Page 224 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

“When we face the king, you can’t let him see what effect he has on us.” I’m not just talking to Vaeril now, but myself as well, preparing us for what’s to come. He nods, and I can feel him reaching for his anger, moulding it into an impenetrable barrier. I don’t blame him for automatically using his fury, that’s exactly how I’ve coped in the past, but I feel him blocking me out in the process.

“Wait.” He frowns as I grasp for our bond again, knowing I can’t put what I’m feeling into words. Pressing my forehead against his, I push all my feelings and emotions towards our connection. I want him to take his anger to fuel his resolve, but to use our love as a shield, as it is far stronger than anything the king could come at us with. A small smile appears on Vaeril’s face, and happiness blooms in my chest.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a long, gentle kiss against my lips, which I return with a breathy moan.

I allow myself those few moments of happiness as we taste each other, just the two of us, and pretend we are just two people in love. Ignoring the others in the carriage with us, our other responsibilities and the rapidly upcoming ball with the king, we steal those precious minutes.

Unfortunately, that’s all we get. Pulling away from his lips, I smile at the heat in his eyes, wishing we had time to take thingsfurther. I look at the others in the carriage, who have been trying not to watch us, all except Tor, who’s viewing me with a smile and raised eyebrow.

“We are so much stronger together,” I announce, waiting for Naril and Eldrin to look over. “All of us.” Placing my hand over my breastbone, I rub at it gently where my bonds sit, hoping Grayson is able to feel the sentiment. If we’re going to make it out of this, we have to work together.

The elves nod, everyone oddly silent now, their attention drawn to something out the windows. The fact that Naril’s quiet makes me uneasy, and even Tor seems grim faced now, his attention outside. Shifting my position on Vaeril’s lap, I lean to see out the window and notice we’re at the city walls.

The city is built on a hill, and the entire area is surrounded by towering black stone fortifications. It’s intimidating and makes me feel nauseous just to look at it, remembering how it felt to break the spell that was on the wall when Vaeril and I escaped. It felt like it was going to kill me, and I can’t stop my shudder as we pass through the gates. Part of me expects to feel something, some residual magic or pain, but we cross without any issues. Vaeril rubs my back, and I release the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.

Now that we’re inside the city, I feel a strange sense of curiosity overtake me. This is the place where I’ve lived for a huge part of my life, but the only time I’ve ever seen any of it was as I escaped. Staying seated on Vaeril’s lap, I take it all in.

It’s fairly obvious that the lower, poorer classes live at the bottom of the city, all of the buildings inadequately maintained and tightly cramped together. We pass several brothels. The young ladies waiting outside in their skimpy clothing have dull eyes, and I notice slave marks on some of their wrists. One of the only ways out of slavery is to bear a child for a lord’s barren wife. Once the babe is born, the slave is sold to serve in the king’sbrothels. Looking at the dull, lifeless eyes, the bruises on their pale skin, and the watchful gaze of the minder by the door, I would say they’ve only gone from one form of slavery to another.

The only buildings that seem to be well maintained are the churches on every other street corner. The huge structures are domineering and oppressive, making me shudder as we pass. As the main road winds its way up, we reach the marketplace with a large, communal well. A line of young women wait by the well, many of whom are balancing a baby on one hip and a bucket on the other, before trudging back down the hill with the full pail.

In the castle, they have full plumbing with magically heated water at a moment’s notice. I shouldn’t be so surprised that the king kept that luxury to himself, yet I find myself disgusted at how some of his citizens are forced to live. It’s barely better than my life as a slave, and that was a punishment. What have these people done to deserve this life, other than be born in the wrong part of the city? My ever-present anger rises, and I wonder if there is any way I could ever ally myself with such a corrupt human as the king.

Tor makes a noise of discontent, and when I look up, I see he’s shaking his head as he stares out the window. Feeling my gaze on him, he glances at me, and I notice a fire burning in his eyes. He feels the same way as me, he always has. Tor might not have experienced slavery or captivity here like Vaeril and I did, but one thing I’ve learned about him is that he’s a dreamer. Whether that’s fighting for a fairer life for his sister in the tribes or helping strangers in an unfamiliar city.

The emotion in his eyes is too much for me, bringing up memories I’m not prepared to relive right now, and I have to look away, unable to deal with the strength of those feelings. Instead, I look out the window as Vaeril holds me closer, humming low in his throat to calm me.

The marketplace is still busy, even though it’s late afternoon, but all activity stops as we travel through. Everyone stares at our carriages while worried whispers follow us. As we travel higher, the quality of the road improves, and the buildings and houses are much nicer and spaced farther apart.

When we reach the upper city, there’s a second set of gates that are guarded, and after a short delay, we’re let through. I watch in shocked disgust as we pass the pristine buildings. It’s like its own town within the city with a separate market, churches, and I even see a park with gardeners pruning the roses. There are no brothels here, or if there are, they are well hidden, and there are no signs of pain or suffering to be seen. I can feel my mates’ anger through our connection, so I know it’s not just me who finds this appalling. Their people are starving and living in squalor, but they’ve built a wall and fenced them off so they don’t have to look at them. So they can live their perfect lives without having to feel any guilt.

We’re almost at the castle now. Taking a deep breath, I focus on keeping all of my bubbling feelings under control as we round a corner and come to yet another set of gates. This one is lined with guards carrying swords, and in the two watch towers next to the gateway stand several archers, their arrows nocked and aimed at the carriages. I don’t think they’re going to shoot at us, just making a show of force, following us with their arrows as we make our way past them. The elves seem tense, but we all know the magic surrounding us will stop an arrow. It’s the unknown that’s scarier right now.

