Page 39 of The Brute and the Blade

I'm coming to keep you. Cherish you as you were always, meant to be cherished.

By me. For me and the life, the love we'll build together, birth together from the ashes, the embers of all we were before we fell.

Wait for me, Lily, I whisper, a promise and a plea. Wait for me, my heart, my hearth.

For I will shake the foundations of the earth to reach you, to rescue you from a world too small, too shallow to contain us, to constrain us.

Hold on, my love, I keen, inside and only inside, where no one can hear me, heed me. Hold on, for I am coming. I am coming to bring you back, to bear you home to the heart that beats only for you.

With that oath, that avowal searing through me, steering me, I crest the final rise, and there, spread out before me like a tapestry is Thornhall. The human stronghold, the haven of my heart's own home, waiting for me to breach its walls and claim at last what is mine, sacredly mine alone.

Lily, I whisper, a war cry and a worship, a wonder fierce and full.

I am here, my heart. I am here to bring you back, to bear you home.

Wait for me, my queen, my completion.

For I am coming, I am coming to bring you home.

To me.

16

Lily

The village square erupts into chaos as Lord Varkos's soldiers thunder in on horseback, weapons drawn and faces grim. I'm haggling with a merchant over the price of a new whetstone when the first screams rend the air, and I whirl around, my hand flying to the hilt of my sword.

"What in the seven hells?" I mutter, scanning the milling crowd for the source of the disturbance. And then I see them—a dozen armored men bearing down on the square, their crimson tabards emblazoned with the snarling wolf sigil of Emberhal.

"Lily Thornwood!" the lead rider bellows. "By order of Lord Varkos, you are under arrest for treason and collusion with the enemy! Surrender yourself, or face the consequences!"

"Like hell I will," I snarl under my breath, drawing my blade with a steely rasp. Around me, villagers scatter and flee, desperate to escape the impending violence. I curse my own complacency, my reckless stupidity in venturing so far from Thornhall's walls, unprotected.

Then the soldiers are upon me, and there's no more time for self-recrimination. Only the dance, the drums of battle pounding in my blood as I meet their charge with a wild, defiant cry.

I fell the first man with a thrust to the throat, his lifeblood spraying hot across the cobbles. The second I hamstring, sending him toppling from the saddle with a shriek. But there are too many, and I'm already weary, already wounded from the ceaseless strain of pretending for my clan.

A heartbeat too slow to dodge the descending mace, the crack of impact against my temple. I reel back, stunned, my vision sparking red and black. Distantly, I feel my sword slip from numb fingers, hear the clatter of it on stone.

Then a blow to the belly, driving the air from my lungs. A rain of fists, of boots, as I crumple to the ground. The coppery slick of blood on my tongue, the white-hot whirl of pain.

And then...nothing. Nothing but the oblivion of unconsciousness, as I slip into the dark.

I come to in chains.

They're the first thing I register as awareness seeps back—the cold, heavy weight of iron manacles around my wrists, my ankles. The dull ache of bruises and sharp pain of cuts.

I blink crusty eyes, trying to focus, to orient myself. Stone walls, rough and dank. A thin pallet beneath me, rank with mold and the stink of old sweat, old fear.

A cell. A dungeon. The realization coils like a cold snake in my gut.

I'm a prisoner. Again. Captured by Varkos, chained by him like an animal. Like a dog.

The creak of a door, the clank of keys in a lock. I struggle to sit up, gritting my teeth against the throb of my skull, the scream of bruised muscles. Booted feet on flagstones, drawing nearer.

Then he's there, looming over me like a nightmare made flesh. Lord Varkos, the Bloody Baron of Emberhal.

"Well, well," he drawls, his voice cold and cruel. "The Red Blade herself, trussed up like a prize pig. Isn't this a pretty picture?"

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