Crown of Blood and Ruin: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 3)

Fever raged through the night. Aches, spasms, delirium. I moaned, wishing the cruel gods would end me here. I held firmly to Ellis’s words. The queen comes.

Elise. I needed to see Elise at least once more before I met the Otherworld. Too many words still needed to be said.

A boot to the ribs sent a bright spark of pain careening up my spine.

Jarl Magnus stood above me, the knife he’d used to cut the tethers on my wrists in his hand.

Through the night, frost coated the ground and the slick boards of the rack dais. Fevering, dying, no doubt, and still the sight of him sent a blinding rage through my veins.

“He looks half in the hells.”

“Worried?” I croaked, trying to lift my head, but it was too much exertion. I closed my eyes and let the cool, bloody boards of the dais soothe the heat in my skin.

“Summon mediks.” Jarl barked a cruel laugh. “Get them up to the tower. Can’t have them dying. Yet.”

Jarl signaled for the Ravens to gather us. It took over a dozen guards to drag our battered, frozen bodies into the heat of the castle tower. We stumbled. I could not focus on a single spot; everything spun in a maelstrom of fog and darkness. When they, at last, tossed us back into the upper room to await a meeting with the king, Sol scrambled to me.

“Valen.” He scooped one arm around my shoulders. “All gods, you’re a flame. Hells, when did you get so bleeding heavy?”

I thought I might’ve laughed. “Jealous of my strength, brother.”

“Never.” Sol laid me on the furs of the bed, mopping my brow with as much gentleness as expected from a man who’d lived centuries alone in madness.

“Will he live?” Gunnar’s voice had grown soft, burdened.

“Yes,” Sol said with a certainty. “Fever will not take the Night Prince.”

I scoffed, the room spinning. “I think it is safe to say, little Ellis poisoned me.”

Sol’s jaw pulsed as he covered me with the furs and tried to get my boiling body to stop trembling.

By the time the sun bled into night, the fever worsened. The Ravens left us alone, never returning with Timoran mediks. Likely another version of torture.

“Don’t die, Valen.” Sol’s whisper fluttered against my cheek.

Somewhere in the sweat and chills I must’ve fallen asleep. I smiled through dry lips; a weak chuckle scraped from my throat. “If I do d-die, tell everyone it was in a mag-magnificent battle that saved your l-life.”

Sol and Gunnar pounced to my side. My nephew looked paler, the dried blood on his arms from the lashes red and raised. But Sol’s blue eyes brightened like a summer morning. “Perhaps, I will tell everyone you died whimpering in your bed.”

“You w-wouldn’t dare.”

“You know I would.”

I snorted, weakly, but it was a delirious sort of laugh.

“What is funny?” Gunnar paced back and forth near the bed. His voice cracked. “You can’t die. You can’t.”

“Ah, Valen, I think our nephew is fond of you.”

I shuddered, but forced a grin, my head in a haze. “Boy, when we s-stop taunting each other, then it is time to f-fret over one of us dying.”

True enough. During the raids the only moments I truly feared for Sol had been when he stopped calling me names, when he spoke of my attributes. Those moments meant he thought time was short.

The handle clicked on the door, drawing any talk to die a swift death. Sol stood protectively in front of the bed as two Ravens pushed in, but two others followed. A woman in a dingy woolen skirt and apron, and a man with a pipe, a thick woven satchel, and a sharp tongue pointed at the two guards.

“All I’m saying is you bleeding well should’ve summoned us long before now. I do not make miracles, and if he already be stepping into the Otherworld, the only thing we can do is wish him well. Next time, a summons before the chills set in would be better.”

The Raven’s lips pinched. “Do your duty medik. Quickly.”

The man with the pipe, tipped his napless cap, and placed his satchel on the edge of the bed. His eyes were a rich brown, like new soil. Odd eyes. Not Timoran. And the hint of accent in his voice, I could not place it.

“Looks awful.” The medik let out a long sigh, then clapped his hands together. “Well, no time to waste.”

I did not trust Timoran mediks, but had no energy, no desire to fight him off. In truth, Sol would never allow me to.

But the medik did not approach me. Through the blur of my fevered eyes, I watched with horror, perhaps a bit of awe, as the medik cracked his neck to one side and rushed the two Ravens.

With a skilled grip, the medik twisted one guard’s neck in a sick crack, the Raven’s body crumpling on the ground. At the same instant the woman had a silver dagger in her hand and buried in the throat of the second Raven.

She watched him choke on his blood.

The medik drew in a long breath, grinning with violence. “Well done, Tov.”

Sol stood in front of the bed and Gunnar, body tense. “Get back.”

