Page 191 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

“We are being attacked, we don’t have time for compliments,” Tor retorts, but he glances at me as he says it, and I give him a small smile to show him I don’t mind. I get it, his people are under attack, and he’s stuck with me. Turning to the elves, he gestures to the table. “Take what you need.”

Vaeril brushes aside his jacket and reveals a hidden sheath. Reaching in, he pulls out a beautiful blade carved with elvish runes along the flat of the blade. The sharp side of the blade looks like a flame, the edges ridged and rippling, almost like it’s moving. My eyebrows rise as I look from the weapon to him. I knew he was carrying weapons on him, and I know he’s got several others, but I’ve never seen that one before. “We never travel anywhere without weapons.” He grins at me as he speaks, winking before returning the blade to its sheath and pulling out the twin daggers at his hips. “Besides, elven weaponry is far superior.” He tosses the two daggers up into the air, and they seem to glow a faint green. I sense magic before they land in his hands. The elves’ magic has always been a bit of an enigma to me, but it seems to be centered around their weaponry.

Tor finishes strapping weapons to himself and looks fierce as he glances around at us. “Are we all ready?” It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes since Revna came into the tent to tell us we were under attack, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Looking around at the three of them, I pray to the Mother that we are strong enough to survive this. “We stay in a triangle formation. Clarissa is in the middle,” my tribesman directs, and I want to protest, to tell him that I don’t want anyone to put themselves at risk because of me, but I know it’s pointless.

Taking point, Tor leads the way, and we leave the relative safety of the tent, hurrying away from the ceremonial stones as the sun begins to set behind us. Following Tor, I hear the sound of fighting in the distance, but we head in a different direction. “We have strategies for attacks like this. I’m to take you to a safeplace,” he tells me as we hurry along stone paths, jumping over low stone walls and past tents. We pass a couple of bloodied tribesmen as we go, but we still continue on. I’m just beginning to wonder if we’re actually going to leavethe camp when we come to a sudden stop.

Instantly, I know something is wrong. The atmosphere is buzzing with a thick, sticky aura that makes me nauseous. Tor’s whole body has stiffened, his hand hovering over his sheathed axe as he looks around. We’re in a small, circular clearing with tents facing inward, and it’s obviously some sort of meeting place, but it’s completely empty.

“We were supposed to meet them here,” he says in a low voice, and that’s when I realise that things aren’t going according to plan. We are far away from the fighting now. In fact, I can hardly hear it above the pounding of my heart and the harshness of my heavy breathing. Clutching the staff in my hand, I’m suddenly glad it’s not made of wood as I’m sure I’d snap it clean in half. Tor was right to give me a weapon, and I’m really thankful that he thought to give me one. If I’m about to die, I want to go down fighting for freedom for my mates and me.

“Someone’s coming,” Vaeril announces, his supernatural hearing picking up what we have yet to hear, and although we have no way of knowing for sure, we all know it’s not the tribes. I sense it the same way I justknewthat something big was going to happen in the forest when Grayson found us, except this time, it’s not going to be a friend that greets us. None of this has gone to plan, we’ve been separated from everyone else, herded.

“Lots of people,” Naril helpfully adds, stepping in behind me as they tighten the protective triangle around me. They don’t say as much, but their actions tell me one thing—somehow, they’ve managed to surround us, which gives away something about our attackers. They’re fast and silent, fae of some sort. My bet would be elves, but until they show themselves, we won’t know for sure.

Everything goes silent. I can feel their eyes on us, I know they’re out there, but for some reason, they’ve stopped. Is it a tactical move? Are they trying to make us panic and rush into making a rash decision? Are they buying themselves more time? Or is it purely to show they have the upper hand? Tor barely moves from his position in front of me, and for a moment, I’m worried about him, but when I place a hand on the small of his back, he angles his body slightly towards me, never taking his eyes off the area where we know the enemy is waiting, but I can see an excited gleam in his eyes. He’s enthusiastic. I remember what I was told about the mountain tribes, about how they train from a young age to fight, about how they gain glory from battling and defeating their enemies. In reality, there probably is some part of Tor that will enjoy fighting and defending his territory.

“Do we know who it is yet?” I ask in a low voice.

Tor shakes his head, but it’s Vaeril who answers. “Not for sure, but I have a good idea. Whoever it is, they know how far we’re able to see and are standing just beyond.” I look at him over my shoulder. His mouth is set in a grim line, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—elves. If it’s elves we’re about to fight, then the queen has found us, and somehow managed to march an army here almost silently. Also, if this is the queen’s doing, Vaeril is going to have to fight his own people. A wave of nausea washes over me again, not because I doubt that he will do it, but because I know hewill, and that’s because of me.

“Somethings happening,” Naril whispers, and I shift from foot to foot, preparing to move when the fighting starts and trust my fae instincts.

