Page 67 of The Wolf Queen

But also Bryson’s.

And our eyes glowing an unnatural green as the fire raged.

“How do I do that?” I snapped. “How? You have all twittered on about the power I’m supposed to possess, but no one ever shows me how to wield it.”

“Because there is no trick to it.” A dimple popped in Pepin’s cheek, but her smile was a sad one. “The power is yours, Darcy. Visualise what you want to happen, believe it is possible—” Ah, there was the catch, the thing I found the hardest to do. “And then, will it to be so.”

I looked out at the square, remembering what I’d been able to achieve the last time I’d marched out onto that broad expanse with a sword in my hand. I straightened my shoulders, took one step closer and then another.

“You have your mates, your connection to your people and the land,” Pepin said, keeping pace with me, as they all did, now. While the Granians might not see me as queen, they did think of me as their way out of this mess. Because we knew things that they didn’t—about the land, about the fight that was to come, about the Reavers—and suddenly knowledge was the most valuable thing here. “Use that, use them.”

I didn’t need to tell my mates to come forward. They did so without even thinking about it. Dane, ever watchful, checking me for strain or injury, before his hand settled on my shoulder. Axe, hefting his weapon and staring out at the Reavers, as if daring them to attack. Weyland, shooting me a wicked smile, promising me a million pleasures if we just got through this, and then there was Gael. He stepped up to me and grabbed the back of my neck, tugging me forward so our brows were pressed together, and he spoke quickly and quietly.

“You’ve always been able to do what needs to be done, so don’t doubt yourself now, lass. Whatever power you need from me, you take it, you hear? Burn those bastards to the ground. Rout this blight on our land. You can do it. I know you can.”

Then, as they all settled around me, another stepped forward.

Tristan made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, then swallowed it as he heard another Reaver’s roar, eyes flicking around wildly. All of his fellow countrymen looked outclassed, outmanned, except for Bryson.

He continued forward, ignoring my mates’ growls, coming to stand before me, then thrusting his hand out in offer.

“I’ve worked as your conduit before. I can do so again.”

I hesitated. What had happened before had been accidental, something that had transpired in the heat of the moment whereas this was something different again. I stared down at his hand, broad and square, and knew that, if I took it, I was laying the groundwork for other offers and I wasn’t sure I wanted that. But when I looked beyond him to the square I knew that I needed to use everything at my disposal.

Did I actually think we were going to kill Callum today? No, but I had to try to see what I could do. I only had to look at the destruction around me to know why. While the beautiful city of Snowmere had been decimated, all those hand-crafted buildings that had stood for hundreds of years, much more than that had been destroyed. The people who’d lived here were what brought it alive. They’d lost more than their home. They’d lost their king, the war and, lastly, their identity as Strelans. I looked behind me at where Tristan and the other Granian lords stood. I wouldn’t have to convince them of the problem going forward, but… When they were back in Aramathia, and they were safe and secure, they’d see this as an opportunity. To strike while we were weak and finish the job Callum started.

That, most of all, was why I took Bryson’s hand. I gripped it tight, making it clear he wasn’t to pull away, but those golden eyes hadn’t indicated for one moment that he would. Something bloomed, hot and pulsing, inside me and I sucked in a breath, taking his hand and mine together to stab the Sword of Destiny into the cobblestones at our feet.

A boom radiated out.

Every Reaver in the entire city would’ve looked up at that moment. The ones in the square certainly did. They searched for us, as if they were wolves on the hunt, but they didn’t realise that they weren’t the predators in this case. We were. I felt the prickle in my nose, then that heavy feeling as blood dripped free to splatter across our hands.

The Reavers were a blight. It put me in mind of what used to happen when disease attacked a crop on my father’s land, back when I’d lived at the keep. When we knew that a field had been struck by blight and the grain was deformed by disease, then everyone would be involved. I’d watch my father set a burning brand to the diseased stalks. The dried grass would catch alight willingly, one stalk, then many, all of them burning as the fire spread. Everyone in the keep would ring themselves around the blighted field, toting wet sacks and rakes, anything to beat the fire back once it got to the end of the blighted field, not allowing it to spread to the healthy.

That’s what I had to do now.

Burn them out. Because there was no other way to cleanse Snowmere of the Reavers’ presence.

Burn, I thought, seeing the building on the left, smouldering slowly. The flames had died down to coals, but I brought them to life again, coaxing them awake, then blowing gently between my lips, an answering breeze picking up to fan the flames. That happened there, there, and there, all around the square. Dead fires or banked ones flared higher. At first, the Reavers didn’t respond. Burning, destruction, it was as normal to them as a field of flowers might be to me, so they paid no mind as more and more spots began to burn in earnest.

Then the smoky haze began to shift, wafting closer.

Their animal natures were stifled by Callum’s will. If they’d had a sense of self-preservation they would not have leapt into any of the battles we’d fought against them. Animals fought for territory, for dominance, for mating privileges, but what motivated Callum was something entirely alien to those innate tendencies. So it took some time for those instincts to kick in. But when they did? I watched from the outskirts, my eyes flickering with reflected fire, catching the moment when noses were thrust up, when ears flicked forward.

Burn, I said, over and over, feeling the power of each man pulsing through me, along with that of the land. The Reavers didn’t belong here, weren’t supposed to exist. They were a corruption that had been allowed to fester, but nature always corrects itself. It starves out plagues, allows predators to flourish when prey animals grow too many, then their number too is forced to thin as the pickings grow slim. The time of the Reavers was over, I decided, pushing my will out further.

Flames flared higher and higher, forming a wall around the square now and the Reaver roars turned to screams. Fire broke free of the edges, no longer needing me to feed it when there was so much fuel for it to consume. It ate up wreckage, going from wood to ash. And when it ran out of that to burn? Living beings can be just as combustible. I smiled as I felt the flames jump to the first Reaver, then when it went floundering into the crowds, screaming and slapping at its singed fur, those flames jumped again and again.Burn, burn, burn, I crooned, singing a strange kind of lullaby to the fire.

You think yourself the avatar of the Mother, the Morrigan chuckled inside my head.But you belong to me. You always have, despite your denials. Take pleasure in their deaths. Feel the moment each one of their hearts stops. Know that you were the one to do this.

But I wasn’t alone in that realisation. My vision skimmed up, over the square and then rose into the air on the wings of a raven, our raucous cry piercing the air. And there, on the balcony that was outside the king’s suite, was Callum. As he watched the destruction that took place before him, I saw the bright red shiny scars on his arms.

Marks I’d left upon him.

Burn, I urged again, hoping to set him alight, to turn the air hot and combustible, to create a spark of lightning that would turn him to flame. But he only jerked himself away from the railings and then strode inside.

Chapter38

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