Page 141 of Fate's Wicked Oath

The Lord’s young wife covered her mouth with a shaking hand, muffling her sob.

“Your side of the family always took their experiments too far—but that ends today.” Heris lifted an ear to the ceiling, as if he were listening to something with his magic. “You might have monsters,” Heris went on, “butIhave an army.”

A commotion sounded from outside the double doors. Snarling and shouting, a clash of metal and flesh.

This time, it was Heris’s turn to laugh. “There they are.Mycreatures.”

The doors burst open. Knights—human, but black-veined, with antlers and claws—rushed in with weapons held high. They were on the Lord’s Morta in a moment, hacking at the abominations. Black blood sprayed the surrounding tables, sizzling as it met fabric and skin.

The room devolved into chaos, with nobles screaming in pain and fleeing in panic.

Faren was already moving, weaving through the tables to guide his family to safety. Up ahead, Rown was urging his parents out of the fray. Shae arrived at the table at same time Faren did, and she gripped Kate and Beatrice’s arms, shoving them toward a servant’s door at the opposite end of the room.

“Faren?” Eva squeaked, clutching at the sash over his breastplate. “I’m scared.”

He took her thin shoulders in his hands. “You’re brave,” he told her, turning her toward his friend. “Follow Shae.”

Persephone looped her arm through Eva’s. “Come on.”

Then they were ducking and dodging through the frantic crowd, away from him.

“Faren, what’s going on?” Warner asked, appearing out of the throng. “The fuck are those?”

“Morta,” Faren stated.

Lee arrived on Warner’s heels, his expression grave. “The Lord, he—” He broke off, restarted. “Did he truly create—” Battling his Oath, Lee pointed helplessly.

Faren’s silence seemed to be enough for his friends. Their faces slackened, but Faren couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for them in this moment. Though he understood the betrayal and shock they felt, it was a relief for them to know.

“Fates,” Warner swore.

“Finally,” Faren breathed. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t warn—”

“You tried,” Warner said, watching the mayhem unfolding. “It’s obvious now.”

Lee’s expression hardened. “What now, then, Faren?Captain? What do we do?”

The new title was foreign to his ears, and though he didn’t feel entirely worthy of the authority, Faren surveyed the room, considering. A mass of antler-crowned men was hacking at the two Morta, while knights with black breastplates rushed in after them, weapons drawn. Heris was dragged up by one of his men and guided out of sight, the gap quickly filling. None of them looked familiar, but Faren couldn’t help but search their faces, desperate for a glimpse of tawny skin and wavy black hair.

“Who are you looking for?” Lee asked.

“Mariana,” Warner realized. “Iknewit.”

“Not the time for gloating,” Faren replied.

He tore his attention from the melee, trying to focus. Oderin was with the innocents, shouting orders and trying to rally to the surrounding knights as he pointed a blonde, slender woman—his sister, Phina—toward the exits. To Faren’s surprise, Archer Loth had not fled—he was standing among his Mighty Knights with a borrowed sword in hand, looking like he was about to do something stupid.

The last thing the realm needed weretwoterritories on the brink. If Archer died here, on Fenriran soil, Lothgaim wouldretaliate, and the two territories would devolve into conflict. Marona would have no choice but to step in with its considerable might, and with the alchemy of the Morta out in the open, there would be no telling how far the damage would spread.

“We need to get Archer out of here,” Faren decided.

Lee swung his superior vision toward the double doors. “That won’t be easy.”

Four more of Lord Haron’s massive Morta had just rampaged into the Great Hall, all swiping limbs and snarling black maws. Blue fire whooshed as weapons were swung, lighting up the grim faces of their wielders. One of the Morta let out an ear-splitting screech; it thrashed and flailed as it was overtaken, its antlers tangling with a chandelier. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, followed by the chandelier itself, which crashed into the marble tiles with a spray of hot wax and rubies. Tablecloths caught fire, the flames spreading rapidly along pools of spilled alcohol. Then the Morta was toppling, too. It collapsed with a wet crunch of bone and flesh, crushing a table with such violent force that the wood cracked and splintered, glassware shattering and showering everywhere.

Valiant knights clambered over the felled beast, using its body as a plateau as they waged their attack against the five remaining abominations and the Mighty and Lawful Knights stepping in to defend them. Warner swore again, echoed by Lee, their voices mostly breath. Faren swallowed thickly, horror clogging his throat. What a mess. What a fucking mess.

At the opposite end of the hall, standing atop his feast table, Lord Haron—flanked by a litany of loyal guards—shouted incomprehensible orders at the room. Oderin was now shoving his way toward the fight, too, bellowing for his regiment to attack, but the Fenriran knights who weren’t helping with the crowd or already defending the Lord’s Morta were hesitating, clearly conflicted.