Page 20 of Court of Treachery

“Water is easier to manipulate, for it loves to move. Want to see what a little magic can do?” Aedon asked, eyes twinkling at her mischievously. She nodded. He reached out and pulled her toward him, her back to his front. Her breath caught as he encircled her in his arms—and she let him, her pulse skittering. What was this dangerous line they danced on? What was this precipice she dangled over?

Harper had not wanted to admit that she found him attractive, but it had been so very long since her dalliances with Alric, the tanner’s son. As much as she had never desired the commitment of being Alric’s wife—or anyone else’s—there were other parts of his company she missed. Aedon’s magic rushed through her, winding with hers, and then the waterfall no longer cascaded down the rocks. Jets of water arced from the sheet, twining and twirling through the air, until it cocooned them. Ribbons of water raced around them like a spider’s web, catching the starlight, the full moon’s glare, and the last light of the dying day.

“Can you feel it?” Aedon whispered, his breath caressing the side of her neck. It grazed her ear, awakening something deep in her core.

“Yes,” she breathed. It was an intoxicating rush that consumed her blood. She felt his want for the water to be free. She added her will to his own, her slivers of magic to his, and the water twisted and turned even more, until it seemed they were alone, standing in a bubble in the middle of a waterfall rushing around them.

Aedon’s fingers stroked her arm as he turned her to face him. He dipped his head toward hers. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Want and warning warred within her—the need for some escape, some release, and the risk of complicating everything. Her breath hitched as his arms tightened, but before she could decide, his lips met hers.

His kiss was fire, racing through her body as her eyes slipped shut. She opened her mouth to him, sliding her hands up his chest. Around them, the rushing of the water continued, or was it the sound of blood in her own ears? She could not tell. His sweet tongue gently teased hers, and she yielded to it with a moan.

More.

But in her mind, it was not Aedon who stood before her, but the spymaster she pictured, fighting herself with want and disgust at how fallible she was to his dark charm. His hands planed up her back. Tangling one in her hair, he caressed the nape of her neck with an idle thumb and deepened their kiss, making her moan in anticipation. And yet… no. It was not Dimitrius, but Aedon before her.

Harper stilled and pulled away. She could not—this wasn’t what she wanted. The thought crushed her. She did not want the charming elven rogue, tempting as he was, easier though it would be to fall for his ready smiles and smooth words. She could not fight that she wanted precisely who she was not supposed to—someone she ought never to see again, for her own safety.

“Harper?” Aedon’s magic dissipated and water crashed to the ground around them, drenching their cloak hems. All that desire crashed with the illusion of their magic, but the drenching of disappointment and bitter shame shattered into cold shards of fear that shredded into her, for inhuman shrieking echoed off the cliffs. Chattering in a harsh tongue jarred her ears, magnified as it came at them from all directions.

Harper opened her mouth, but Aedon swore in a tongue she did not know and shouted, “Goblins!”

He grasped her hand and broke into a run, pulling her behind him. They sprinted to camp, just as the first missiles struck the rocks above their heads. Ragnar was already up, brandishing the axe he usually kept belted at his waist. He turned to them, raising it with a snarl, but halted when he saw them.

“We cannot outrun the filth,” he said, his teeth bared.

A moment later, Brand and Erika burst into the clearing, faces flushed.

Illuminated by the fire’s light and the moon’s gleam, shapes raced down the cliff face. Harper blinked. There was no way anything could run down a sheer cliff face, but there they remained. Glints of armour and tangled limbs, churning over one another. No trace of pleasure remained within her. Nor shame. Only terror. Claws, teeth, and death raced for them.

18

HARPER

“To me,” Brand bellowed. Harper surged with her companions to form a small arc placing the fire to their backs, and drew their weapons. Aedon hurled magic at the advancing tide of darkness. The blast knocked several screeching goblins off the cliff. They landed with a sickening crunch—and Erika darted forward to dispatch them without mercy.

