Less than an hour later, Claire and Farron crossed over the bridge and into the forest, surrounded by a squadron of highly trained elves. And yet even they were not enough to quell the storm growing inside of her. Hatred swirled with apprehension. She never wanted to face him again. What would she do now that she had to? She already knew what Farron wanted to do. Would she just let him take another life? Go down that dark path he’d been avoiding for so long?

She was so lost in thought that she missed what Farron said to her.

“What?” she asked, blinking.

It was still light out, but it was hard to tell time under the thick forest canopy.

“I said don’t take your chains off, no matter what.” His voice was low, serious. “We don’t need any more unwanted company.”

She nodded, looking him over. He’d gotten a few pieces of the shiny metal armor the other elves wore, his forearms and chest glinting as he moved. It was strange seeing him in it, though she didn’t exactly hate it.

He grinned, glancing sideways at her as he adjusted an arm piece. “I hear you like knights in shining armor.”

Despite everything, she was still able to blush.

“It rather suits me,” he said, his face lighting up.

“No armor in the world is enough to contain your ego,” she said.

He laughed and a few elves looked their way.

“Fare,” she said, drawing nearer. It was her turn to grow serious. “Don’t let your anger get the best of you. I can’t afford to have anything happen to you.”

He frowned. “I could say the same thing to you.”

“I hate him even more than you do.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Don’t do something you might regret.”

“I have killed many men in my past,” he said. “But none have ever brought me as much pleasure at even the thought of ending his life. No, I will not regret killing him. I dare say I would even rest easier at night, knowing there was one less person after you, and that his presence was snuffed out from this world.”

“And if his death causes a war?”

“Then let it,” he said, his voice cold.

“And you commented on my diplomacy,” she said. “Let me at least talk to him.” She didn’t like the thought, but she wanted to avoid bloodshed if she could. Even if it meant facing one of her biggest nightmares. How was that for diplomacy?

He was quiet for a few moments, then he said, “Fine.” Though he wasn’t happy about it. Far from it. “But if he does anything,” he said, pulling her to a stop. His intense gaze bore into her. “Anything, then diplomacy is over.”

“All right,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. Why was she so hesitant about killing him? Even though she hated him, the thought of more death made her uncomfortable. She was still too soft. Was always going to be too soft. She used to think that the mark was wasted on her, but after seeing what Rialla had done, why she had done it, it made a little more sense that it had found her. What better way to hide something than in a person who would be too scared to use it? Only, her theory crumbled when she thought of the other Star Children, who were anything but afraid.

He kissed her on the forehead, his lips lingering. “He’s already done too much damage, Claire. Don’t let him do any more.”

“I won’t,” she said, hoping she would be right.

Someone up ahead cleared their throat. The group of elves had stopped and were staring at them, none-too-happy about their pause. Claire fought not to roll her eyes. It was her fault, after all, that trouble was at their doorstep. She settled for a sigh and continued on through the trees, her anxiety growing more and more until it threatened to suffocate her. Farron kept his hold on her hand and it was as if it were the only thing that still tethered her in the world, giving her much needed strength. He was her rock and would be until the very end, and she was grateful for every moment.

Light shone up ahead and her pulse picked up even more, her head light. She had to hold it together. She couldn’t let that man know how much he still affected her. What could he do to her now? With her powers? If he even got past Farron and the rest of the elves. He was nothing. So why did it feel like she was about to face another Beast of Old?

Claire narrowed her eyes as she stepped out from the line of trees into the field, temporarily blinded by the sun. She heard the horses snorting and stamping their feet impatiently as she waited for her vision to clear. But when it did, she didn’t like what she saw one bit.

A long line of armed men stood before her, a large group in the middle mounted on metal-adorned steeds. Front and center was the General, scourge of her nightmares, looking as luminous and beautiful as ever. And she hated him even more for it.

Bren nudged his horse forward and the beast took a few steps before the squad of elves drew their weapons in a frighteningly efficient flurry. About half a dozen arrows were trained on the General. He pulled the horse to a stop and grinned. As usual, his long brown hair was pulled back in a low, loose ponytail and hung over his right shoulder. His armor was scant and lighter than his men’s, but much more ornate, showing his status more than it offered protection, copper with golden accents. Red clothes underneath made him stand out even more.

“Miss Claire,” he said, bowing atop the horse. “It has been too long.”

“I’d say it hasn’t been long enough,” she replied, letting her anger show, probably more than she’d intended.

