Page 69 of The Blood Queen

’Course I realize it now. Antlers, male.

Alyth’s still laughing. She reaches for me, and I wrap my hand around hers. She’s freezing. I pull her hand to my chest, try to rub some warmth into it, but she shakes her head, then juts her chin in the direction of the voices.

“We’ll check it out, yeah?” I squeeze her hand, holding her in place. “See what’s what, if it is the High Blade’s camp, and fall back to make a plan.”

She gives me a flat look. “The quicker we do this—”

“We’re not going in half-cocked, Alyth.”

A sigh. It’s a white cloud on the air. “Fine. We’ll come back here and plan.”

I pulse my hand around hers in thanks.

Off she goes, and I slink along behind her. I should take the lead, be some kind of guard for her, but she flares her hands again, and pale-yellow magic glows from her fingers, joining the orange hue still around us. The crunch of our footsteps on the undergrowth was already softened by the orange magic, but the steam of our breaths in the air is wiped away with the yellow.

Best she goes first.

We weave through the sparse trees, wind our way around a short hill—

And the two of us come to a wavering stop.

A village lies just ahead. Not big enough for city walls or a guard of any kind—as if either of those would’ve helped.

The village has been decimated.

A dozen or so buildings lie in smoking ruins, and what structures are still standing send up thin trails of heavy black smoke, smoldering in their own slow demise. Whatever happened here was recent but not so recent as to still be in the throes of it, and aside from the clang of armor and voices from farther ahead, it’s quiet.

No wails of grief. No shouts for help. No moans of pain.

Alyth and I stay frozen in the shelter of the trees for a beat longer, watching the village, the two of us stunned to immobility.

“They could’ve run,” I whisper. “The villagers. They could’ve seen the army coming and fled.”

That’s why it’s so bloody quiet.

That’s gotta be why.

Alyth doesn’t bother to nod. She exhales, a harsh click, and takes a step forward.

Side by side, we walk into the village, both of us braced to duck into an alley or behind a stack of debris if soldiers are still here. But the streets are empty.

Except for the bodies.

People lie all along the roads. Stacked up in doorways. They’re all coated in ash and soot, their mouths open, their bodies looking—looking drained, like something sucked the life straight out of them.

Smears of blood coat some of the walls, handprints and lines drawing out words FEAR THE BLADE

My throat’s fully swollen, each swallow a pained grunt, my eyes burning from the smoke still thick in the air.

I’m gripping Alyth’s hand so hard my fingers ache, and I know I have to be hurting her, but I can’t let up. Can’t let go.

We wind through the village, following the sounds of the army until they come unobstructed, likely one more turn away. It’s a testament to our numbness that we don’t hesitate before peering down one last corner, and the village ends. A wide field spreads out.

And there’s the High Blade’s army.

Same rough gear as last we saw them. Some still have English liveries and flags. They’re all on foot or mounted, ready to move, not making camp. Many of ’em—the Red Caps—are coated in dried blood. The blood of the villagers.

And the army has surrounded some kind of tower? No—a stone. A tall, skinny white stone centered in the field a ways off.