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

by A.K. Mulford

“I know you are angry about the book, but we can handle it later. Now, please, before my heart stops beating, get back to the path.” Rua narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t serve you, Witchslayer.” His face tightened as he opened his mouth to say something, but a groaning crack boomed through the cold air. Before Rua realized what was happening, the ground dropped out from below her. Those wide, fearful eyes were the last thing she saw before plunging downward.

Hauling herself to her feet, she narrowed her eyes at those three dots again. Only three. Shit. Renwick had fallen with her. Her breath caught in her throat as she began scanning wildly around her. Sticks, pine needles, and stones dotted through the muddied snow, but she did not see anything else. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. No, no, no. Frozen, she didn’t know which way to run. She walked in wild zigzags, searching with a growing panic, looking for that midnight blue cloak and that ash-blond hair. Horrible visions speared through her mind of Renwick impaled on a pine branch or neck snapped under the force of the avalanche. Acid climbed up her throat as her hands shook.

She clawed through the snow, scrambling more wildly than any suraash. She unearthed more of the cloak, then a pale blue hand. Cursing again, she shredded her raw fingertips, scooping snow with a ferocity that made a groan rumble through her chest. Reaching his shoulder, she tugged, pulling Renwick’s limp body up. She got to her feet. Wrapping her arms under his armpits, she squatted, thighs straining as she yanked him out of the snow. The churned snow gave way, and they both toppled backwards. Rua touched her hand to Renwick’s blue, lifeless face as burning hot tears sprung to her eyes. Gods, she had killed him.

Renwick gasped, eyes flying open, jolting to life at the sound. “Oh, thank the fucking Gods,” Rua gasped, voice trembling. Her shaking hands skirted over Renwick’s body as his emerald eyes found hers. “Are you injured?” “I don’t know,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants. He lifted an icy hand to her face, sweeping his thumb across her cheek. “We have to find shelter and get warm now,”

It would be the perfect end—surviving an avalanche only to drown in the icy river.

When she had stacked enough logs on the fire, she shucked off her wet boots. Grabbing the clasp of her cloak, she looked to Renwick and said, “Take off your clothes.” His lips twisted up at the insistence in her voice as she yanked her tunic over her head. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.” He grinned as he hung his cloak up on an outcropping of rock. “The fact you are teasing me right now means you are far less cold than I am,” Rua growled, hooking her thumbs into her trousers. Renwick’s eyes skimmed down her half-naked body, lust filling them even

He crouched, grabbing a blanket off the floor and shaking it out. Stepping over to her, he wrapped it around Rua’s shoulders. Tilting his head to the fire he said, “Get warm.” The threadbare blanket grated against her raw skin. “Take your clothes off and come get warm with me or you will die. Now,” she commanded. She was not willing to let them both die from his false sense of modesty. His lips were still blue. His hands still shook, though they seemed more dexterous. He would fade into the cold by nightfall.

The heat of the flames scoured her skin, feeling like a million tiny needles pricked into her. She gritted her teeth against it, closing her eyes as the warmth touched her face. She yielded to the exhaustion, her limbs sagging in relief after their panicked spasms. She was half-asleep when she felt the cool body press up against her back, pulling another blanket on top of them both. Renwick’s muscled arm circled her waist and pulled her back against him, his nose and lips burying into the hair at the back of her neck. He took a deep, sleepy breath. She felt his muscles sigh just as hers had, her warmth reviving him. Her mind was too far away to register what it meant, every ounce of her energy being funneled into getting warm and staying alive. “I’m sorry I almost killed you,” she whispered into the darkness.

A warm breath skittered across her neck. “Why do I have the feeling this won’t be the last time you make that apology to me?” She nestled back further against that warming body, finally relenting to the heavy undertow of sleep.

“Rua,” a warm voice muttered as arms coiled around her stomach. Her chest heaved, her throat raw. “It was a dream,” Renwick whispered, lips skimming the shell of her ear as his thumb lazily circled her navel.

