Tears pricked Mina’s eyes, having heard these words from all of them, from the six men lying atop their pyres who would speak no more. She knew the other five men’s names now, wanting to know who had given all they had for the cause, promising to never forget them. The Black Lily had begun as a human cause for equality. Vampires could simply sit back impassively and let Queen Morgrid and King Dominik rule the land if they so chose, especially children of noble birth like these men. But they didn’t. They took up arms in their own way among their brethren. They went into this quest against evil, against the crown, knowing death might be their likely end. And yet, they did it anyway. Bravery took on new meaning as she stared at the still warriors.
Mikhail stepped to the head of the line next to the dead guardsmen Mina recognized as the one who sparred with Yuri on her first day here.
In a clear voice, Mikhail said, “Farewell, Anton.” He lit the pyre at his feet.
The Bloodguard chorused in a low rumble. “Anton.”
Mikhail stepped to the next man, quiet and unassuming, but who tended to the horses in Harrison’s barn.
“Farewell, Ilya.”
The Bloodguard again chorused his name as Mikhail set his pyre aflame. Then the next man, Petyr. Then Stanislav and Sasha.
Finally, Mikhail stood before Aleksei. His grave, sharp-angled countenance softened for the briefest of seconds. No one could sense what Mina could—this proud, unshakeable warrior’s heart breaking in two—and for once in her life, she wished she didn’t have this gift. For to feel the man she loved—yes, loved—falling apart inside, and without the ability to run to him, to take it all away, cut her too deep.
Mikhail raised the torch. “Farewell, Aleksei.”
The final chorus echoed in the crystalline morning air. “Aleksei.”
Mikhail tossed the torch on his pyre, the flames licking up with a sharp crackle, rising into a conflagration, the heat pressing on Mina like the weight of emotion of every person here, pushing on her with need for release.
“Go in peace, brothers.” Mikhail’s deep voice resonated the final parting words of the Bloodguard. “Rest in the stars where you belong. Until we meet again.”
The remaining members of the Bloodguard thumped their fists once against their chests then slowly took their leave, one by one, not unlike they did the night of their pledge to Mina. Helena and Dmitri walked solemnly away with Caden, Emmett, and Jack toward their cottage, until those left were Arabelle, Marius, Sienna, Nikolai, Brenna, Friedrich, Mikhail, Grant, and Mina.
Silence stretched. Nothing but the pop of the dry oak logs burning and the whir of wind dancing through the flames. All of this devastation fell solely upon Queen Morgrid. How many lives had she destroyed in her quest for tyranny? How many more would fall and suffer at her hands?
Her army hadn’t marched into battle against the Black Lily but had crept up behind them by way of Hiddleston, like thieves in the night. No one had heard or sensed them coming. They’d all assumed the queen had used her black magic arts in some way to skirt the sentries without detection. However she’d gotten them through, it had worked. The Black Lily army was devastated, Hiddleston had been razed to the ground, innocent women and children were dead, and Izzy was gone.
The fury that had stirred Mina’s she-beast when she awoke in that tower rose within her once more.
Friedrich’s gaze shifted from the burning guardsmen to Mikhail. “Grant and I are leaving today to find Izzy.”
“I’m not sure if they kept her at the Glass Tower,” added Nikolai. “I went into Sylus covertly to see what one of my sources at the local tavern, the Silver Crown, could tell me. He’s seen movement of many troops, heading north, including the queen’s royal carriage.”
“That’s not surprising,” sighed Friedrich. “Probably bringing her to Izeling Tower.” Brenna made a small, choking sound. Friedrich pulled her close. “He won’t hurt her, kitten. He’ll be using her to bargain something from us.”
“But what?” asked Brenna. “Surrender? They’ve already defeated our army.”
Friedrich’s expression tightened. Brenna was the first to say aloud what no one else could admit.
Arabelle turned her face into Marius’s shoulder. This was her revolution that appeared to die last night with the fallen. Not if Mina could help it.
Marius lifted her into his arms. “I need to get Arabelle to bed. She’s still too weak.” Then he sped away with her in his arms.
Mikhail stepped toward Friedrich, his expression pensive. “I’ll bring Gregoravich. He can detect where they might have taken Izzy if we can find their tracks.”
“No.” All eyes swiveled to Mina. “That’s what they want.”
“Your Highness,” said Mikhail, keeping her at a distance by using her title. “Regardless of—”
“No,” she quipped in a sharp tone. “We won’t do what the queen wants. Or what King Dominik wants.”
“What would you have us do, Your Highness?” asked Friedrich. “Give up? We’ve already lost—”
“Too much.” Her voice broke with fury as she settled on Brenna. “We’ve lost too much. Hiddleston. Half our army. The precious lives of those we loved.” She gestured back to the burning pyre.
No one said a word, the air crackling with Mina’s ire. Mikhail didn’t take his eyes from her.
Her tenor vibrated as she enunciated clearly, “I am the rightful Queen of Arkadia. I am going home to get my army.” She felt his piercing gaze but didn’t look at him. “Then we’ll go to Izeling Tower and take Izzy back. And be rid of the damned queen and her son once and for all.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Grant finally spoke, his jaw tight.
“Aye,” agreed Brenna.
“Indeed,” added Friedrich.
Mina turned to Sienna and Nikolai, who nodded. Sienna smiled like a woman who understood the depth of Mina’s need for justice. Finally, Mina turned her gaze up at Mikhail, who’d inched closer to her side. She raised her brow in question.
His grief-weary expression—deep grooves seemingly fixed in his forehead—transformed to one she hadn’t expected to see. One of hesitant hope. His wide mouth ticked up on one side before his soft rumble reached inside and quickened her pulse.
“Aye.”
Chapter Eighteen
The horses slowed as they evened out onto flatter, smoother roads. They were in the valley, closer to Lord Rathbone’s home in Devonshire. Mina remembered his palatial estate from one visit many years ago with Steward Thorwald. Mikhail led the line of riders off the main road and through the silver-plated gateway and under the name of Rathbone’s home, Sommersby, in perfect script.
Mina rode atop Friedrich’s Arkadian mare, Asphodel, a white beauty, reminding her how many resources her kingdom could offer the Black Lily. Once she’d truly claimed it, that is.
“Don’t tell Brennalyn this,” said Friedrich as he rode beside her on his massive black, “but you look more natural on that horse than anyone who’s ever rode her.”
Mina smiled, leaning forward to brush her neck. “She’s uncommonly beautiful. And has such easy manners.”
“Indeed.”
Yuri’s chatter continued a few paces behind while Gavril remained silent and listening at his side. Gregoravich’s baritone chimed in every now and then, but it was mostly the talkative, easygoing Yuri keeping their conversation lively.