Bren chuckled. “Oh, how I’ve missed your spirit.”

“I haven’t missed you at all,” she said. A cold sweat had broken out over her skin. She needed to calm down, not let him get the best of her. “What do you want?” There, straight to the point. Diplomacy wasn’t dead, yet, but she could already feel it circling the drain.

“I thought we could talk,” he said, his face still pleasant.

Her palms itched to slap him. Her reaction to him had changed so drastically from when she’d first met him. “About what?” she said. “I don’t think there is much to say anymore.”

He shifted in his saddle, his smile faltering a bit. “I’ve heard about your recent exploits,” he said. “I am rather impressed—not that I wasn’t before.” He flashed her a smile that would have once melted her into a puddle but now filled her with raging fire. “My lord, King Philip, grows increasingly curious about you and would like to extend an offer of alliance.”

Claire couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up and escaping. “An alliance with you?” She rolled up the sleeve covering her right wrist and held her arm up. “I think you ruined any chance of that when you gave me this.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “An action that I deeply regret,” he said, his voice morose.

It was hard to tell if it was genuine or not, but she preferred to err on the side of caution and assume anything he said had some falsehood to it.

His eyes lingered on her arm, curiosity in their depths. Claire covered the mark and scar again. Would he feel true remorse if he found out that what he had done was destroying her? She doubted his feelings were anything more than a way to manipulate her. She was only a tool, would only ever be one to him and his little King Philip.

“I do not want to fight,” Bren said. “I only want to talk. Perhaps we can put our past aside long enough to do that?”

His patronizing tone almost set her off, made her want to give the order for the elves to fire. Only the image of him as a pin cushion in her head calmed her enough to repress the desire. Lendon’s deal with Derenan was too costly to risk it. Her desire for revenge wasn’t worth the thousands of lives they could save.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk.”

Bren bowed on the horse again. “Very good, Miss Claire.” He glanced at her companions, arching his eyebrow as he looked over Farron. “Perhaps we could take this somewhere more private?”

Claire crossed her arms. She really didn’t want to do that. “Forgive me, but I am a little hesitant to be alone with you after what you did.”

“She isn’t going anywhere without me,” Farron said, his voice a barely contained growl.

“Ever the faithful knight,” Bren said, his smile returning. He’d always known how to rile Farron up, even before he’d betrayed Claire. “I see now you are trying to actually look the part. Good for you.”

Farron went for his dagger hilt over his right shoulder. Claire had to grab his arm to stop him.

Bren chuckled and turned his horse halfway, looking down at her. “I have taken the liberty of restoring your mother’s tavern,” he said. “Come with your guards, if you so desire.” He kicked his horse and the line of men parted to let him through, then followed after him.

Claire stood in the field, watching them head toward Stockton. Her mother’s tavern still stood. She didn’t know what to make of that, especially if he had had a hand in restoring it. She wished now that it had burned down that fateful night. To face him in her old home, her safe haven filled with so many good memories, it felt tainted now. Had he gone through her things? Been in her old room? She felt violated all over again.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Farron asked, wrenching her from her thoughts.

She nodded, even though she really didn’t want to. “We need to settle this,” she said. “If we run now, there’s no telling what he would do.”

“All right,” he said, then turned to the others, giving them orders in their flowing language.

The elves nodded, although none seem thrilled to be taking orders from Farron. With that, they set out across the field to her old home. She’d hoped for a happy homecoming, not one so full of dread.

 

It felt surreal to step foot in Stockton after so long. The sense of familiarity had been replaced by a strange uneasiness. What had been burnt and damaged was rebuilt, changed, some buildings even better than they were before. Life had returned, the plaza cleared of the bodies, but even now she couldn’t stop the memory of their faces from flashing before her eyes. Visions of that night danced dangerously close to the forefront of her mind. It was as if she were walking in a haze, halfway between the past and the present. She hardly noticed the stares, the slack jaws and pointed fingers, the hushed whispers as a group of beings thought long gone strolled through the middle of the town in broad daylight. They were going to find out sooner or later anyway.

Claire tried to avoid looking at anyone in particular. She didn’t know if she could stand the pity. She recognized a few faces but didn’t stop. What would she say to them? What could she?

The route to the Blazing Stallion was so ingrained into her that her feet took her there seemingly of their own will. Her breath hitched when she laid eyes on it once again. It was as if that night had never happened. The building had been restored with such detail, it was a little unnerving.