The medik—who, even in my feverish head, I did not believe was truly a medik by now—chuckled. “If you wish me to reverse the elixir and give him a bit of relief, I think you really want me to get close.”

Sol didn’t budge.

With a sigh of irritation, the man tilted his head. “Were you particularly fond of those little guards? Apologies if so, but I thought it might prove we are not here to harm you, and in fact, have come to help you.”

Sol regarded them with suspicion but relented. Barely. He remained close as the man plucked a vial from his belt and the woman darted to the window, catching the moonlight with a piece of glass she moved side to side.

I lifted my head as best I could. Soon she tore off the apron and slithered out of the dress. Underneath her clothing she was dressed in a mottled tunic and pitch trousers. Sheathed to her leg were two more daggers, a bow strapped across her shoulders. When she faced us again, I took note of the green cat-eyes at once.

“The serf,” I muttered, out loud or in my head, I didn’t know.

“He’s still lucid,” she said. “Move aside, we need to heal him quickly. By the hells, Niklas, how much did you give him?”

“Oh, beg your bleeding pardon,” the man, Niklas, said with a bite. “I did not know his stature and had to guess. I imagined a bit of a giant, I’m afraid.”

“You’ll not touch my brother until I know who and what you are.” Sol hissed.

“Cut us and we might smell a great deal like him,” the woman said, pointing to Gunnar. She overruled Sol and clambered over the bed from the opposite side.

“Alvers?” Sol said.

“Yes,” Niklas said. “How is your mesmer boy? Painful?”

Gunnar hesitated but nodded.

Niklas rummaged through the satchel and tossed him a small phial. “Take this. It’ll help keep your focus and dull the pain. I’ll give you more when this is done. Afraid your Kind with the mind tricks must cope with wretched headaches.”

“What is this?” Gunnar asked.

“Specialized herbs, a few crushed roots, and a dose of pure brӓn ale.” He clapped Gunnar on the shoulder. “Drink up and get a little drunk.”

I chuckled softly, recalling moments as Legion Grey, when I’d introduced Elise to the burning drink. I did not know my name, but it was one of the earliest memories I had of when I’d been stunned by how much I wanted to remain in the company of the Kvinna.

The woman nestled behind my back and leveraged one knee under my hip, nudging me onto one shoulder. She blew out a curse. “Sliced you up good.”

“Get on that, Tov,” Niklas said. “I’ll draw out the ettrig poison. You’ll feel better soon, King.” He patted my shoulder and placed the vial with the murky smoky substance beneath my nose. “Old Bevan sends his regards.”

“Wait,” Sol said. “Tell me how you managed to pose as mediks.”

“Simple,” Niklas said without looking up. “You’d be amazed what you can do by paying off a few greedy folk. You think mediks particularly enjoy healing the tortured of Ravenspire? Gave the sod a few pieces of coin and he gladly turned over his robe.”

Resourceful. Fascinating in a way. No blood drawn. Simply cleverness.

The pungent hint of maple leaves and tarnished steel awakened my brain and jolted my senses. I coughed, the burn in my lungs chasing away the fever. Horribly so. A slow hiss radiated off my skin. Poisonous clouds of white smoke faintly rose from my pores, taking with them the aches, the fog, the sick.

What did this man . . . had he mentioned Bevan?

“Elixist?” I asked, voice rough. The old man had used his talents many a time to keep me well during the curse, and he’d called himself an Elixist.

“Right, Fae King. A rather brilliant one, if I’m honest.”

The woman snorted as her fingers gently touched my back. “You’re the only one who says it.”

“Untrue.” He scratched his chin. “Junie thinks I’m remarkable and tells me often.”

“Junius.” I bolted up onto one elbow.

“Stay still,” the woman demanded.

I ignored her. “You know Junius?”

“I should hope so.” He tipped the hat. “Niklas Tjuv. I owe you a great deal of thanks for keeping my wife breathing.” Niklas stood and looked to the cat-eyed woman. “Thoughts, Tova?”

“Could use a bit of help with the wounds.”

I cried out when her hands touched certain places and an unnerving tug of my skin pulled toward the center of my back. As if a hundred small needles with thread stitched my skin back into place.

“What are you doing?”

“Healing.” She grunted. “Though, admittedly, I am not all that particularly skilled with my mesmer.”

I winced and shuddered against the sick feeling of pulling, rapidly healing skin. While Tova worked, I looked to Niklas. “Where is Elise?”

“Ah, if your queen has hit her mark, she will be declaring war on this bleeding castle shortly.”

Sol stiffened. “They’re coming. Tonight?”

“Oh yes.” Niklas spoke as if nothing bothered him, as if everything were amusing. Perhaps he did it for us, he killed as well as anyone. If he smiled through it, let him.

