When they reached the old fort, Valerien was instantly on edge.

He took in the sheer amount of iron around him. A dozen soldiers sat under the trees in the shady courtyard, repairing their iron embossed shields and oiling their blades. Iron chains hung from their belts, and they wore rings made of the cursed metal, too. Some had even plaited them into their hair and beards.

They barely spared the newcomers a glance, too busy with cracking good-natured jokes about the champion’s attempts to court a lady warrior.

Elinor sat on a bench in front of the house, earnestly listening to Owain, who was enthusiastically explaining something to her. They looked completely engrossed in each other.

Kirin nudged him and teased, “What’s wrong? Are you jealous?”

Valerien glanced at him. The little fool wore that sentimental expression again, looking at what he probably thought was a romantic scene.

Whatever was going on here, he had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t that good of an actor.

And neither were those soldiers.

But Owain was. He raised a hand as if in greeting. His smile didn’t even falter when he lowered it abruptly and shouted.

“Now!”

The soldiers rose as one. Two seized Kirin and pulled him out of the way, while another tried to ram the boss of his shield into Valerien’s stomach. The Fae evaded, but another one hit him from behind.

His sight blurred, but he could still see a storm of fury rise from Elinor, hitting Owain’s chest. He had somehow managed to get to her sword, but now let it fall, gasping for air like a drowning man.

Valerien stumbled to his feet, surrounded by a circle of swords and spears.

It was truly becoming a damned habit by now, he thought disgruntledly.

Setting the spear shafts on fire broke the formation enough for him to push through and raise enough earth behind him to make them fall.

Yet as he tried to do the same with the soldiers attacking Elinor, white mist rose across the yard.

The ground rumbled for a moment, then refused to obey him. Forcing himself not to panic, he looked around for the source of the strange magic, yet it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Then he saw a movement from the house. Something long and dark soared into the air, carried by the white mist. Owain fell to his knees and started coughing up water, as the blue threads of Elinor’s magic flickered and disappeared.

Valerien watched in horror as a chain coiled around her, all the way up to her throat. Black smoke rose wherever iron touched naked skin.

Enraged, he shot forward, but someone threw himself in front of him. A heavy weight struck the raised shield in the man’s hand with a deafening clang. The force drove the figure back into Valerien’s chest.

Blond hair brushed his cheek as his arms instinctively closed around the familiar body before they could both fall.

Kirin’s arm was still braced through the shield’s straps, trembling with the recoil of the iron chain that had almost hit Valerien.

The bard lowered the shield and shouted towards the house, “Stop it! You are killing her!”

“Silly boy. A Fae doesn’t die that easily,” a raspy voice answered.

Valerien drew the dagger from Kirin’s belt and pressed it to his jugular.

“But witches do. Let her go,” he said.