They had slept for so long, but it felt like only minutes. She was suddenly aware of the naked form behind her—the hot muscles, the warm, sleep-addled voice, and the hardness of him pressed against her backside. Rua jolted up, wrapping the blanket around her as she clambered to a stand. Renwick draped the other blanket around his waist, rapidly coming to his senses from his sleepy stupor. The fire still burned. He must have fed it all night while Rua slept.

“Rua, this is a long trek, you’ll burn out going that fast,” Renwick said from right behind her, easily keeping pace. She kept moving like she was fleeing him, that shared moment in the cave chasing after her. She rushed as if she could outrun the smiling faces of her nightmare too. “Your stubbornness will be the death of all of us,” Renwick grumbled. It was the truth.

Renwick moved to her side. “Talk to me.” Her footsteps faltered as she whirled at him. “Why did you pull me behind you in Drunehan?” Renwick blanched. It was clearly not the question he was expecting, but she had to know. He had protected her, jumping between her and his own soldiers, killing them to keep her safe. “I . . .” He shook his head, eyes pleading as he looked at her. “Why?” She pushed, her words cutting sharper than a blade. Renwick’s eyes fell to his feet as he rubbed his forehead.

“How chivalrous,” she snarled, moving through the dense trees. “I’m sorry,” he called, hustling back to her side. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how to do this. Everything I say makes you push me away.” Her eyes darted to him again. “And I’m trying to figure out why you don’t want to be pushed away.” He pulled up short.

“Do I really need to write a thank you note to every single person?” Rua groused. “Yes,” Bri and Talhan said simultaneously from behind her. Bri sat in the armchair beside her desk, back to the wall, and Talhan stretched out leisurely on the bed. Bri busied herself sharpening her sword while Talhan ate some sort of dried meat from his pocket as if the war camp rations were the only food available to him. Rua stared at the blank paper again. She still had dozens more letters to write. “They gave me these presents of their own free will.” She frowned at her ink-stained fingers. “And you will thank them of your own free will,” Bri said, the sharpening stone screeching down her sword’s edge.

“Can’t I just say thank you and sign my name?” Rua griped, crumpling up the letter and chucking it to the floor. What could she possibly say? I’m sorry I nearly killed you? She had already said that. “No,” Talhan tutted. “At least thank them for the specific gift and then one more sentence like you really appreciate it or you’re grateful to get to know the Northern Court more or something . . .” Rua narrowed her eyes at him. “Why don’t you write it for me?” “Not a chance.” He grinned. “I’ve written too many of those over the years. If I were ever a royal, I’d demand no gifts just to spare me.”

“You think that quill is going to magically write the notes for you?” Talhan jeered from the bed. “Shut up and stop watching me,” Rua growled, eyeing the Immortal Blade leaning against the desk. “Or I will turn that blade on you.” “You can be as grim and threatening as you like, Princess.” Talhan smiled, hooking his thumb at Bri. “I grew up with that one, so it just makes you feel like family to me.” “Shut it,” Bri snarled.

“Moving hundreds of soldiers will slow us down. Balorn has a dozen Forgotten Ones with him and some Vurstyn fae on his side . . .” Renwick’s emerald gaze looked up to Rua. “But we have her.” Rua’s heart pounded. It was time to show Balorn the power of the Immortal Blade.

“You should ride with me.” Renwick’s voice cut through the air. “No,” Rua countered before she even turned. Looking over her shoulder, she nearly stumbled backward at the sight of Renwick. Gone were his fine clothes with delicate embroidery. He was dressed for war. Rua gaped at the black leathers he wore, at the daggers belted to his muscled thighs.

Renwick’s lips pulled to the side, the only indication he gave that he knew Rua was staring. “Gods, look at you!” Talhan exclaimed, looking Renwick up and down. The Twin Eagles trudged up through the snow. Thick clouds of hot breath circled them like halos. Bri elbowed her twin. “Cut it Tal, you’re practically drooling.” “Who knew he was hiding all of that under those posh clothes?” Talhan guffawed, gesturing toward the Northern King. Rua couldn’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

“Technically, they are all my horses,” Renwick said. He nodded to the horse beside the one Rua sat atop. It looked much the same as her own, though its mane was slightly darker, and its body was more charcoal gray. “I normally ride Zeffem.” Zeffem. It was a Mhenbic word. It meant “strength”. Why a fae King would give his horses Mhenbic names, she did not know. “Does she have a name?” Rua asked, patting a hand against her horse’s neck. “Her name is Raga . . . it’s Mhenbic for-” “I know what it means,” Rua cut in, “though I don’t know why you’d name a war horse that.” Raga. It meant “precious to me”.

