Queen of Blood and Vengeance (Secrets of the Faerie Crown #4)

38. Guinevere

38

GUINEVERE

It was a terrible idea. Truly, the worst she’d ever had.

The aftermath of beheading the elemental who’d abused the human child was mixed. The humans were still scared of her, but she encountered no open hostility. The same could not be said for the elementals. Some barely acknowledged the incident. After so much loss, what was one more death? But others broke their elemental masks and glared outright.

Fine. As long as they’d fight to defend themselves.

Which brought her back to her truly terrible idea—to integrate the human and elemental volunteers.

The idea had entered her mind after two patrols, one human, one fae, had nearly slaughtered each other in the mountains outside of Eldermist. Each thought the other was an infiltrating force. Two humans died, one water-wielder was injured.

Sylva’s words rang in Gwen’s head. If you kill everyone who carries prejudice in their heart, then we will not have much of an army left.

Killing each other would have the same effect.

In her stupid, stupid attempt to focus that lethal energy on the succubus, she’d called the volunteers to the hilltop outside of Eldermist, in view of the standing stone that marked the rift to Annwyn. It was the largest expanse of flat space she’d been able to locate in the nearby mountains without descending into the valley itself, which would leave them not only too far from the village, but exposed to any approaching enemies.

The other benefit was that the space was too small for the two groups to remain separate. But Ancestors, were they trying.

The elementals took up more than their share of the hilltop, their superior size and general menace warning off the humans. While wary, the humans who’d climbed to the hilltop to volunteer were not the same ilk that hid in their doorways at the first sign of violence. These were the women who had fought for their families, learning to hunt and fight while their husbands and sons were kept under constant guard. Now, they were joined by the men who had been forced to watch, useless, as their brothers and fathers and sons were taken by the succubus. They all wanted to fight.

Gwen told herself that she had mustered troops under worse conditions.

“Stop glaring at each other and form up. Straight lines of ten,” she barked. The human half of the contingent jumped, though they did not move to form up. The elementals continued glaring at her.

“You are not our commander, terrestrial.”

She tracked the voice—female—to somewhere near the back of the assembly of elementals. But it was impossible for her to pinpoint it. It could have come from half a dozen females of the more than two dozen glaring at her.

Dressed mostly in rags, they were at least upright. Their flight from Baylaur had been fast and cruel, the intervening weeks more of the same as they’d fought the succubus who crept into their camp. And they’d still climbed this hill to volunteer to fight. These were the type of warriors she wanted to command.

If they would follow her Ancestors’-damned commands.

“It is not a discussion. The High King and Queen have given me command of the fae in Eldermist. What remains of the Council of Elders have put human volunteers under my command as well. First, you spar. Then I will put you in formation.”

“And if we think one of us would be a better leader?” The same voice as before. Gwen had been watching; she narrowed the possibilities to three.

“You are free to take it up with Veyka Pendragon or Arran Earthborn when they return.”

No one had a response for that, not even the mysterious female instigator. Humans and fae alike feared the High King and Queen of Annwyn. “Move!”

This time they did. It took only one inhale and exhale for Gwen to realize what was happening—and not happening—right before her eyes. The exact opposite of what she’d intended.

“No—pair up. Human with fae.” She had to stop saying elemental. It only gave the refugees a reason to point out the differences between them and her. “We are going to become one fighting force. We start that now.”

The human volunteers who’d come forward flinched, except for the warriors. Gwen recognized some of the band that had surrounded her and Lyrena in the pass above Eldermist. Good, it would not all be novices.

“Are they allowed to use magic?” the red-haired woman who’d led the patrol called out.

“Yes.” Gwen watched the ripple move through the crowd, but she’d anticipated this. “But any injury that incapacitates a human and prevents them from fighting will be punishable by death.”

More murmurs. Now everyone was glaring at her.

Ironic as fucking hell.

The elementals should be the ones mistrusting her.

But the humans were just as skittish.

Ancestors, just kill me and be done with it.

