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The Stolen Crown

Page 115

by L.J. Andrews

I was nearest.

Tait’s knife was still gripped in my hand. When the first guard drew nearer, I pleaded for the icy pull of my glamour to give me more, just a little more.

The ground split. I imagined it, saw it, how unsettling it might be to rush forward, expecting a firm place to step only to have the stone split underfoot.

A little more glamour.

The sound of stone cracking echoed around the courtyard. A jagged stone shot upright. Another slab dropped down like it might sink into the earth. The lead guard cried out in stun and stumbled backward.

I wasted no time before I reared over him and rammed the point of the blade through his chest.

“Go!” I screamed. “I can hold them; get to the shore.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, woman?” Tait roared back. He shoved Seableeder into Swordeater’s arms and demanded the men run. He wrenched the sword free of the lead guard’s limp hand and glared at me. “You. Me.”

I ripped the knife from the guard’s chest. “A surly ass and revel princess.”

Tait raised his sword in the same moment a second guard crashed his blade against the sharp edge. Heartwalker knew how to battle, how to fight on moving ships. He was a damn masterpiece to watch with the blade. Quick parries and short jabs. He had blood spilling from the guard’s throat in ten breaths.

There was a touch of bloodlust in his eyes, a sneer on his mouth, a glimpse of the darkness he feared might overtake him someday.

I was enraptured with every piece of him.

Three more guards. I rolled the knife in hand, ignoring the instinct to flee, to escape another battle. Boldness did not mean the absence of fear, not in the least. I used my blade because I was terrified—not of death, but of losing the man next to me.

And from the fire in his eyes, it seemed Tait was fighting for the same thing.

I spun on another guard. He towered over me and had a bearded axe in his hand. I had a knife and glamour. I imagined the world around him as nothing but streaks of color, spinning and spinning until he wanted to retch.

Gods, my body ached through the weight of my power flooding the tips of my fingers, squeezing into my chest. The more I used it in such distant lands, the heavier my limbs became, the slower my steps.

A little longer.

The guard stumbled to his knees, crying out. He held his head, then clung to the soil like the earth might be tilting and he would careen off a cliffside. Good. I hoped he could not breathe from the fear.

I shuddered and staggered to one side. Somewhere in the haze, I thought Tait called my name. I didn’t let up, didn’t stop until a splatter of hot blood coated my cheek.

I jolted in stun.

Tait ripped a sword from the neck of the guard. “Mira. Bleeding woman. You swore not to exhaust yourself.”

His hand curled in mine. I stumbled.

Tait cursed but dropped the blade and scooped me beneath my knees, then held me in his arms. My head rolled against his chest. There was a fleeting thought to protest, to insist he put me down, even leave me to save his own neck.

He’d only glare at me and tell me to stop speaking nonsense.

Wind whipped against my cheeks. Brine hovered in the air the faster Tait ran. A wooden staircase carved into a back slope led to a cove. Shouts rose behind us. I peered over Tait’s shoulder.

Damn the hells. Djur stood in the center of fifteen new guards. We would never defeat so many even though Tait was a skilled swordsman. We were losing strength. My glamour left me hardly able to even stand.

Djur barked a laugh. “You’ve forgotten one of your own.”

The mortal king opened one arm. There, at his side, was Windswayer.

Tait’s eyes widened. “Windswayer?”

Djur draped an arm around the sea fae and grinned. “Oh, I do not think he belongs to your folk any longer. You see, we made a deal after he told us a fae princess and blood of a fae king remained lost at sea.”