Rua shakily moved her feet out of the stirrups. “Steady,” she whispered to Raga again. She crouched up on her horse’s saddle. “Rua!” Bri shouted as the warrior booted another witch in the face. Blood sprayed across the snow. “Don’t.” Renwick spun to see what was happening, but it was too late. Rua was already jumping. She leapt to the lip of the ravine and pulled herself on top of the slick surface. “Rua!” Renwick’s voice boomed from behind her.

“Does he remind you of someone?” Balorn’s teeth glinted against the beams of sunlight breaking through the heavy clouds. “Do not speak of him,” Renwick hissed. “You are as weak as Eadwin was . . .” Balorn began when a witch burst through the line of trees.

She moved to grab another cloak from the wardrobe. Renwick was there in the blink of an eye, his hand resting on her elbow, halting her movement. “You know what really broke Balorn?” Those green eyes pierced into her. “He didn’t need anyone. Not even my father could reach him.” He took a ragged breath. “Needing people doesn’t make you weak, Rua, it keeps you sane.”

“I need you,” Renwick whispered, “to keep me from being a monster.” His eyes dropped to the Immortal Blade at her hip. “And I’ll keep you from becoming one too.” Rua’s eyes flared. She didn’t know how or why, but Renwick always stopped her. His voice pulled her back, though one day it might not. She felt herself slipping further with every kill. “If I start to fade,” Rua murmured down to her feet. “If I start to lose myself in that power . . .” “I’ll hold on to you,” Renwick vowed, moving his fingers to her chin.

“I do,” Renwick said, “and believe me when I tell you, you can make the whole world bleed and it will never make you feel safe.” “And what will make me feel safe?” Rua snarled, moving to push past him. He grabbed the crook of her arm, his face mere inches from hers. “Me.” The world stopped moving at that word. She couldn’t hear the whipping wind or far-off voices or the sound of horses, she only heard the pounding of her heart and the echo of his voice. Me. She shoved him against the wardrobe, his eyes flaring as her lips crashed against his.

Me. It was true. He stopped her again that day. Simply stepping in front of her had pulled her back to the world. He kept her anchored. This time she had more control of it, yes, but he had also sensed that she needed his intervention. He stopped the spiral before it began.

Rua didn’t think as her hand lashed out and grabbed the back of Renwick’s neck. She lifted on her toes and planted a hateful kiss on his lips. She lowered back down to her feet as Renwick’s blackened eyes bored into her, his body frozen. She was about to lower her hand when he reached out, grabbing both sides of her face and pulling her lips back to his.

Renwick’s fingers slid up her bare thigh and under her nightgown. He hissed as his fingers trailed over her bare backside. Mindlessly, Rua’s fingers drifted down and began unbuckling his belt. She didn’t want to think anymore. “I want you,” she growled against his mouth as she freed him. She gripped his satin, hard length, positioning him between her legs. “Do you want me?” “Yes,” he gritted out as she moved him to her entrance. “Then have me,” she demanded, pulling his lips back to hers.

“Fucking Gods,” he panted as he buttoned his trousers. “I am fine.” Rua gritted her teeth at the look of torture on his face. “Everyone says it hurts the first time . . .” “It doesn’t have to!” he shouted. She pushed off the tree trunk and balled her fists at her side, using every ounce of restraint not to throttle him. “Stop making this a big deal.” “It is a big deal.” He bared his teeth as he yelled at her. “No, it’s not!” she screamed back. She didn’t care if she woke the whole camp. “I wanted this. You wanted this. There doesn’t need to be a bigger reason.”

