The Witches' Blade (Five Crowns of Okrith, #2)

by A.K. Mulford

Powerful arms encircled her, hauling her back against a hard chest. Hot breath pressed against her ear as a voice whispered, “Gods. Ruadora, stop.” The Witchslayer. Of all the pleas, his was the one she should have ignored. But his deep timbre spoke down to her very gut and her grip on the blade loosened.

Fowler turned, hateful eyes falling to her hand on the Immortal Blade, and he laughed. Laughed. “If you think you’re so tough with that sword, little girl—” Rua unsheathed the blade and sliced it through the air before he could say another word. Across the table, Fowler’s eyes bugged as his hand grasped the gaping wound at his throat. Blood began pouring down his gray tunic, dying it crimson, as he burbled, choking on his last breaths. With a loud, wet smack, he hit the floor. Rua knew it made her as evil as the fae around her, but she smirked at the shock on his face as he went down. Let them remember who was the master of the Immortal Blade. “I would thank you not to kill the members of my council, Princess.” Renwick looked down at Fowler as if it were a minor inconvenience.

Now . . .” she rested her hands on the table, leaning across it with menace as she softly spoke. “The witches go free.” Renwick held her gaze for longer than she liked. He was so still, so calm, it made her want to shift under his stare. What was he thinking behind those green eyes? He did not reply, only giving a tight bob of his chin, and pulled out a sheet of parchment to begin writing the decree.

“Remy feared herself when I met her,” Bri said, offering a piece of knowledge that made Rua look back over her shoulder. It was hard to believe that the same vicious fighter she saw in the grand hall was ever scared of herself. “She found her strength and confidence along the way, slowly, bit by bit. The bravery you saw was hard won.”

“She sounds like a good person,” Rua said begrudgingly. “She is,” Bri said. “As are you.” She bristled at the notion that this fae warrior could care about her. It would only be a matter of time before Bri took back that sentiment. “You don’t even know me,” Rua snarled. “I could be a monster.” Bri flashed a grin, cocking her head. “It’s a good thing I like to make friends with monsters then.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Renwick said with a smirk, gesturing to his sleigh. Bri opened her mouth to interject, but Rua just gave the Eagle a stern look and her guard backed down. “Try not to kill him,” the Eagle said instead.

“Maybe that is something you can help with. You were, after all, raised by witches.” Renwick smirked. “I am not going to tell them to trust you.” Rua shook her head. “You can try to earn it, if you are up to the task.” When he spoke, she felt his voice echo across her skin. “Then I will endeavor to do so.” Renwick

“So you have had consorts then?” Renwick’s cheeks dimpled as Rua’s face heated. “I don’t see how that is any of your business, but yes, some,” she snapped. “Not very good ones it seems.” Renwick chuckled at her sneering face, a hearty, deep laugh that had her stomach flipping even as she bared her teeth. “You’ve never been with a fae before.” “Nor do I want to,” she hissed. Those dimples appeared again, along with a flicker of delight. “Liar.”

“You are a monster,” she sneered, thinking her words might hurt him, but Renwick’s face only split into an evil grin. “Then we are as wicked as each other, Princess.”

“A common sickness amongst men who were raised to believe they were owed the world.”

bedtime anyway.” “But! But . . . ,” Fredrik whined, his bottom lip pouting out of his little, round face. “How about we have breakfast together tomorrow, Lord Fredrik?” Rua suggested. “I think I should like your company. The conversation this evening has been terribly dull.” Omerin guffawed and Fredrik beamed as he looked up at his mother. “Can we, Mama?” He begged. Lady Mallen laughed, ruffling his hair. “Oh, all right.” Fredrik practically leapt with joy as he skipped back down the hallway, Mallen shutting the door behind her. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Your Highness.” Omerin chuckled. “But I thank you, deeply. He will be going on about breakfasting with a Princess for months.”

Her words seemed to divert Renwick’s attention back to his meal. Piercing his fork into a chunk of roasted potato, he cut it into a bite-sized piece before putting it in his mouth. Rua snorted. Such manners he had. She stabbed the chunk of potato on her plate and shoved the whole thing into her cheek. She smirked at Renwick as he rolled his eyes at her. Omerin chuckled at the exchange. “You two make an odd pair, I must say.” Rua slanted her eyes to him, speaking through a mouthful of potato, “We are not a pair at all, Lord Omerin.” The Lord of Brufdoran merely shrugged, his cheeks rosy as he gave Renwick another look. “You are most welcome in my castle any time you wish, Princess of the High Mountain Court.”