“Check it,” Farron said, making a circular motion in the air with his hand.

The elves dispersed, diving into the alleys surrounding the tavern, leaving her and Farron alone on the street. Two armed guards emerged from the building then, holding the door open.

Claire took a breath and looked at Farron. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

“No,” she said, stepping forward. This was all too much. Rebuilding the tavern, inviting her back here. What game was he playing?

The guards eyed Farron as he neared, but didn’t make any movements. Just like the outside, the interior of the tavern had been restored. Claire paused in the doorway to take it all in. It gave her the creeps. In the center of the room, the General sat at a small wooden table a little too casually, a welcoming smile on his face. Two more guards stood a few paces behind him, staring forward with blank eyes. Farron stepped around her and approached the table. A few candles illuminated the uneven surface. A crystal decanter of wine and glasses sat to the side.

In one swift move, Farron reached up and drew one of his daggers and stabbed it into the wood. The guards barely had time to react. The General didn’t move an inch, though his smile widened. He held a hand up to stay the guards.

“You always were hot-headed, weren’t you?” Bren said, rising to his feet. “Please,” he motioned to the chairs across from him, “have a seat. I only wish to talk.”

It took everything she had to walk closer to that man. Her skin crawled more with each step she took. She almost would have preferred to face another Beast of Old than to sit across from him. Farron left the dagger buried in the wood and crossed his arms. Claire took a seat, not trusting her knees to support her.

“We’re here,” she squeezed out of her tight throat. “Now talk.”

Bren chuckled and sat down, crossing his legs and leaning back, looking too comfortable. “You have grown even bolder since we last met,” Bren said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“And you more insufferable,” she retorted.

His smile faded and he sighed. “I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me, Claire. I only did what I thought was necessary. I had feared that you were working with the elves.” He looked Farron up and down. “Though, your presence in the forest again does raise the same concern. What has brought you back? I would have thought that you were quite happy to live in a palace. Wasn’t that your dream once?”

“It was,” she said. “Once. However, things change.” She gave him a pointed look. “As for my business here, it is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless you haven’t heard, Lendon now controls the surrounding land, and anything that could harm the realm is, of course, my concern. Am I to believe that those elves have hidden away for years for their love of humans? That they finally ventured out when they got their first whiff of real power? After seeing what you can do, and learning about their history, no, I do not think their intentions are in our best interest. So, I will ask again, what brings you back here?”

The air hung heavy with silence. If she told him her true mission, that she was working with the elves, the very thing that he accused her of, then he wouldn’t just let her go free and clear with a friendly pat on the back.

“I thought that you wanted to escape?” he asked. “Isn’t that why you ran away with me in the first place? To escape from their clutches? So, why is it that you willingly went back?” He looked at Farron. “And it’s even more curious that you would bring her back here. The bastard son of a king. Who would have thought? You finally managed to win her over and you didn’t ride off into the sunset. Curious indeed.”

Farron glared down at the General. If looks could kill…

“What can I say?” Claire said. “I was feeling nostalgic.” She motioned around with her hand. “Speaking of which, why go through all the trouble to restore my mother’s tavern?”

“Think of it as a gift,” Bren said, turning his gaze back to her. He leaned forward and poured a glass of wine. He offered it to her, but when she declined he shrugged and leaned back in his chair again, taking a sip. “An apology. Though, I know it will take much more than that for you to forgive what I have done.”

“How kind of you,” she said, making the words as bland as possible.

“Did you ever find her?” Bren asked. “That mother of yours?”

Claire considered the question for a moment. There was more than mere curiosity behind his words. She had to be careful she didn’t reveal too much. “I did.”

“Good,” Bren said, taking another sip, but it didn’t hide the flash of disappointment. He had thought to use her mother against her once, would still if he could. He started to motion to the room around them. “Perhaps, she would appreciate—”

“No,” Claire said, cutting him off. “You will never get your hands on her. Ever.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Claire sat up straight in the chair. “Your kindness always has a motive behind it, a reason. All of this,” she swung her arms out, “isn’t because you feel bad. It’s some sort of sick, twisted mind game, or bribe, maybe both. I don’t know. I’d sooner burn it to the ground than have it in your hands.”

“Fair enough,” Bren said, setting the glass down on the table.

“As far as answers, I don’t owe you anything. Your king was never my king. I have no allegiance to Lendon, now or in the past, nor will I in the future,” she said.

“I see,” Bren said quietly. “That’s rather unfortunate.”