“Give us a break, will you? It was just a bit of fun,” the other guard snickered. Rua’s eyes darted to him. Maybe some fae were learning to respect witches, but these two surely weren’t. A flicker of panic flashed in the guards’ eyes as they drifted up and over her shoulder. Grimacing, she knew who stood behind her without even turning. “I will give you one chance to apologize to the Princess of the High Mountain Court.” His voice was a lethal rumble at her back. “Or I will not lift a finger to help you when she starts to flay the skin from your bones.” Rua couldn’t help but smirk at that. Renwick knew she could do it. He didn’t underestimate her.

“Which one do you like?” Renwick asked, making her hands still. It did not matter which one she liked. Rua was certain his councilors would have opinions. She supposed he was asking because she was royalty like him. What would she pick if she chose a crest for herself? “This one,” she said at last, pointing to the one with a sword piercing down through a crown with a smattering of stars behind it. “It shows strength and isn’t too cluttered.” “I like that one too,” Renwick said, stepping closer to her.

“Balorn killed him and my mother,” Renwick said as Rua took a jagged breath. “They were trying to run away from my father. Balorn . . . stopped them.” “And you weren’t running with them?” Rua murmured to keep her voice from wobbling. “I was already called the Witchslayer by then,” Renwick said. “I don’t think they would have wanted me to come.” Tears threatened to spring from Rua’s eyes at that admission. His own mother had left him behind. He knew what it felt like to be unwanted. She knew that pain herself, but she felt it so much keener coming from him. “We both know what it means to lose a brother.”

“Rua, look at me,” Renwick whispered. Rua shoved down that sadness that threatened to devour her and steeled her heart with fire instead. “I’m tired; I’m going,” she said, turning to leave. “Wait, please.” Renwick’s hand reached out to cup her cheek. The feeling of his hand on her face had her moving without thought. Her hand snatched the dagger on her hip, and she whirled, stilling the tip of her sharp blade against the flesh of his neck. “I am not in the mood for more commands today, King.” Rua’s voice was not her own. It was a rasping, wicked sound.

“I didn’t think I could hate myself any more than I already did,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. His pupils were so wide she could barely see the green. “I don’t want to talk about this.” Rua’s hand shook, her breathing as frantic as his own. “Don’t pull away from me,” Renwick pleaded with hooded eyes, pushing further into the blade.

She walked to his desk and looked down at the empty vial sitting atop it. He couldn’t feel the pain of the steel, not while he was drugged on dangerous potions. He was destroying himself even more than she was. It made her more angry than she ever felt for herself. His life had been filled with so much more pain than her own, but she had been the weak one. She refused to be weak anymore. Furious, she smashed her hand down on the empty vial, shattering the glass under her bare palm. “Rua!” Renwick barked, darting to her.

“Why would you do that?” he snarled, his eyes scanning her face. “In my tent, after that day in Vurstyn . . . you asked me to stay,” Rua reminded him. “Do you remember what you said?” Renwick’s eyes cleared even more, brilliant rings of emerald visible now. Just as he pulled the compulsion of the blade out of her, she pulled the poison out of him. “I told you I’d hold on to you,” he whispered, keeping his thumb pressed to her hand. Rua held those vivid green eyes as she said, “I’m not the only one fading away.” Renwick’s gaze fell from the shame of those words.

“It doesn’t really take your pain away,” Rua lamented. “It helps,” Renwick snapped. “It doesn’t help!” Rua shouted at him, drawing his eyes back to her. “You can change your crest a hundred times over and carve as many bloody roses on that castle as you want, but poisoning yourself will never bring you peace.” “Why do you care, Rua?” Renwick growled at her. “Because I do,” she yelled. “Why?” His shouting rose to match her own. “Because I care about you, Renwick, damnit!” she hissed. “That’s what you wanted to tell me that day in Raevenport, isn’t it? That you care about me too?” Nodding, he reached out to her, and she pulled away from him again, moving that space back between them.

The sounds of shattering and crashing echoed after her down the hallway. It sounded like a beast tearing apart his office. Part of her yearned to comfort that beast. The same one she knew lived inside of her, but she did not pause or turn back. He needed to remember what it was to feel something. They both did.

