the shock, but Westley let his sister tug him along, despite the urge to rip the Vanir’s throat out with his teeth.
Latham’s smile turned cruel. “HELP! Guards! Help! The Fae have escaped! They murdered the president!”
His shouts carried through the corridors, chasing the Fae down the hall. All around them, doors burst open and the mortals began to call out, taking in the scene. Latham’s plan had worked down to the very last detail.
“Where are all the guards?”
“What’s happened?”
“Why is everyone shouting?!”
“The guards are dead, drowned!”
“Oh god, the president is dead!”
“The Fae killed the president and first lady with his magic!”
“He’s drowned them all!”
“Get them!”
Westley and his sisters raced down the corridors, gaining speed as the mortals chased after them. They were met with more guards, slowing them down. Westley smashed his broomstick against their helmets, killing in one blow.
He hit one so hard the stick broke in two. Taking a piece in each hand, he wielded them like dual swords—the way Solveig had taught him.
The wood splintered in his grip as he jabbed and impaled. The impact whittled them down to nothing more than toothpicks, forcing him to toss them aside, resorting to hand-to-hand combat against the swarm.
They managed to break through a group of about fifteen guards as they turned down another identical stone hallway. Doors at the end of the hall shuddered and shook, failing to hold back the battering rams trying to force their way through.
Shit. They were blocked.
His sisters stood beside him, determined expressions on both of their faces. He wished he had Solveig’s ability to loosen their magic. Westley took a moment to gather the water from the hall and bring it rushing towards them.
The door burst open right before Westley sent a wave, stopping just short of crashing down on Noren, Viggo, and Brenna.
“There you are!” Brenna exclaimed. Westley sent the wall of water away, running to embrace his friends.
“Thank the gods you’re all okay,” Noren said with a relieved laugh, gripping Easta in a tight hold.
“We can’t seem to find our way out—” Easta was saying, tucked under Noren’s arm.
Brenna interrupted her. “We found it. We were coming back to find you.”
Heavy footsteps came from down the corridor behind them. More guards. The Fae raced away, Noren leading them down a dark hall. Sunlight blazed in Westley’s eyes as they made their way through the entrance only to find themselves surrounded by the mortal guard.
There had to be at least fifty, and Westley didn’t know what kind of magic they held. Who knew what Ragnvald had given them.
Hey, Solveig?he called out, trying to discreetly gather water around him.I could really use your help.
What do you need?she answered immediately.
As much magic as you can spare without burning yourself out. He flashed everything in front of her.