“How so?” she asked.

“I had hoped that we could convince you to fight for our side, to not betray your own kind. I fear my suspicions about you have been true all along.” He turned the glass with his fingers. “That you went back into the forest means that you have fallen under their influence. I know not what you have planned, but it isn’t in our best interest, is it, Claire?”

Goosebumps rose across her skin. This wasn’t going well. She supposed diplomacy wasn’t her strong suit, after all.

“Careful,” Farron said, a warning flashing across his face.

Bren looked up at the tall elf, unflinching. “I still don’t know where you fit into all of this. The brother of a king, assassin, with no loyalty to anyone.”

“He’s loyal to me,” Claire said.

“Ah, of course.” Bren smirked. “You were able to let him into your heart after learning of his… past?”

“He never harmed me.” She’d grown tired of his prodding.

“A woman’s heart is a fickle thing,” Bren said.

“As capricious as a man’s temper,” she shot back.

He stared at her, unblinking, and she managed to return the favor.

“I will extend the offer one last time,” Bren said, an edge to his voice. “Accept King Philip’s offer of alliance or become an enemy of the realm.”

Claire scoffed. “An enemy, for what?”

“Treason against humankind,” Bren said matter-of-factly.

“And then what?” she asked, becoming incredulous, or stupid. “You’ll carve up my other arm? Feed me to another Beast of Old? You’ve seen what I can do. What makes you think you are a threat to me?”

“If I wasn’t, then you wouldn’t have come to talk.” Bren clasped his hands together. “If you are so powerful, then you would have just gone.” His eyes fell to her neck where the edges of the mark peeked above the collar of her jacket. “I have my own spies in Derenan. The rumors about you are true, no?”

Claire swallowed. So, he knew after all. “All thanks to you.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Believe me, it was never my intention, Claire. Despite everything, despite what you may think, I happen to be rather fond of you.”

She laughed. “You only ever liked what I could do for you.”

Bren shrugged. “Believe what you want. But regardless of my feelings for you, I cannot just let you betray us all. What is it, may I ask, that they have offered you? It can’t be gold. No, you could have had that back in Derenan, could still have it in Lendon. Power? That was never your desire. Not truly. And since he doesn’t have any loyalty except to you,” he nodded at Farron, “then he wouldn’t sway you into working with them. It definitely isn’t your love for that fool we once traveled with. So, what is it?”

Claire shrugged. “Perhaps I just appreciated their hospitality, and wanted to thank them for saving me in my hour of need.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your problem then.” Yes, diplomacy. She doubted the truth would matter. Even if it was to benefit the whole world, he would still see her as a traitor for working with the elves, for restoring them to power. She was having a hard time trying to convince herself that she wasn’t. The truth didn’t matter anymore as far as he was concerned. She was already a traitor in his eyes and nothing she said would change that.

Bren sighed. “I cannot change your mind?”

Claire shook her head.

“Then, on behalf of King Philip of Lendon, I, General Brennus Erolle, declare you an enemy of the realm.” He stood from his chair and the guards stepped forward.

Farron went for his dagger, pulling it from the wood.

“You don’t want to do this,” Claire said, trying to salvage the situation, but she knew the effort was in vain.

“No, I don’t,” Bren said, “but I fear I have no other choice.” He nodded over his shoulder to the guards and they advanced forward, the one on the right whistling.

The guards that had been outside slipped inside, closing the door behind them. Commotion sounded suddenly from the street, metal clanging, the thunk of arrows finding their targets, men shouting. Farron became a blur of motion, lunging for the guards behind him. Claire drew her dagger and held it in front of her. She had agreed not to take the bands off, so her magic was limited. The General had an idea of her fighting skills, which still weren’t the greatest, not against men who had had years of training.

“Take her,” he commanded the guards, looking wholly unthreatened by her. He kept glancing at Farron. Magic or no, he was a danger and Bren knew it.

The two guards came around the table. She tried to make a magic orb, but she couldn’t. She searched frantically inside of herself for the threads of her magic. Nothing.

“Fare!” she shouted, backing away from the men.

“You didn’t think that I was foolish enough to come unprepared, did you?” Bren said, a smile on his face. He spread his hands wide. “I made a few improvements.”

Claire glanced around. She didn’t see anything out of place. But he had done something. She’d been so distracted by her other feelings, she hadn’t noticed how her magic had been suppressed even further upon entering the tavern. The back door that led to the kitchen burst open and men dressed all in black poured in.