They don’t know who I am. I’m going to die a witch. She looked up into those brown eyes flecked with green, so similar to her own, her fae face looking like a feminine version of Raffiel. Before she had a chance to study her elder sister, a spray of blood hit her face. Screaming erupted.

“You can play that game forever, Rua,” Bri said, standing back from the fire. “It changes nothing. You learn. You move forward. It is the only way and then the fear of it will lessen.”

“Think you can sleep?” Rua nodded, looking up into the eyes of her guard—the warrior who volunteered to protect her. “Thank you.” Bri shrugged. “It’s just a fire.” But it was much more than a fire. Bri had comforted her in that gruff way when she was feeling lost in the darkness of her mind. “Are you going to get some sleep?” Rua asked. “I can sleep on the ride tomorrow.” Bri gave Rua a mischievous smirk. “Right now, there is a lonely soldier holding watch down the hall, and I think she would like some company.”

His face was drawn and pale. Rua wondered if he had gotten any sleep. She saw the way his eyes looked everywhere but at Fredrik. Rua pressed her lips together to keep from smirking. He had seen so many horrors, she was certain of it, so seeing him squirm under the questions of a five-year-old was hard not to laugh at. Lord

“I can join you,” Renwick said, leaning forward, ready to stand. Rua gave him a small grin and said, “No, no, I’m sure Lord Fredrik has more questions for you.” She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the glower Renwick couldn’t completely hide.

“Can we please go?” Thador shouted from the sleigh door to the two of them. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.” Rua bared her teeth at the giant fae. “What?” Thador shrugged, waving his hand at her. “As you said, you are not a witch.” Rua felt the buzz of her red magic, a happy hum that vibrated down her fingertips and out of her eyes. She lifted her free hand toward the sleigh door, and it shut with a smack, knocking the guard back inside. Renwick let out a chuckle. “Careful,” he warned. “You keep beating him up and he might fall in love with you.”

“Well, Princess,” Renwick’s face was sharp even as a smirk played across his lips, “you better start loving me real quick.”

Rua felt a punch to her chest. “Rua!” Renwick shouted as her eyes dropped to the location of the blow. An arrow protruded from her sternum. Rua grabbed the arrow and yanked it free. It had pierced through her cloak and her leathers, but when she dipped a finger into the hole in her clothing, her skin was unmarked. “I guess arrows count according to the Immortal Blade’s magic.” Bri looked wide-eyed at her, shaking her head in disbelief. “But I don’t have a magic sword so let’s get the fuck out of here.”

And Renwick . . . a strange thrill shot through Rua’s body, watching him move—his ash-blond hair tousled, his normally pristine attire disheveled, his face splattered with blood. He moved with pinpoint precision, each movement exact and lethal. Rua got lost in his war dance.

More, more, begged the sword. Rua’s eyes filled with white lightning. A blissful feeling swept over her as her blade danced through the air. The intoxicating feeling filled her body with molten gold. She kept going, kept hacking, a smile beginning to pull up at the corners of her lips. A hand wrapped around her torso and pulled her back against a hard chest. “Gods, Rua. Stop.” Renwick’s voice sounded far away as he breathed into her hair.

Rua felt the press of lips to the shell of her ear. “Control it, Rua,” a hot breath whispered. The tingling sensation from that breath seemed to snap the current of energy from the blade.

Thador held his shoulder, blood weeping between his fingers as he stared at her like she was a ghost. She was certain from the look on his face that the wound was her doing. Were it not for Renwick, she probably would have killed them all. Gods, Rua. Stop. The fear of Renwick’s words circled her mind. He had thought she would kill them all too. Rua swallowed, pulling out of Renwick’s hold as she sheathed the blade. She did not look at anyone as she walked out of the temple and into the snow.

“And how many guards did Renwick bring?” a male voice echoed through the flames. Hale—the soon-to-be King of the High Mountain Court and her sister’s Fated. She rolled her eyes. Of course, he would be there too. Fated love was a mystery to Rua. Some people’s bonds shined so brightly it existed beyond space and time. It was a magic that could be picked up by blue witch oracles. Some stories claimed blue witches prophesied a Fated love before the lovers were even born, though most were foreseen within the mates’ lifetimes. It was a rare magic that Remy had been blessed with. Fated mates were not just a love match; the magic of that bond was stronger than any other. It was something ancient and inevitable.