Harper drew her dagger, Aedon’s gift, with a shaking hand and brandished it before her. Erika crouched beside her with her twin blades dripping black blood. Brand flanked Harper on the other side, holding his giant, two-handed blade before him.

“Goblins hate fire, iron, and magic,” he growled. Harper nodded, but her throat had closed, cutting off the scream that threatened to tear free, and she could not form a reply.

Now, the chattering of the goblins was a deafening cacophony. Their tongue was hard and savage, their shrieks even more excited as they found their prey for the night. Goblins leaped from the cliff face and scurried towards the group, hemming the companions until they were surrounded.

Harper could not look away from the horror they posed as a current of raw fear screeched through her. They wore odd armour over their strange figures. Mismatched leathers and sparse metal plating or chainmail adorned them as they ran in a crouched position, almost on all fours, brandishing an odd assortment of weapons, from knives, to axes, to spears with cruelly pointed and serrated blades.

There was no more time to decide how she would defend herself, let alone attack, for the handful of goblins fell upon them, dozens more racing down the cliff. Brand cleaved left and right with his blade, slicing through their paltry armour. They died, squealing, at his feet. Some dodged and met Erika’s mercy—a quick, silent death. Others avoided the pair and made for Ragnar who held his own against them, wielding the giant axe with more skill than Harper realised he possessed. Aedon held them back with blade and magic, but more kept coming.

Harper panicked, dithering, filled with shame at lurking behind her friends, but knowing with a deep instinctive dread that she was as good as dead if she stepped forward—and as much the same if her companions parted before her. They stepped before her on purpose, she realised, with a rush of gratitude that was complicated with yet more shame that they compromised themselves on her account. Goblin faces, distorted by hate and bloodlust, snarled at her as they approached, only to be cut down by her companions.

Pointed, filed teeth were covered in blood, which had splattered over their faces, matching the bloody handprints and gory, daubed decorations of their clothing and armour. Their shrieks were only outdone by the terrified screaming of the horses as the goblins set upon them. Their brays punctured into silence—and Harper knew the worst had happened. She let out a ragged sob. They were caged. No chance of running.

In the darkness with the firelight throwing cavorting shadows around them, the goblins became demons of the night. Harper trembled as her companions thinned and she was forced to raise her meagre blade to fend off attack. There was no time to think as she dodged blows and struck out with her dagger, surviving on luck only. A goblin shrieked as he slipped on a pinecone from the plentiful litter on the ground. A rush of a different kind swept through Harper. She dodged to the fire’s edge, where their woodpile lay.

Remnants of Aedon’s magic still swirled within her and she grasped for it, pulling it together with the last dregs of her own strength. Bolstered by the desperate rush of battle, she hoped she could manage what needed to be done. Harper sheathed her dagger and gathered an armful of pinecones, thanking the skies for dry weather in recent days.

Lighting one at a time in the fire and shielded by her companions for precious few moments, Harper darted between them to throw pinecones at the goblins, sending them on their way with her own magic and willing the fire to spread. After a few attempts, the pinecones flew true, snagging in the goblins’ clothing. Fire took hold in their fabric and fur trimmings. Harper crowed with renewed vigour as she became the flames, using her magic to tease them across the goblins to leap and take upon their neighbours’ garments.

Aedon backed her, shooting her a fierce grin. She felt his magic envelop hers, stoking the flames and sending them wild. The distraction was enough. As the goblins fell into disarray, trying to avoid the fiery missiles, her friends advanced, hacking them down where they stood, until the tide receded before them. A last wave of goblins swarmed from the cliff. Harper realised their vulnerability—her companions were protected by the fire, but too spread out.

Harper threw blazing pinecones until her shoulder ached with the strain, but her meagre magical reserves were almost spent and she was entirely unprotected by the fire as the fight ebbed from around her. A goblin broke through—and charged. Harper tossed her last pinecone at it, but it bounced harmlessly away before she could coax the fire to jump hosts.

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