They all hated her. At least they had one thing in common.

They’d all had their lives ravaged by the succubus. That was another.

The red-gold haired warrior who had cornered Gwen in the mountains stepped across the breach of space, pointing a finger at a fae male with a dagger in a makeshift scabbard on his belt. “Let’s go.”

Her words were the first hole in the dam.

Next her lieutenants stepped forward, selecting fae opponents. Some of the fae began to step up as well, jerking nods to the humans.

Slowly, but in a steady flow, the matches were made. Sparring began.

There was not much space, but that was fine with Gwen. Battles were sometimes fought in tight quarters. It was never like the training ring, just you and one opponent. On the battlefield, there were always other bodies to be concerned with, whether they be friend or enemy. With these first blows, the training had begun.

Gwen walked slowly between the matches, ducking punches and flinging bodies. The humans were outmatched. Of course they were. But the fae held back, unwilling to risk their own lives by injuring the humans after they’d already survived so much terror at the claws of the succubus. She assessed their restraint and control, both vital on a battlefield as well.

All magic had a cost, and if the fae spent their magic too fast, those consequences would be dire. They might pass out from exhaustion in the middle of the battlefield, and then they’d be easy fodder for the succubus.

As she moved through the crush, she catalogued every movement, every error in form and every carefully controlled torrent of power. An ice-wielder who threw daggers of ice, but couldn’t aim them. A human who was so fast, they’d pose a worthy opponent to Veyka herself.

Gwen had seen Arran do it dozens of times. It was part of what made him a brilliant commander—his ability to assess the strengths of those under his command and use them to offset one another’s weakness while simultaneously reinforcing each other’s strengths. He’d done it with flora and fauna gifted terrestrials. She’d do it with humans and fae. A single discrete task she could lose herself in, hide from the nightmares and guilt of her own emotions.

She neared the edge of the hilltop, where one female waited. She was slight—could have been mistaken for a human, if not for the pointed tips of her ears. She was not waiting for an opponent. She was waiting for Guinevere.

“You killed my brother.” Gwen did not have to ask who she meant.

She didn’t bother to reach for her sword this time. She was the only shifter here, but she would not be the only one once Arran and Veyka arrived with their army. This group of would-be warriors would have to learn how to maintain their composure when there was suddenly a beast fighting alongside them.

“He survived the succubus long enough to make himself into a villain.” Gwen let the lioness shine out through her amber eyes. “He got what he deserved.”

The female lifted her chin in defiance. “And what about you?”

“My punishments have already been wrought by the Ancestors.” There was not much space around them. But it would be enough. “You are welcome to try to improve on their methods.”

The female’s eyes flashed. She was no more than an adolescent, Gwen realized. Her hands shook, the emotionless facade that all elementals were trained on from birth threatening to shatter completely.

Compassion—that was the unexpected feeling roaring to life in Gwen’s chest. Maybe it had been left there by Parys. The Ancestors knew it had never existed before her arrival in Baylaur.

Gwen shifted her stance into a fighting position. They were the only two unmatched volunteers.

“You can die like your brother. Or you can learn to live.”

The young female stared at her. Eyes flashing between hatred and grief. Emotions that Gwen understood all too well. Her clothes were tattered, but her thick braid was recently washed and carefully plaited. As she stared Gwen down, shards of ice rose in her hand.

“I want to live,” she said, and stepped up to meet Gwen’s challenge.

Gwen drilled them every day. A week. More. She counted the hours as the winter sun tracked across the sky. Then the days. No responses came to the human and fae envoys she’d sent to Emberhaven, Wraithwood, or Thornbriar. The communication crystal was silent.

On the first day of the third week, she hiked up into the mountains north of Eldermist. She wanted a sense of how long it would take the band she’d assembled to reach the Effren Valley, either through the pre-existing rift or through a more direct, portal rift approach.

But when she reached the pass, all the air deserted her lungs.

An army marched along the perimeter of the valley, moving closer and closer with each blink.

She was too late.