There would be no reason to wait. So either Rua didn’t have a Fated or her mate had died like so many others. She did not care, so long as she was left alone.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Bri wondered, grabbing her cloak from the bench behind her and pulling back on the heavy garment. “When should I have mentioned it?” Rua snarled. “When we were being attacked by a bunch of crazed witches or while we were staring at naked bodies nailed to trees? Should I have just added ‘oh, by the way my birthday is coming up’?” Rua mocked in a sickly sweet voice. Bri grunted. “You are becoming one of my favorite people, Ru.”

Of course, he had not expected for the two of them to be joining him. The only sign of the events of the day were the thin trails of red scratches down the left-hand side of his face. Shallow cuts, they would be gone by the morning. His hard jawline and high cheekbones seemed warmer, softer, in the candlelight. Rua bit the inside of her cheek as she looked over his tall, lithe frame and those full pink lips. Gods, why did he have to be so damn handsome? It felt wrong for someone so cold to be so good-looking.

Rua cut the deck in one hand and shuffled the cards between her two palms in a perfect arch. Renwick’s brows shot up, lips parting. “I’m liking you more and more, Princess.” Thador laughed, leaning his elbows on the table. “Have you ever played witch’s bluff?” Rua smirked, raising her eyebrow at him. “I am not playing your witches’ game.” Renwick’s cheeks dimpled. “You will cheat.” Rua shrugged. He was right. She would cheat.

“Do you know the Southern rules or the High Mountain rules?” Renwick asked. “Both.” Rua’s eyes twinkled as she grinned with mischief. “Marry her, Renwick.” Thador chuckled. Bri kicked the lumbering guard under the table, and he cursed. “You are skilled at cards? Excellent.” Renwick’s smile was equally delighted and predatory.

“Not the favorite child of the witch camps?” Renwick taunted. “Why would they want me?” Rua asked, making everyone at the table tense. She felt all three sets of eyes on her. “I was a reminder of all that they had lost. It was my family’s fault that . . .” “It was my family’s fault,” Renwick cut in. Rua looked up into those blazing, emerald eyes. She saw his shame, a shame that mirrored her own. “Hear, hear,” Bri said. “Still, a red witch camp was not a welcome refuge.” Rua stuck her jaw out to the side.

“Remy is sending Talhan to Murreneir,” Rua mumbled, looking down as Renwick dealt. Thador laughed, leaning back in his chair. “The delightful puppy in the body of a warrior?” “Watch it,” Bri growled. “It’ll be like old times,” Renwick said, rubbing his temple, thumb digging into his flesh as if he were trying to loosen a tight muscle. Rua narrowed her eyes at the movement. “Old times?” she asked, her eyes darting to Bri. “Oh, you don’t know?” Thador began. “Say another word and I’ll cut out your tongue,” Bri hissed, her voice laced with venom. Rua frowned at the Eagle.

Renwick assessed the table, looking between Rua and the cards laid out before him. Only two cards could win the hand without busting it now. A subtle smile played across his lips as he set down a Southern King. “Ha!” Thador guffawed, smacking the table and making Rua jump. Renwick stretched his arms out to his sides, already beaming with the victory in hand. Except . . . Rua produced the five and set it on top of the pile—the perfect hand. “No way!” Bri crowed, leaping up from her chair. She hooted, pointing at Renwick, his mouth dropping open as he stared at the cards. Thador clapped Rua hard on the shoulder, belly laughing at the stunned look on Renwick’s face.

“That’s a terrible bluff,” Renwick said, watching her over his cards. “It doesn’t matter if I’m good at bluffing, so long as I beat you.” Rua shrugged and smiled wider, the Northern King’s face mirroring her own for a split second before he cleared his throat and looked back down at his cards. She didn’t need to bluff. She already held the winning hand.

“No.” Renwick reached out with his finger and lifted her chin so that she would meet his gaze. She braced herself as she lifted her lashes to meet those brilliant eyes, as if she were falling every time she looked into them. “I never thanked you for saving my life that day.” His voice was a soft whisper on her cheek. “We would all have been dead were it not for you.”

When the world would batter her down again, it wouldn’t be a surprise. If she lay in a pool of her own blood by tomorrow, her only thought would be “of course.”

She loved the idea of planting flowers just for their beauty and for no other reason, that everything didn’t need to have a purpose to be worthwhile.

“You like it then?” Renwick’s voice cut through the haze, and Rua looked up with him, taking a breath she did not realize she had been holding. “It’s beautiful,” she said. Renwick’s gaze softened, that calm warmth so at odds with his normally stony features. In that moment, looking in his eyes, something shook inside her, thoughts begging to be freed, but she wouldn’t allow it.