Claire froze. No, it couldn’t be. The Ophiuchus Syndicate. They wouldn’t form an alliance with Lendon, would they? But she knew well enough what desperation could lead people to do. She had hoped she’d seen the last of them. She must have really made them mad for them to resort to working with the General and King Philip.

Men kept streaming in and soon she and Farron were outnumbered. The guards were nearly on her. She slashed out with her blade and they stopped, drawing their swords. Claire shrunk back. Swordplay had never been her strength.

The men in black surrounded Farron, a few leaping into the fray.

“You can’t subdue our magic forever,” Claire shouted at Bren.

“I don’t need to.” He came around the table toward her.

Her pulse picked up. Memories of that day raced through her mind. All of this was becoming too familiar. The men made another move for her, but she slashed at them, keeping them barely at bay.

Bren made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Now, boys, she’s hardly a threat.” He brushed past the guards, his eyes full of dark hunger.

The look frightened her. Her hand shook. What did he want with her? “Don’t you touch me!”

Bren’s pace didn’t slow. “Why, Miss Claire, I seem to remember you wanting me to do just that.” He smiled down at her.

Claire stabbed out at him, but he dodged, laughing. She slashed again, then again, becoming too frantic. She couldn’t let him have her. Not again. Anything but that.

Bren’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers squeezed hard until she cried out, and he twisted her arm up and back until she dropped her blade. The two guards came to either side of her, taking hold of her other arm and shoulders.

Bren pulled her closer, his eyes narrowed. “You will never be able to best me, Claire.”

Claire made a move to spit at him, but his other hand shot out and grasped her jaw, yanking her chin up. She nearly bit her tongue off.

“Let’s not be disrespectful,” he said. He handed off her wrist to a guard, then glanced over his shoulder at the scuffle between Farron and the others. “He really is quite talented. I wonder how long he will be able to last?” He turned back to her, an eyebrow raised.

Claire jerked her chin from his grip. “Long enough to kill you.”

Bren chuckled. “I look forward to the challenge then.” He touched the pendant hanging from her neck, lifting it up to inspect it closer. “How troublesome.” He tugged the chain hard. It snapped and he pocketed the necklace. “Come,” he said, turning and motioning for the guards to follow.

The men dragged her toward the kitchen. She kicked out with her feet, tried to drag them on the floor, but it was no use. The tall guards merely lifted her up higher.

“Fare!” she shouted.

Farron called after her but was soon quieted by another round of fighting. She was on her own for the moment.

They carried her through the door and into the kitchen—only it was much different than she remembered. In fact, it wasn’t a kitchen at all, just a plain room with no windows and a narrow door that led to the back alley. The stairs had been blocked off with several boards. It had all been a façade. The guards slammed the thick door to the tavern closed and slid a heavy bar across it, plunging the room into darkness.

A moment later a flame sparked to life, illuminating Bren’s face, the hollows of his cheeks cast in deep shadow, making him seem gaunt. He lit a lantern and crossed the room to light another. The guards slammed her down into a chair. The only other furniture was a table against the wall with a multitude of instruments spread out atop it. She took several deep breaths to try and calm herself, but they weren’t successful. What did he plan to do?

Bren went to the table. “I didn’t want to have to do this again,” he said, running his finger over the tools. “Here, now, so rushed. But I’m afraid I have no choice.”

“You do have a choice,” she said, her voice shakier than she liked.

“No,” he said. “I don’t. The Syndicate only agreed to help if I turned you over unharmed.” He looked at her. “They came to me, you know, after you and your friend devastated their ranks. You took almost everything they had.” He grinned. “I’m more impressed than anything, really. That kind of power.” He picked up a long, thin metal piece with a wooden handle and a pointy end.

She eyed it, her skin breaking out in sweat as he came for her.

“I saw with my own eyes what you did in Teren, the corpses. You single-handedly annihilated the main centaur force, our empire builders. A shame, really. Thanks to them, Lendon has grown to almost four times its previous size. But I’m not mad. Not truly, just disappointed.” He stepped closer, the dark hunger in his eyes again. “But with you… there’s no limit to what we could achieve. Pledge your loyalty to Lendon, to King Philip, to me, and your little elven lover will live and your flesh will stay whole.”

“Never,” she snarled, squirming in the chair. The guards had shifted their hold on her. One knelt and held her ankles, the other stood behind her with her wrists in his grip.

