The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford

Chapter Twenty-Five

They traveled through the darkened forest and into the sunlight on the other side toward the Temple of Yexshire. Remy’s heart was in her throat with anticipation to see Ruadora again. Rua had been four the last time Remy had seen her. Her little sister, less than two years younger, was a faint blur in her mind. She did not know what she would look like all grown up. She’d be eighteen in a few weeks, a grown woman.

The Temple of Yexshire loomed quietly above them as they tied up the horses. A large clearing circled around the temple, overgrown with tall grasses.

Remy craned her neck up to look at the towering white temple.

“Look to the tree line,” Hale said. “There must be some clue of which direction their camp is from here.”

Remy nodded. “I’ll take the far side.”

She waded into the chest-high grasses, stumbling a few times over the uneven ground. The meadow was so thick she couldn’t see below her thighs. She tried to remember what had once filled this clearing. There had been a low wood fence circling the temple, now either decayed into ruin or lost below the line of golden grass.

Beyond the fence had been a herd of grazing goats. They were gone too. She wondered if one of the many pillagers or witch hunters after the Siege of Yexshire had eaten them.

There had been a giant spiraling herb garden bisecting the gravel path to the temple’s front steps. Remy remembered the smells of mint and sage wafting in the air as she walked toward the temple.

She couldn’t see any evidence of it. If she dug, maybe she would find it there still. Or maybe looters had taken the holy herbs along with everything else. The years had not been kind. At least a few big storms had blown through, knocking trees into the clearing.

Remy stood directly in front of the temple’s open archway. She had climbed over a fallen trunk when she heard a noise. It sounded like a scuffle inside the temple. She wondered if a fox or a bear had found its way inside. The morning frosts, promising winter’s impending hand, would have compelled them into the temple’s shelter.

Remy looked at the temple and gasped again. She was certain it wasn’t a phantom now. A hooded red figure stood in one of the tall windows, looking down on her.

The red witches were here. Remy bolted toward the archway.

The witches must have taken their rightful place in the Temple of Yexshire. Rua would be inside this tower. She was only a few steps from her sister.

Remy scrambled up the disintegrating steps. She had just crossed the threshold when Hale’s scream rent the air.

“It’s a trap!” he shouted. “Run!”

Remy spun from the threshold of the temple to find Hale, and what she saw . . .

A dozen Northern soldiers had emerged from the tall grass. Two were restraining Hale from where he stood at the forest’s edge. How had she missed them? How had she not scented them? Gods, one stood directly in the path in front of her. She must have stepped right over him. Not a fallen tree at all.

“Run!” Hale shouted again as Remy froze in panic. A hard punch to the face cut off Hale’s voice.

Remy threw out her magic on instinct, and the two soldiers holding Hale went flying. She swept out an arc of red magic and flattened the entire field of soldiers before her. Hale was already running toward her. They could run through the temple, out the other side, and into the forest, losing the Northern soldiers before they woke up.

Hale stumbled as he ran but kept himself upright. It wasn’t until he was at the base of the steps that his determined stare changed to one of horror. Remy didn’t have time to turn as a large arm grabbed her around the middle, hauling her into the darkness of the temple. She scrambled to break free, throwing out her magic in her panic, but it did not land a blow.

An acidic cloth clamped over her nose and mouth. The powerful stench burned her throat. Her limbs felt tingly, her vision spotted with black, as Hale’s bellows circled her.

Remy threw out her leg, connecting with the guard’s knee, before the dizzying darkness could claim her. He dropped Remy enough so she could grab her dagger on her hip. She didn’t stop to think. There was no pausing anymore. As Bri had promised, her instincts took over and in one smooth motion she spun, stabbing directly into the soldier’s neck. She didn’t wait to see him fall. She yanked back her blade, his blood spraying into the air as she ran.

Her feet remembered the layout of the temple as she instinctively raced up the winding stone steps to her left, taking them two at a time. Her muscles reminding her she was fae, she pushed her legs harder. Remy heard the heartbeat of the soldier up ahead, waiting to strike. Without revealing herself, she stabbed his foot with her dagger. He screamed as Remy ran up the steps, kicking him down into the oncoming soldiers behind her. The falling soldier was not as much of an obstacle for the rest as she had hoped. She ran up the steps faster, but the Northern soldiers were catching up too fast.