“My uncle,” Renwick confirmed. “I spent winters in Murreneir. My father sent me here to work for Balorn.” Rua swallowed, her chest constricting. “Work for him how?” “I suspect you already know.” Renwick’s eyes flitted back to her. “You tortured witches for your uncle.” It wasn’t a question. “I did what I had to in order to survive.” Renwick’s voice was sharper than a knife. “I have more blood on my hands than I can ever wash away.”

Rua’s heart clenched. She wished she could do that, be that strong. “How do you not let it break you?” Renwick’s eyes darkened as he looked over her face. “You think I am still whole?” His shoulders tensed. “I am not a good person, Rua.” The low timbre of her name on his lips echoed through her mind. “The only good left in me is in little, fragmented pieces.”

She couldn’t imagine Renwick in a castle covered in roses. “One day, maybe,” Renwick said, looking toward the mountains of stone. Rua tossed those words around in her mind. Maybe Renwick was too far from happiness to feel it either. Maybe there were too many broken pieces of each of them to ever be put back together. As the dappled sunlight strained behind the heavy clouds, she wondered if, even between the two of them, there might be enough to make one whole.

“It’s beautiful. Where did all of these decorations come from?” Rua wondered, regarding the strings of beads and white paper garlands. “The people of Murreneir brought them. They hang them up for the Winter Solstice celebrations,” Aneryn said, beholding the delicate ornaments, “but Renwick had them dig them out of their storage boxes for today.” Rua’s hand rested on the pommel of the Immortal Blade. “It would benefit him to stay on my good side, I suppose,” Rua mused, scanning the event with wary eyes. “Yes, I’m sure that’s why he did it.” Bri snorted. Her

her face bursting with light as she exclaimed, “Son of a bitch!” “I heard there was a party,” a male voice called from behind her. Bri barreled past and grabbed him into a tight hug. Rua knew instantly who it was—the same auburn hair, sharp features, and golden eyes. His hair was longer, tied up into a short knot on top of his head. He stood only a couple inches taller than his twin, his shoulders a bit broader. But the likeness was striking: Talhan, the other half of the Twin Eagles. “Only you would battle a blizzard for the promise of cake.” Bri laughed as she clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Oh please.” Talhan chuckled, elbowing her. “You would absolutely do that too.”

He dropped his head into a small bow as he said, “Your Highness, thank you for saving me from the eternal boredom of council meetings.” Rua couldn’t help but give a begrudging smile. He was a charming one. All the nearby fae seemed to be drawn in. Between the two of them, Rua was certain the Twin Eagles could woo every courtier on the ice lake.

Bri indicated behind Rua with a lift of her chin. Another well-wisher must be standing behind her. Rua braced herself for another doting smile and turned. Renwick stood there waiting. He was dressed in a matching forest-green coat, the same golden patterning down the front, though the shoulders were wider. It made his eyes look darker. Rua was ready to stab her new dagger into Bri for what her guard had done. She had dressed her to match the Northern King.

It felt like a scourer scratching down her arm. Rua looked up to Renwick standing beside her. His eyes twinkled with mischief, like he knew all too well how uncomfortable she was, but his voice was a beautiful, smooth baritone. The singing abruptly finished, and everyone watched Rua in bated silence. Was she meant to say something? “Make a wish,” Renwick murmured, tipping his head toward the cake.

“You are definitely a Dammacus, child.” The witch crowed. “Your sister was too cautious, and you are too reckless, but you are two sides of the same coin.”

“He did not do it for us . . . ,” Baba Airu said. Rua felt the witch’s focus on her, even through her shut eyes. “He did it for you.” “No,” Rua interjected. Baba Airu gave a knowing smile. “He was unsure of what path to take until you demanded it. You made him see things more clearly,” she insisted.

“I understand you wanting to break away from the Northern King.” She huffed, hoping she was winning them over. “I look forward to breaking this curse and ridding myself of him too.” “Oh, I doubt that very much.” Onyx’s lip curled, the prickly, silver-haired witch determined to shove her back down.

“The edge is right there,” Renwick called with urgency, pointing to the drift of snow beyond her. “The rest is just powder and ice. It is closer than it seems.” “I am fine,” Rua hissed, the cold air painfully numbing her teeth. Renwick stomped over to her, muttering curses, until he was right in front of her. “Stop straying to the cliff’s edge.” His voice was a low growl. “You’re telling me how to walk now?” She scowled up at him, moving to push past, arcing further toward the edge, but he easily positioned in front of her again. He could have grabbed her and pulled her into line, but he didn’t. He just stood there frowning at her,