Bren ran the point of the metal tool across her cheek and down to her neck, and with it lifted the collar of her jacket away to reveal the edge of the mark.

“You are in no position to refuse, and yet you do.” His eyes lingered on her throat. “Together we could rule the world.”

“I have no desire to do so. It sounds rather exhausting.”

He snorted a laugh. “Such power is wasted on you.”

“No,” she said. “I thought that once before I learned the truth. It was hidden in us to keep it away from people like you.”

“Was it now?” Bren lowered the tool. “That hasn’t stopped that council of old men in Derenan, has it? They have found a way to use you, and the others like you. I will do the same.” He gripped her chin again and wrenched her face up to meet his. “I told you before, I will not stop until I make you mine.”

“Then you will have to kill me.” She met his eyes with a fire of her own. She didn’t like the thought, but it was better than the alternative. “Oh, but you have already seen to that.”

He released her. “It’s true, then? The mark, it consumes you?” He tucked the tool into his belt and grasped the lapels of her jacket. With the same urgency of a lover, he pulled her jacket down to reveal the mark and the damage that he had wreaked. “My, my…” he muttered, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Claire jerked back as much as she could. She wanted him to touch her as much as she wanted to pluck out her own eye. But she could only move so far back. The guards tightened their hold on her. Bren slid his finger over the dark lines, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She squirmed.

“All of this because of me,” he whispered in awe.

“You understand now why I can’t accept your offer,” she said, her voice sweet poison.

“And these?” He toyed with a dangling silver chain.

“Why don’t you take them off and see?” Another prospect she didn’t like, but it would get her and Farron out of a jam—and possibly into another. But perhaps they could slip away in the chaos.

But Bren didn’t take the bait. “The Syndicate informed me of this.” He dropped the chain. “Ingenious little contraption.” He fished the chain and key out from around her neck and lifted it over her head. “Curious, why you still wear it after you escaped their capture?”

“I like the way it looks.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Or it could have something to do with this.” He lifted her right arm.

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “You’ve always been a shrewd one.”

He yanked her arm up and leaned in close, his eyes searing. “Leave us,” he said.

“But, sir…” the guard at her feet said.

“You heard me,” Bren growled. “Leave!”

The guards hesitated before scurrying out the door to the alley.

The room was silent except for her heavy breathing.

“Claire,” Bren muttered, running his fingers down her jaw to her chin. His other hand gripped her wrist harder, pulling it up further. She leaned back in the chair to try and get away from him, but his hand shot out and gripped her neck and began to squeeze. She clawed at his arm but his hold on her didn’t relent. His eyes became wild, the hunger back, like a hunter about to devour its prey.

A sound escaped her throat, a sort of stifled scream.

“Relent to me, Claire!” Bren breathed, his face inches from hers. “You were once almost mine.” He pushed her back in the chair until it tipped back, its front legs leaving the floor.

Claire struggled to breathe.

“Say it,” Bren growled. “Say you will be mine!”

She kicked out with her legs, thrashing until they connected with something, anything. He grunted when her foot struck near his groin, his grip faltering just enough for her to squirm away. The chair tipped and she fell to the floor. Air ripped down her throat, her shoulders heaving as she coughed. Bren lunged at her. Claire crawled away toward the door. She didn’t even know which one, just a door, any way to get out and escape from him. He was going mad, his lust for power blinding him.

His hand slammed down on her ankle, halting her in her tracks. She clawed at the floor as he dragged her back toward him.

“No!” she screamed hoarsely, her terror causing tears to well and spill down her cheeks. “Let me go! Please!”

“Claire!” Farron’s muffled shout came from the other side of the door, followed by a pounding. But the thick wood barely budged.

“Farron!” she shouted as the General’s hands found their way to her waist.

He turned her over and straddled her legs, trapping them under his weight. Claire writhed, scratching at his hands, his arms, his face, anything within range. She opened a bloody gash across his cheek. He smiled. It only seemed to drive him more. He leaned over her, capturing her wrists in his grip. She couldn’t stop the sobbing.

“Stop this,” she pleaded, “Please.”

“Relent,” he said, “Say you will be mine.”

“Claire!” Farron shouted again, the door shaking as he rammed it.

“Never,” she whispered.

Bren transferred her wrists to one hand and took the sharp tool from his belt. He ran the tip across her skin, up to her neck where the mark’s tendrils curled.

“No,” she begged. “Please, don’t…”

“If you won’t be mine, then no one should have you.” He pressed the tip into her skin. Claire tried to twist away, but he only pressed harder. “Not the elves, not those old men, not your lover…”

The door shook again and again, the pounding relentless.