As the Eagles ascended the stairs behind them, Omerin chuckled, saying to Renwick, “I bet you have your hands full with that one.” “Indeed.” Renwick’s voice was low and hollow, no mirth in his reply. Aneryn nudged Rua with her shoulder, whispering, “That was amazing.” “I didn’t like the way she looked at you.” Rua shrugged, eyes skimming over the opulent room, from the oil paintings to the golden chandeliers. These fae had probably never felt discomfort or hunger or fear. “I’m used to those looks,” Aneryn murmured, “but Mother Moon was it fun to see you tear down Lady Mallen like that.” Rua smirked at her friend

The air was too hot. She needed to get into the snow. When Renwick spoke, her panic ebbed, the sound of his voice soothing the torrent inside of her. “The North no longer belongs to you, Balorn. Witches are free here now. A new day is dawning.”

“Who rules the North is no longer your concern, Balorn. Yield to Renwick while you still have the chance,” Bri finally spoke. “Ah, Briata Catullus, the greatest disappointment in the Western Court,” Balorn said. “Is that fool of a brother there with you?” Rua furrowed her brow at the Eagles. What disappointment was he speaking of? Bri looked at Rua and shook her head. “Later,” she mouthed silently to Rua. “I’m here,” Talhan said.

“You are not owed anything,” Rua said, drawing Renwick’s gaze. “The world has moved on without you.” “You speak with such confidence for someone so young,” Balorn said. “You will make the perfect Queen by my side, Ruadora. You belong with me.” Renwick let out a low growl. “I belong to no one.” Rua met Renwick’s stare, her words from that moment in his tent flooding her mind. I can’t care about you.

“Give me a minute?” Rua murmured to Bri. The Twin Eagles exchanged knowing glances and left. Staring at Renwick’s shadowed silhouette, they stood in a long stretch of silence until Renwick’s fists unclenched. “Are you okay?” Her voice felt too loud in the silence. He didn’t turn. “I’m trying to be.”

“I can stay behind. With the blade, I can keep them in line—” “Nope.” Bri snickered, sidling up beside them and slinging her arm over Rua’s shoulders. “Nice try, Ru. You’re going to your sister’s wedding.” Rua silently cursed the Eagle for sensing her eagerness to stay behind. Renwick and Thador exchanged glances, a soundless conversation happening between them, before the King’s guard nodded. “Thador will stay behind with a few of my guards,” Renwick announced.

“Hale!” Talhan shouted, leaping from the still moving carriage. Her sister’s fiancé was a tall, muscular fae with wavy hair a shade lighter than Rua’s own. He had warm golden skin, even in the depths of winter. He looked older than the last time she had seen him. His stubbled face had grown longer, and he wore formal attire instead of battle leathers. Hale braced for the impact with a smile as Talhan barreled into him. Their joyous embrace made Rua pause. She didn’t know how to do that.

“Go on.” Bri nudged her with her boot. Rua whirled on her and seethed. “Stop. Kicking. Me.” “Just go say hi to your sister.” Bri’s lips twisted up at her as she added, “Please.” Gritting her teeth, Rua rolled her shoulders back and puffed out her chest. It was time to be a Princess. Remy’s face split into a warm smile as Rua stepped out of the carriage.

Rua crossed the distance to Remy, careful not to slip on the icy paving stones. Her breath billowed out of her into the cold air. When she reached Remy, she dropped into a bow. “Your Majesty,” she greeted her sister formally. Remy’s hand shot out to her shoulder and pulled her up from the bow into an embrace. A collective sigh rang out from the crowd, a few even clapping. Rua woodenly moved her arms around her sister and gave her a quick pat on the back.

“Okay, my turn.” Bri’s voice came from behind her. Rua thanked the Gods for the Eagle in that moment as she cut off their awkward hug. Remy shifted to the fae warrior, wrapping her in a tight embrace. The two of them acted like old friends. It was a stark reminder once more that Bri was her sister’s guard, not hers. Bri’s allegiance was to Remy. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. They all had each other.

She felt it like a living thread of power, that connection between their eyes. The rest of the room seemed to fade as she looked at him. He wore shined black leather boots and tucked in trousers with silver embroidery up the outer seams, matching the crown atop his head. Rua’s mouth fell open. It was not the simple circlet he usually wore, no—he was wearing a breathtaking crown. As the sapphires sparkled around its base, it was the first time Rua truly felt it: he was a King.