In the distance, I see movement. At first, it’s difficult to tell what it is, just a dark mass, then bodies but no individual features. It’s not until I hear Vaeril’s low curse that I realise something is wrong, or at least, more wrong than beingsurrounded by your own people. “What is it?” My words are quiet, and I don’t take my eyes from the elves making their way towards us. I can’t see their ears or make out their other features from here, but only elves can walk in armour that silently. Although, only some of them are wearing armour, and those who do wear the armour of the guards while the rest are wearing a mishmash of clothing. It’s like they were told to march on us immediately and they dropped everything, leaving in the clothing they happened to be wearing at the time. Something isn’t right here.

I can make out their faces now, but none of them make eye contact as they come closer. In fact, they all seem to be looking straight past us. They form a line in front of us, but I know from the snarls coming from Vaeril that we’re surrounded.

All of a sudden, as if as one, they stop. The lack of sound is eerie. With this many bodies, there should be sound—the rustling of clothing, the shuffling of feet, the steady inhale of their breaths—yet they stand as still as statues, staring ahead. Naril is fiercely whispering something quietly to Vaeril in elvish, and when I glance at them over my shoulder and see their expressions, my stomach drops. In the whole time I’ve known Naril, I’ve never seen him afraid before, but that’s exactly what I see in his expression right now—fear.

I feel like there’s a vice tightening around my chest. I need to know what’s causing that look on their faces. “What—”

“Movement,” Tor interrupts, his voice low. Turning to face the front, I lean past a tense Tor to watch. Two elves are making their way through the other elves, their armour marking them as guards as they almost silently come to a stop at the front line. It takes me a couple of seconds to recognise the older one, since I’m used to seeing a smile on his face.

“Kaelir!” I shout out. The guard had been kind to me when I first was brought to Galandell. The queen ordered me lockedup like an enemy, but he was kind to me regardless, and since then, we had become friends. I haven’t seen him since the ball where he felt really uncomfortable when he’d been ordered to attend by the queen. Why would he be here? He’s a prison guard, not a soldier. Could it be that he’s here to help me rather than fight against us?Don’t be foolish, the elves are attacking the tribespeople, even if they thought the tribespeople took you against your will, look at them. Something isn’t right here,my inner voice chides, and my goddess mark glows in agreement.

My eyes flick to the smaller figure at Kaelir’s side, and I realise I know him too. “Elier!” Distress lines my tone now as the direness of the situation starts to dawn on me. The young soldier doesn’t react to my voice, he doesn’t even flinch as I call out to him. I’m aware that Vaeril and Naril are talking in low voices behind me, but I’m so focused on my friends in front of me that I pay no attention to them.

Kaelir raises his head and looks directly at me. “Give us the girl, and we will let the rest of you live. This is your only warning.” All the hair on my arm stands on end as he speaks, and I can’t pinpoint what’s different about his voice, but it just soundswrong. Although his eyes are locked onto mine, it’s like he’s not actually seeing me.

This is not the kind elf I know. Frowning, I step forward. “Kaelir—” A tight hand wraps around my arm and jerks me back, stopping me in my tracks, although from the look Tor’s giving me, I know I wouldn’t have gotten past him anyway. Snarling, I turn and rip my arm from Vaeril’s grip. “There’s something wrong with him!”

“Clarissa, he’s a forsaken, look at him!” Naril shouts, gesturing towards the elves who are standing in the same positions as before, like they’ve been frozen in time. He may as well have slapped me, the words hitting me in the chest as the implications of what he said sinks in.

“Naril,” Vaeril warns, his eyes flicking between us and the threat of the elves surrounding us. Tor is humming low in his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot while spinning his axe in his hand. I know this is not going how he planned, and he’s not liking these developments at all.

Looking over at Elier and Kaelir again, I see all of the odd things I noticed before, plus things like the fact that none of the elves are blinking. Feeling sick to my stomach, I pull my gaze away, unable to look any longer. “What? No, that can’t be right,” I argue, even though I can plainly see it, but I refuse to admit it, to say those words out loud. Raising my eyes, which I hadn’t even realised I dropped, I look at Naril. “You said that the forsaken are…”

“Dead,” he confirms, not mincing his words, even as I flinch away from him. “Your friend is dead, and now we know that somehow, the forsaken are working for the queen.”

Vaeril snarls, whether because of Naril’s lack of tact or at his words, I don’t know, and I never will, because we’re out of time.

“What is your answer?” Kaelir asks in that strange, echoing voice, his eyes locking onto me again, and an odd feeling runs over me.

“No, you cannot have her,” Vaeril shouts, his voice strong as his hand lands on the small of my back. “The queen will never have her again.” He ends on a snarl, and Tor and Naril agree with their own snarls before falling into defensive positions and raising their weapons.

“Then you have sentenced all these people to death.” That strange feeling runs over me again, but I don’t have a chance to think over it because the elves attack as one, converging on us like a swarm of locusts.

“Stay together!” Tor shouts, as he lashes out at one of the forsaken, his axe slashing clean through his neck and chest. Naril is using a short sword, his fae speed making it difficult forme to keep up with his movements, while Vaeril uses daggers to stab his foes.

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