Page 102 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

“Let’s go, ladies!” Sumac whisper-shouted as she ushered the women down the hallway.

“Seriously, don’t do anything too risky,” Hopper said before following the women.

“Go!” Tharan said.

Taking one last look behind him, he saw a hoard of elven soldiers approaching Sumac, Hopper, and the women. Sumacand Hopper could handle themselves; he needed to make it back to his chambers before they were raided.

Sumac’s sword clashed against elven steel, but one by one, she dispatched them. Her adamant weapon cut through each as if they were nothing but a training dummy. Chest heaving and face covered in blood, she fought her way down the staircase until none remained.

Tharan headed toward his guest suite. His mother may have betrayed him, but he had made a plan just in case. Of course, he hadn’t factored in the harem of women he was supposed to bed, but that was only a minor inconvenience.

On padded feet, he snuck through the castle teaming with guards, setting traps for anyone following him. Trip wires from his vines and poisonous flowers made excellent deterrents.

The halls of the ancient palace twisted and turned in no discernible direction. Tharan hoped he was going the right way. None of the cold corridors looked familiar. He tried to remember how the servant had taken him the previous night, but everything was foreign. He continued to run until he came to the room with the statue of Eris. He could find his way to his quarters from here.

Elven soldiers entered the room from the opposite entryway. Their legendary armor, light as air but as hard as dragon scales, glimmered in the firelight of the torches lining the room.

An arrow whizzed at him. Tharan called upon his power, and his skin fizzled with electricity. He caught the arrow midair just before it collided with his face.

“Idiot!” one of the guards called. “We need him alive.”

Tharan made a run for it, releasing a cloud of poisonous gas. The elves choked, falling to their knees. He let out a breath of relief before disappearing down the stairs toward the guest wing.

Rounding a corner, he met his Hunt clashing with elven soldiers, their sabers rattling through the stone corridor.Ducking low, he snuck into the servant’s entrance. Two servants huddled in the corner of the kitchen, holding one another.

“It’s okay,” Tharan said, looking toward his chambers. “Is anyone in there waiting to ambush me?”

With wide eyes, they shook their heads frantically.

Tharan gritted his teeth.

“Are you lying to me?” He held the point of his sword under the chin of the woman who had served him breakfast earlier that morning.

“No,” she whispered.

Tharan lowered his blade.

“Get out of here.”

The two scrambled away while Tharan positioned himself to enter the chambers, aware an ambush could be waiting for him, despite the maid’s assurance.

Bursting through the door with his sword raised, fully prepared to land a skull-crushing blow on his nearest foe, all he was met with was an empty room.

“Huh,” he said, lowering his sword, slightly disappointed he wouldn’t be splitting the head of an elven soldier. Blades clashed outside the doors. Tharan moved through the suite until he reached the entryway. “Ah-ha,” he said, swiping the invitation with Arendir’s seal still intact.

“Don’t do this, my son,” his mother’s soothing voice said from across the room.

Stunned, Tharan looked up to see his mother’s silhouette standing in the light from the balcony. The kohl around her eyes smeared from tears.

“Is anything you told me true?” Tharan yelled over the sounds of battle growing closer to the doorway.

She moved closer, falling to her knees.

“Please, my darling boy. Whatever you are planning. It is not worth it. Stay here with me. In time, Arendir will trust you and let you leave.”

Tharan’s eyes widened at the woman he knew as Mother in title only.

“You’re all mad here.”

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