Page 103 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

“Desperation makes madmen of us all. You don’t know what it was like in the north. Mountains of ice. White as far as you can see.” She stared out into the distance, looking but not seeing.

“Get off me,” Tharan said, pushing his mother away.

“Nothing good will come of this. Some things do not want to be found, my child. Remember that.”

Soldiers broke through the door. Tharan turned, raising his sword just as an elven guard lowered his. The sound of steel on adamant clanged through the chamber. Tharan gritted his teeth, kicking the soldier as hard as he could. The man stumbled backward. Thinking quickly, Tharan pulled a dagger from his bandolier and buried it in the sliver of exposed skin on the man’s neck.

A look of shock crossed the man’s face, and blood gushed from the wound. Falling to his knees, he collapsed into a heap on the floor, staining the white marble red.

Tharan looked back where his mother had been but only an empty balcony met his gaze.

“My King, we must go,” one of the Hunt said, pulling her bloody sword from a still twitching elf.

Tharan chuckled, thinking about Aelia’s debacle with the Undersea queen as he stepped over dead elves.

“Sir?” The soldier cocked her head at him.

“It’s all so fucking hilarious, isn’t it?”

“My Lord? Did you hit your head? Do you need a healer?”

Stilling himself, Tharan said, “No. Let’s get out of here. Sumac and Hopper should have a carriage waiting for us.”

Tharan and the two guards fled down the nearest stairwell toward the carriage house. He prayed to Illya that Hopper, Sumac, and the brides had made it out. Knowing the skill of Sumac alone, he had no doubt they left a trail of slaughtered elves in their wake.

Tharan and his guards cut through the onslaught of elven soldiers until they reached the grand entrance of the palace, where banners displaying the king’s seal hung from the rafters.

Not a soul stirred. Something was off. Arendir wouldn’t let him walk out of here without one last fight. He signaled for his soldiers to flank him. He scanned the room for a hint of a ward or charm set to detonate if they crossed it, but he didn’t see anything.

Cautiously, he stepped forward, taking each step as if it could be his last. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Something was off.

Out of the corner of his eye, something shimmered. He turned to look but saw nothing. His heart leapt into his throat when he turned again to see Arendir standing in front of him. His long white hair was braided in battle fashion down his back. His white robes were replaced with light silver armor.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?” His evil cackle echoed through the hall. A row of soldiers wearing the bronze helmets of the Breathless Guard, the elves’ most fearsome warriors, assembled behind him. Each one carried a long tungsten spear.

“You can’t be serious. I am the Alder King. Let me go, or my kingdom will have no choice but to attack. And judging by what I have seen here today. Your army is not up to the task.” Tharan readied his sword.

“I do not need to attack you to get what I want,” Arendir said, motioning for a soldier to bring something… someone, forward.

He threw his mother on the ground in front of Tharan. Her lip was bloodied, the makings of a black eye already purpling. “Tharan, do as he says, please!” She fought against the man’s iron grip.

“What is this?”

“A bargain. Stay here, father children. I only need a few. Then you may go back to your beloved forest.”

Tharan’s stomach twisted. “And if I don’t?”

The ancient king narrowed his eyes. “Then I’ll kill your mother and force what I need out of you.”

Tharan’s power twitched under his skin. The sound of growing thorns echoed through the hall as feral plants wrapped themselves around the men, sending thick thorns into their soft flesh.

The soldiers cried out in pain, but it was too late for them. Arendir could bring them back with his breath, but would he give up his youthful glow for these warriors, or were they expendable like everything else?

The vines twisted and constricted like the snakes of the desert. The sound of crushing bone brought bile to the back of Tharan’s throat, but he couldn’t stop now. There was no room for mercy here.

“Enough,” Arendir said. Motioning for the man threatening Elowen’s life to release her.

She scrambled to her feet and ran to Tharan.

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