They were fae too . . . but . . . they did not have witch magic.

Remy ducked under a white stone archway, slamming out her red magic, crumbling the archway behind her and blocking the staircase upward. She reached the fourth-floor landing and heaved in a breath.

She looked out the keyhole window and saw Hale. He held a sword in each hand, brutal and focused. Four soldiers were coming at him; another six lay dead all around him. He moved like an avenging god. He pushed some out and pulled others in, pacing their charges, controlling them without them knowing. He cut down every soldier who stepped into reach of his blade instantly. Another dozen soldiers stood in the woods, hesitating to charge.

Gods, how many of them did they bring?

Remy’s eyes caught on the red cloak in the woods. It wasn’t a red witch wearing it at all. Even at this height her fae eyes could see the face of the woman clearly, those glowing blue hands and painted blue lips. They had brought a blue witch with them.

Remy cursed.

The blue witch’s eyes were closed, but her face tilted up to the window where Remy watched. Remy didn’t know how honed the witch’s Sight was, but if she was powerful, she might have Seen the outcomes of this ambush already. Remy would need to change things up to stay ahead of the blue witch. She could not choose whatever decision came first to her mind. She needed to pick the second option, then the first, then alternate. It was a trick that she had learned from Heather to keep ahead of the blue witches’ Sight. But Remy would have to take the blue witch out if they had any hopes of escaping them. Remy could lose the soldiers in the woods, but she wouldn’t be able to outrun the blue witch’s Sight.

A sudden punishing blow landed at the back of Remy’s head as she collided with the stone floor. A guard lifted his sword over her, and she threw out her magic, blasting his weapon out of his hand. Heavy boots shifted behind her. Watching Hale had distracted her. She tried to scramble to her feet, but his heavy boot stomped her down, and she screamed as her arm buckled under the force of the hit. She threw another blast of magic, the pain amplifying her power. The soldier fell backward.

Remy leapt up. Her left arm throbbed with pain. She thanked the Gods it wasn’t broken.

She let it hang limply at her side as she looked behind her. A dozen Northern soldiers stood on the landing opposite her, swords in hand, waiting. The one she had toppled stood and smiled at her, wiping blood from his mouth. They trapped her against the wall. Her first instinct was to run up the stairs to her left. So she didn’t. She flung out her hand and toppled the archway to the back of the waiting soldiers. Three fell under the heavy rocks, but the others turned. Remy feinted toward the stairs upward, and the soldiers moved in the same direction. Instead, Remy spun, running downward. She knew in one more flight the crumpled stairway below would trap her once more. Heavy armor clanked, following her down as she darted to the left.

She sprinted for the open window, holding her breath, not giving herself a chance to think as she willed her legs faster. And then she leapt into nothing but air.

She free fell, the wind whipping her hair. The world slowed as she calculated her trajectory toward the fir tree out the window. She prayed its branches would hold her as she braced for impact. Pine needles assaulted her as she smacked into the tree. Her injured shoulder screamed at her as she tumbled past several more branches. She caught herself with her one good arm.

She darted a look at the window. The Northern soldiers watched her, mouths gaping. They were all weighted down in heavy armor. None would dare to make that jump.

She clambered across the branches to another tree, deeper into the forest. She decided to cross two more before climbing down. Then she remembered the blue witch and changed her mind, climbing across one more branch and making her way to the forest floor.

She needed to get to Hale and her bow and arrow still with the horses. She needed to get to the amulet too. She wished she had heeded Hale and taken it for herself. Her magic was already fatigued, and she had little left in her.

Circling the temple clearing, she took a deep breath and tiptoed through the woods. She listened to the shouts from the top of the temple. The soldiers were shouting to the ones on the ground that they were clearing the stairwell. That it would take time.

She heard everything: their armor clanking, the branches creaking as more soldiers bashed through the woods ahead, leaves rustling under their feet.

Then she heard a shout: “We’ve got the prince.”

Remy’s heart stopped.

Moving on silent feet, she neared the woods behind where they had tied their horses. She ducked behind a spiky shrub and peered above it. Like she was a bloodhound for that ocean scent, she could smell Hale through the forest.