We’re silent as we continue down the long driveway towards the castle. The tall, dark evergreen trees that line the lane only add to the gloomy effect of the black stone. The castle doors open, and several people step out, but from this angle, I can’t see who.

Being back here, compiled with the unknown and the stress of everything, suddenly feels overwhelming, and no matter how hard I try, memories of my time here start to push their way into my mind. The pain as my skin sizzled under the iron as I received my marks. The various beatings and whippings for not completing jobs fast or well enough. Being cornered by a group of guards looking for someone to play with, only to be rescued by an older slave stumbling upon us, enabling me to escape. The night my mother was murdered in front of me and then the king committed genocide by systematically killing all of the remaining slaves.

My mates all reach out to me, all offering their strengths—Grayson with his love and concern, Tor with his vigour and support, Vaeril with his wisdom and passion. Physically, I can feel them all surrounding me too. Eldrin is nearby, don’t ask me how I know, but I can sense him.

“Clarissa,” Eldrin calls, close but not touching. He knows better than to touch me during a flashback. “Remember what I taught you. Ground yourself, you are safe,” he reminds me, going over his lessons from before. But he doesn’t need to. The images of my mother being slaughtered and the slaves being butchered settled something within me. An icy calm washes over me as I open my eyes and see them surrounding me. Meeting each of their gazes, I let them see I’m fully in control of myself, allowing a small smile to grace my lips.

“I’m okay,” I promise, using my hurt and pain as armour. People like the king think my experiences make me weak, but they don’t, and I’m finally beginning to realise they make me strong. “I won’t let him get the better of me.” It’s a vow, not only to them, but to myself. There will be obstacles in that castle that will test me beyond whatever the king has planned, and I know I can’t allow my own fears to get the better of me. Not when I have other people depending on me. “I got out of here once, andwe willallget out of here again.” I meet their gazes, then turn in Vaeril’s lap, looking up at him, pressing my lips gently against his. I mean what I say, I fully intend on usallleaving this place alive. That includes my missing magician. Wilson. Pain pulses through me as I think of my happy-go-lucky friend and how he’s missing. It wouldn’t surprise me if he decided to stay behind to protect Aileen and Jayne. That is exactly something he would do, but I can’t help but worry that the king has done something to him to hurt me.

Feeling my anxiety, Tor leans forward and cups my cheek, and I lean into his comforting touch. “We will be with you the entire time,” he reassures me, but he frowns and slides his hand down, pressing it against my breastbone where our bonds sit. “Even if we get separated, you will never be alone.” His words echo something the Great Mother said, and I nod as the carriage comes to a halt.

Everyone moves back to their seats, all except me. When I try to move, Vaeril growls softly, so I shrug and stay where I am. They won’t be able to see into the carriage, and even if they can, they know I ‘consort’ with elves. We may as well give the castle gossips something to talk about.

One of the mages appears by the carriage door, his eyes briefly meeting mine before flicking away, his movements rigid and professional as he reaches for the handle. Once the door is open, he bows deeply to me, holding the pose for a couple of seconds before rising and pulling down the carriage steps. The genuflection makes me uncomfortable, but it had already been explained to me that it was necessary, that appearances needed to be kept up. So I keep my mouth shut as the mage finishes his job and incline my head slightly in thanks when he rises.

“Announcing Clarissa, the Great Mother’s chosen,” the mage proclaims, his voice carrying across the courtyard, even though it isn’t raised. My skin tingles as I stand in the carriage, andI realise why. Magic. Brushing down my dress, I take a deep breath. It’s a relatively simple but exquisitely well-made dress, but what makes it stand out is the colour. The dark blue fabric with the delicate golden chain around my waist shows the magicians’ claim over me. My dark grey cloak from the tribes sits over the top, my golden hawk pin proudly displayed in the center where it fastens together. I’m not wearing anything belonging to the elves, except I’ll have one on each arm as I enter the castle. Overall, my appearance makes a statement, exactly like Grayson said I should. He assured me I’ll be given time to change before this farce of a ball this evening.

Grayson appears by the carriage door and holds out his hand to me. I take his hand, and channelling my inner elf, I school my expression into a serene mask.

The sun is bright and warms my skin, the weather so at odds with the cold feeling of the courtyard. Even the grass on either side of the gravel driveway looks dull and lifeless. With Grayson on my right, he acts as a barrier, blocking my view of the king and whoever is waiting with him, giving me more time to prepare myself as we step away from the carriage.

“The chosen’s mates, High Mage Grayson,” the mage announces again, and we come to a stop just a few feet away. Releasing my hand, Grayson kisses it gently and steps to the side, allowing room for my other mates.

Clearing his throat, the mage continues, “Lord Vaeril of the high elves, and Torsten, Ambassador of the Mountain Tribes.” Vaeril takes the spot Grayson just vacated, dipping his head to me with the supernatural grace that only the fae possess as he offers me his arm. Tor appears at my other side, dipping his head in respect before kissing my hand in a gesture similar to Grayson’s, and then he moves aside, his hand on his axe which is strapped to his side. We decided it would be best if, as a show ofstrength, Tor followed just behind me, allowing him to spot any threats. This leaves my other arm open for my other elf.

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