A disturbance sounded from out in the alley, the sound of fighting. It wouldn’t be long before she was found, she hoped. But would it be too late?

“Stop this!” she shouted at him. “You will never have me.”

“No,” he said, his voice emotionless. “And no one else will either.”

He pressed the tip into her skin, piercing the surface.

Claire yelled, writhing. How was this happening again?

Bren drug the sharp tip down her neck to her shoulder, slicing through the mark.

“You made me do this,” Bren growled. “If you would only yield.”

A scream ripped up her throat. Her body bucked underneath him, twisting and turning as the sharp metal carved a crooked line down over her shoulder. Claire paused to gather her strength, and with one big burst of energy, she turned her body to one side, breaking his grip on her momentarily. But it was enough. His rage had made him careless. She ripped one of her hands from his grip and clawed at his face. She caught his left eye and he reared.

“You bitch!” he shouted.

She struggled out from under him and started to pull herself away. But only a moment later he was almost on her again. Claire kicked at him. It didn’t slow him down. He was relentless. And that’s when she remembered, she wasn’t entirely defenseless. She drew her right leg up to her chest and fished the slim blade from her boot. She held it up just as he lunged at her again and the blade slid into his stomach.

Bren froze and looked down at the growing red stain on his shirt, darker than the surrounding crimson cloth. Claire was motionless as well. The room fell into silence. The pounding on the door paused. The world seemed to slow to a crawl around her. Blood dripped down the blade to her hand. She gasped and released the dagger.

Bren smiled, a pained look on his face. “He taught you more than I thought.”

Claire scurried away from him, her back pressing up against the wall. The sobs came freely, her whole body trembling violently, her breath raspy. Her shoulder stung, her blood soaking her shirt. Her throat already felt bruised.

Bren collapsed to his hands and knees, his own breathing becoming laborious. He chuckled slightly before falling onto his side.

Claire just stared at him for several moments. Was he dead? Had she just…?

The pounding and rattling of the door brought her back to the present.

It took all of her strength to stand again and push aside the bar blocking the door.

Farron stilled when he took her in, his eyes widening. “Claire,” he said as she stepped out from the back room into the tavern.

Bodies littered the floor and she didn’t know if they were dead or just unconscious, or if she cared. She was lost in another daze. Shock. Something she was all too familiar with. Nothing seemed to be real at the moment.

Farron ran his hands over her, inspecting, when she didn’t answer him. He stopped at her shoulder, a sound deep in his throat escaping. “What did he do,” he whispered. He disappeared for several moments.

Claire just stood in the middle of her mother’s old tavern, where she had once experienced such happy memories, now filled with misery and death. It would never be the same again.

“Claire,” Farron said, coming around her. “Are you all right?” He bent to examine the red spot on her stomach where the General’s blood had dripped.

“It’s not mine,” she uttered. “Not there.”

“We need to leave,” he said, his voice remarkably calm. “Can you do that?”

She nodded. Anything to get far, far away from here. And hopefully never return.

Farron took her hand and led her to the door. Claire tripped over a body, but his grip steadied her. There was going to be no end to her nightmares.

Chaos filled the street. Elves fought humans. Townspeople fled. That night replayed in her mind, flashing before her eyes as Farron pulled her along, dodging and slipping through the crowds just like her mother had. She didn’t know where he led her and didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here.

 

Farron knelt in front of her. He wiped her hands on a cloth, staining it crimson. She sat on a rock in the dim shade of the forest canopy. The elven forest. It was far too quiet and eerie to be anything else. Her body shook, her extremities were numb, her mind still in a haze.

“You’re fine,” Farron whispered, “You’re all right.”

“Fare,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, but just uttering his name seemed to give her strength. He was her rock, her steadying force, the bright light in the darkness.

“You’re all right, Claire.” He brushed her hair from her face.

Her skin was cold and clammy with sweat. She was sure she looked completely terrible. “Are you?” she asked, her voice weak.

He nodded. Aside from a few bumps and scrapes, he looked fine. “I’ve fought a legendary Beast of Old, a horde of centaurs, and faced your angry mother,” he said, a grim expression on his face. “And none of those have scared me as much as hearing your screams on the other side of that door.”

Claire looked down at her hands. The blood was gone, but they were still tinted red. “I killed him,” she said.

