The Witch's Cursed Daughter

93. The Princess Enters Stage

Julian, Voster, Duke Fassie, and Duke Darron continued to tend to the sick and set up makeshift shelters from fallen parts of the palace. Voster's Elixir proved its name well-given as he healed bones and sliced limbs without much effort; as Julian watched him, great pride in his Mage soared. As the rain grew heavier, the ground had become a swill-covered mess from which the injured needed to be separated.

As the clouds boomed, a far-off sound similar to a horse's footsteps yet more metallic inched closer. Each clanging note seemed menacing, and the soldiers outside could not help but anxiously watch the palace's dark doorway from where the noise was coming. Julian's eye could not penetrate the blackness, but shortly he did not need to as the source of the racket emerged.

Illea stepped out into the rain, allowing the water to meet her skin and night-like hair; unlike her usual beautiful dresses, she was encased in armour that Julian had never seen before. The brass decorated metal followed the shape of her body, intricate joints allowed her to move freely, and her steps did not resonate, contrasting her entourage.

A stream of marching Imperial Knights flowed from the palace, decked in their thick steel uniforms, complete with swords and spears. Unable to resist against their arrival as almost a quarter of his soldiers remained injured, Julian surveyed the final positions of the knights as they came to a halt. They had formed a perfect circle that surrounded the courtyard, their feet submerged in the filth. The air was filled with the sound of a calming rhythm as it met with both armour and water and the smell of the sense-alerting blood.

In her war shell, the princess called out to Julian, who was waiting for her words, his aura seeping, keenly expecting its next meal, "Will you surrender, dear brother?"

"Will you cease breathing, dear sister?" Julian retorted, a twinge of laughter coating his words.

Illea gently tucked her hair behind her ear, sighing deeply, "That would make father very sad."

"Would it?"

In response, Illea's expression turned cold. Her stunning features turned rigid, conveying her true thoughts. "This is your final chance; hand your head over before I take it," Illea said; the strain in her voice told Julian that she was growing impatient.

"Try as you might, my neck will not be severed, especially not by you," Julian rejected, reaching for his sword.

Seeing this action, Illea smiled sweetly, pleased by his eagerness to fight. "Dear brother, do you know why father has not allowed me to change my ability over the last four years?"

Julian paused. He knew that Illea had not taken the powers of another; he also knew her frustration at her limited actions. Glancing to Voster, Julian could see through his Mage's darting of thoughts trying to predict her next move. Unable to foresee Illea's intention, Julian decided to goad her.

Tipping his head up to catch the raindrops on his tongue, he shouted, "He was growing tired of replacing all the Mage's whose magic extinguished?"

"A valid guess, but you are incorrect," Illea tittered. Moving closer, she elegantly treaded over the uneven ground, past the broken bricks and body parts to arrive at the edge of the ready-made camp. As she gazed over the faces of the miss-matched group, her eyes fell on the Grandmaster who had been healed and was assisting in the care of his men. Illea paused at the sight of him before looking back to Julian, her typical feline-like grin casing her lips, "I had first to present your darling Evianna's body, both wrapped in Soul Vine beneath the bridge and at Silent Hall, and then we had to move her multiple times. Most importantly, I was a crucial part in the new preventive weapon installation, which I designed myself."

"Where is this weapon?" Julian probed as a stir of murmurs rippled through the men behind him.

Pleased, Illea clapped her hands together once, listening to the echo race around the courtyard. As it died away, Illea nudged her head in the direction of Warrick Palace, "Right there."

Julian and the others darted their heads in the direction Illea had signalled just in time to watch the mirage fade away from the tower.

"Wasn't Evianna supposed to be in the tower?" Voster hissed to Julian. Blood transformed into ice as Julian stared at the immense intimidating structure. His eyes fixed to the tower, Julian could see that the outer stonework had become patchy, and the internal system could be seen in places. Giant cogs as if the building were a humungous clock turned haggardly as a glow tricked upwards and converged in specific spots marked by embrasures. Cloaked figures staggered across the visible patches on the tower, the light around their hands fading as they sacrificed their power to the great machine.

Unable to cast his sight away, Julian was grateful for Voster, who jabbed at his ribs the way he used to when they were young. He had been told that Evianna was being kept inside the tower. Where was she if not there? As he fell out of his trance, Julian's mouth tasted of the rancid stench of the battlefield, and a new fury rose within him at the prospect of Wen's betrayal.

Smirking at the expression of Julian's spiralling thoughts, the princess raised her hand, and rain made of light shot from the dotted stone surface of the tower, joining with the water from the sky. The shower of light fell on the trapped soldiers, imperial and rebels alike, killing any it touched by sending pure sunlight into their veins. The Mages of the Order of Anzu and the Imperial Mages formed together to create a shield large enough to protect the endangered soldiers, trying to drag in anyone still left out in the open. A few men perished without a scream as the light seeped in their skin, and they dried as if mummified.