“Valen, we must get to the tomb.”

My skin didn’t ache anymore, and before Tova could give me permission, I pulled away. “Heal Gunnar’s arms.”

“No.” Gunnar pulled back. “This is not a time I wish to forget. I want to remember the folk who harmed my maj. But give me that bow. I won’t miss.”

He pointed at the bow around Tova’s shoulders.

“He’s rather confident in his abilities,” Sol said. My brother held no qualms at being healed and accepted a pungent paste from Niklas for the burns and welts across his chest and ribs.

“You will be, too, once you see them.” Gunnar grinned, and I could see a bit of Herja’s mischief there.

At my next step, a thundering boom shook the walls of the tower, of the entire courtyard.

“That’ll be Junie.” Niklas clapped his hands together. “We need to go, King. War is coming.”

“What was that?” I followed Niklas to the satchel.

“Elixir powders. Combustible, but we needed to mark the time, so why not take out the bleeding gates while we’re at it?” He sneered and dug into the pouch. “Now, your delightful queen thought you might be wanting these.”

My chest tightened when he removed my battle axes. I took them with a bit of reverence, a clear heat building in my palms. Niklas handed Sol a seax and a dagger. Tova gave up her bow and quiver of arrows. Gunnar tugged at the bowstring, grinning.

Commotion outside the tower drew us to the moment. Niklas frowned for the first time. “The guards will be suspecting us by now. Time to move. I hear you can bend the bedrock. I would be most interested in you using it to get us out of here.”

“We’re bound,” I said, spinning an axe as Sol tossed me my bloody tunic.

“Ah, foolish of me, forgetting such an important piece.” Niklas lifted a rune stone out of his pouch. “Wrists out. I should’ve led with this.”

“How do you have the key to the bindings?” Sol stared at him, wrists out, aghast.

“Not a key. Another trick of mine. Created it after Junie reported how your mesmer—fury—whatever, is bound here. Since we’re joining a war with the fae, thought it might be useful to you. I’ve many more. We have something similar in the East that blocks mesmer, so we prepared.”

His magic could counter bindings? Not the time to think too long on it. Niklas ran the smooth stone over the silver bands. The heat dissolved and my fury rushed in my veins. Sol and I both curled over our knees, but we both managed to keep from vomiting.

“Pays to have allies, wouldn’t you say?” Niklas winked. “Now, we need to meet at the back wall.”

“No.” Sol grabbed my arm. “We must go to the tomb, Valen. Whatever is there could help end this. For Elise. For Tor.” He looked to Gunnar. “For Herja.”

I closed my eyes, fists clenched around my axes. All I wanted was to stand with Elise, to fight beside her. But something about the Black Tomb itched in my skull. If it gave us any sort of advantage, we needed to take it.

I let out a frustrated shout. “Come on, then. It is only a few lengths from here.”

“Wait,” Niklas said. “What are you doing? We must meet the mark.”

“There is strong fury hidden away,” I said without stopping. “We need it to win this war.”

Tova shook her head. “He will be put out.”

“Who is he?” I cracked the door, checking the corridor for Ravens. Footsteps below us hinted we had moments before they ascended the staircase.

“The Nightrender. He fights beside your wife,” Niklas said. “The breaker of fear and night, as you lot described him. This is his bleeding plan, and he gets irritable when plans go awry.”

My eyes widened. He existed. Part of me believed him to be a myth, or a misspeak, or another slip of the tongue. It didn’t matter. I slipped out into the corridor. “He’ll need to be irritable.”

“Suspected as much.” Niklas joined me, moving like a shadow. “Junius will be at the gate. Offend the Nightrender all you want, but we will take the time to get my wife.”

I gave a nod. Eyes forward. Ravens pounded up the stairs. I held both axes in one hand, then raised my empty hand. Fury grew potent. Each beat of my heart pulsed more magic through my blood.

The walls shuddered. The stone and wood making up the foundation of Ravenspire cracked and shattered.

Tova prayed to the gods, her hand braced against the wall. Niklas chuckled villainously.

In a matter of moments, the stairwell started to collapse. Ravens cried out, shouting to retreat halfway up. One guard had nearly reached the top when he locked eyes with me. My lips curled. His face paled as I closed my fist and the roar of stone and rubble crumbling blotted out the screams of the men crushed beneath it.

Dust covered the bloody mess of bone and flesh, but Sol and Gunnar wasted no time and rushed forward, gathering what blades were still visible.

I drew in a long breath and let fury take hold. A dark desire for battle grabbed hold like a tangible being.

Tonight, bloodlust was welcome.