“If you hadn’t, I would have.” He took her hands in his, smothering them with his warmth.

“So much for diplomacy.” She tried to smile, but a sob escaped her mouth instead. This was surely going to strain relations with Lendon. Without their help, the lives of too many were now at risk. It was all in her hands now. Her blood-stained hands.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Farron said. “It’s done.”

He rose to inspect the wound on her shoulder. Claire winced, sucking in air through her teeth when he pulled the cloth of her shirt away. He muttered a few elven curses under his breath.

“Is it as bad as it feels?” she asked.

He hesitated longer than she was comfortable with. “The wound itself isn’t too bad. It will leave a scar, though.”

Great, just what she needed. “It seems I’m acquiring quite the collection. It’ll soon rival yours.”

“I hear they add character.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “As far as the mark… How does it feel, your magic? Is there anything different?”

He dug in his pocket and took out her pendant. He fiddled with the chain before slipping it around her neck, along with the silver key. A weight seemed to lift off of her when he did. She closed her eyes and took a long shaking breath. She felt calmer already.

“It’s hard to tell at the moment,” she said. “I’m still too shaken up. But I’m sure it’s not good.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Fare. I never should have dragged you down there, never should have insisted that I try to talk to him.” She looked down at her feet. “What did I expect to happen? That he would listen to reason?”

He knelt in front of her again. “If one good thing came out of it, it’s that we don’t have to worry about him anymore. If it starts a war, we can worry about it after we restore magic. They can deal with it.” He nodded toward the elven city deep in the forest. He stood and took her hands in his to pull her up. “Come,” he said. “We need to get you cleaned up and mended before this gets any worse.” He motioned to her shoulder, worry clear on his face.

Claire nodded and let him lead her back to the elven city. In the end, she’d only managed to make things worse. Bren was dead. By her hands. She wanted to feel relieved. It was one less madman after her. But all she felt inside was numb.

 

Numb was better than the alternative. Her soul had never felt heavier. She’d killed before, but that was under the control of her magic. But Bren, that had been all her.

Claire stood out on a wide balcony, the same one where she’d encountered Farron and had pleaded with him to let her go, swaddled in a robe that was half a foot too long. Cool air nipped at her still damp skin. The bath had warmed her, returned the feeling to her body, soothed the aches and pains. She no longer trembled. The shock had worn down to a barely perceptible presence, regret and guilt taking its place.

The sky had grown dark and ghostly lanterns along the rails and walls came to life. The palace had been abuzz since their return. War with the humans was on the horizon. Their peaceful solitude had been broken. They had no choice but to prepare for the inevitable. Another weight to add to her shoulders. If it hadn’t been for her, they could have kept hidden from the world just a little bit longer.

“There you are,” Farron said from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He’d cleaned himself up and wore a crisp white shirt instead of his usual, darker attire. After their return they’d been separated, Claire rushed to the healers, Farron to report to the king.

“I looked in the baths and you weren’t there,” he said, leaning in close. “A shame.” He kissed her lightly. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she said. “Not good, but better.”

He drew her into his arms and hugged her tight. She buried her face in his chest. His warmth was more comforting than any bath.

“It’ll get better,” he said, stroking her hair. “Day by day, it will.”

Claire slipped her arms around his waist. “Thank you, for everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I assure you it’s for purely selfish reasons.”

She gave his side a pinch and he laughed. He pulled back enough to look down at her and cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Selfish reasons,” he muttered and bent to kiss her again, pressing his lips against hers more urgently. The kiss deepened, becoming more and more passionate until they were both out of breath. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, straightening.

“What can I say?” She shrugged. “I live a dangerous life.”

A smile tugged at his lips and he sighed. He pushed the neck of her robe down from her shoulder, revealing the bandage the elves had wrapped around her after her bath.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his smile turning into a frown.

“A little.” She tried to move her right arm but stopped when a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. She winced and let her arm fall to her side. “They put some sort of salve on it that seemed to dull most of the pain. Then they stitched it closed with silk. I dare say my shoulder is worth more now than my entire wardrobe growing up.”

“And your magic?” He seemed hesitant to ask her about it.

And she was just as reluctant to answer. “Well,” she said, “it’s not better than before. And I can only assume that it will speed up the mark’s progress.”

Farron pulled her robe back into place, spending a little too long adjusting it. When that was done, he quietly drew her back into his embrace. He didn’t need to say anything. They were both thinking the same grim thoughts. Her days had already been numbered, but now they were even more so.