Hale sat bound and gagged against a tree trunk, surrounded by three guards. His head slumped forward, blood trickling down his forehead. Remy zeroed in on the sound of his slow heartbeat and steady breaths. He was unconscious but alive.

Another two Northern fae rummaged through the horses’ saddlebags. Remy’s bow and quiver of arrows remained untouched, tied to her pack. Her fingers itched for it. One soldier pulled up the long chain of the amulet of Aelusien.

Remy clenched her teeth together, watching as the soldier whistled to a male standing in the tall grasses by the temple. His silver hair and flowing cerulean cape told Remy he was the unit commander. The commander nodded to the amulet.

“Good. Keep looking for the ring,” he ordered. Another soldier stepped up to him. “Let’s hear it.”

“Twenty-two injured, eight dead,” the male said. “We’re waiting to hear the final numbers from inside, they’re still digging them out.”

Remy grimaced. She had done that . . . well, some of it. Most of the death count was Hale’s. The enormity of his power confronted Remy once more. He had taken on a complete unit of trained fae soldiers and almost escaped.

“Go get that blue witch. Everything she predicted has been wrong,” the commander snarled. “King Vostemur will be most displeased to hear of her failing.”

That cruel snarl said enough. They would either kill the witch or make her wish they had killed her, through no fault of her Sight but because Remy knew how to outwit it.

“Have you found the red witch yet?” the commander mused, looking up at the open window Remy had jumped out of.

The witch. . . did they still not know it was her? How could that be? She was in a fae form using red witch magic . . . But people only saw what they wanted to see. The High Mountain fae were gone. They believed it was Raffiel, not Remini, who lived. They were hunting her as a red witch, not as a princess.

“She fled through the trees, but we’ll find her, Commander,” the soldier replied.

They would start tracking her scent any minute. The soldiers could scent her from there if they thought to try, but they assumed she was long gone. They did not think a little witch would double back on an entire unit of fae soldiers. She probably should have. Hale would have wanted her to. But she could not leave him behind.

Never.

The battle had thoroughly depleted her magic. She wondered if she could get to the amulet. She reached out with a tiny thread of power and felt for the amulet’s chain in the pocket of the soldier still digging through the saddlebags. Nothing responded. Not a hint or a tug. They had charmed the amulet against such things. It would have been far too easy to reach it if a red witch could have simply floated the necklace across that poison lake and into their possession. Remy chewed on her cheek. What was her plan? Should she try to grab Hale and drag his limp body on top of a horse, all the while fending off a dozen trained soldiers?

It would be easier if he were conscious. No. She needed her bow and arrows. She could pick them off from the safety of the trees, buy them some time until Hale regained consciousness.

She reached out her thread of power again. It took all her focus to loosen the leather cord around her bow without notice. Her magic held it in place like nothing had happened while she untied the quiver. She closed her eyes, holding the sensation of what she was trying to achieve in her mind. Toppling walls and trees seemed impressive, but making small, intricate movements was much more draining. The weapons hung in the air as if the cord still secured them.

Hale’s head moved. He was starting to rouse. Now was the time.

Remy took a deep breath and summoned the last of her magic, making her weapons fly into her hand.

Soldiers shouted, whirling to her as she shouldered her quiver and nocked the first arrow. Her eyes narrowed as she braced her feet and shot straight into a soldier’s eye. More shouting erupted as more soldiers spilled out through the woods. Remy did not stop. She shot three more soldiers in rapid succession.

Hale’s eyes were fluttering open. She needed to buy them more time.

She grabbed another arrow from her quiver. A blinding pain shot through her forearm and she cried out. They had shot an arrow through her arm. The weapon had come from behind her. She whipped her head around just in time to see another arrow flying toward her. She dropped to the ground, avoiding it.

The archer stood several paces back. Beside him was that blue witch whispering to the archer, whispering what Remy was about to do.

Remy crawled through the underbrush. She crouched, ready to run, when another arrow pierced her thigh. She screeched, trying and failing to run, flopping across the ground like a fish out of water.

Move, move, she urged her body as six fae soldiers ran toward her. She heard another arrow whoosh through the air, and she dropped flat to the ground. She looked up just in time to see a fist swooping toward her face.