Page 28 of Off with Her Head
The force of it drives us to our knees, both physically in the greenhouse and metaphysically within the magical working. Pain lances through my mind, and for a moment, I fear we've underestimated the corruption's strength.
Then something shifts between us. Our magics respond instinctively, flaring against the attack with unprecedented power. Where the crystal network tries to overwhelm us with quantity, we counter with perfect balance, harmony rather than dominance.
The counterattack races along the crystal connections, our merged magic flowing through the very pathways Mara established to control her forces. Where our power touches the crystals, they change—not shattering as we initially planned, but the sickly light within them shifts, giving way to a deep burgundy glow that contains elements of both heart magic and blood power.
Through our expanded awareness, we feel the soldiers carrying these transformed crystals change as well. The blank emptiness in their expressions falters, consciousness beginning to reassert itself. The unnatural synchronicity of their movements breaks down, each soldier’s individual will returning as Mara's control weakens.
But most significantly, we follow the network back to its origin point—not to Mara herself, she's too well-protected for that—but to a central relay station of sorts. A nexus located somewhere beneath Ironwood, where crystal power is gathered, focused, and redirected to the attacking forces.
We pour our combined magic into the relay. Not to destroy it outright, which might have unpredictable consequences for those connected to it, but to introduce choice where there is compulsion.
The effect ripples outward from the relay, affecting every crystal in the network simultaneously. The attacking force falters, soldiers stopping mid-stride as Mara's control falters. The creatures pause, confusion replacing blind obedience in their twisted features. For a breathless moment, the entire legion seems frozen in uncertainty.
Then chaos erupts—but a different kind of chaos than battle. Some soldiers flee, suddenly aware of what they've been compelled to do. Others fall to their knees, overwhelmed by their returning consciousness. Still others fight among themselves, factions forming as individual wills reassert themselves in different ways.
Through it all, our shadow-warriors move with deadly precision, eliminating those who continue to press the attack, securing those who surrender, containing those who pose continued threat. The battle isn't over, but it’s changed.
Within the greenhouse, Scarlett and I finally break our connection to the Blood Tree, both gasping for air as our consciousness returns fully to our physical forms. The magical exertion has left us drained and trembling on our knees, but victorious. The transformation between us has progressed significantly—I can feel her thoughts at the edge of my awareness.
And based on the way she's looking at me, wide-eyed with wonder and trepidation, she's experiencing something similar.
"That was..." she begins, then stops, unable to find words.
"I know," I agree simply, understanding perfectly what she means.
Commander Lysander enters the greenhouse, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes bright with pride. "My Queens," he says, addressing us both. "The enemy forces are in retreat. Those who could flee have done so. Those who surrendered are being secured."
Relief floods through me. "Casualties?" I ask.
"Minimal on our side," he reports. "The shadow-warriors performed exactly as directed. Once the connection was disrupted, most of Edmund's soldiers stopped fighting entirely."
"And the crystals?" Scarlett asks, her tactical mind focusing on practical concerns.
"Changed, My Queen. Our mages are studying them now." He hesitates, then adds, "The soldiers who surrendered speak of waking from a nightmare. They say they were conscious throughout their actions, but unable to control their own bodies. Like puppets with another pulling their strings."
I groan, frustrated for them. "Mara is beyond saving. Who could do this to their own kingdom? Their own people?"
Lysander looks between us, confusion evident in his expression. He doesn't know about the mirror's vision or the pool. For him, for Darkmore, for all our subjects, this battle represents success—the threat repelled, the castle secured, the enemy retreating.
Only Scarlett and I understand that this was merely the first confrontation in a larger war.
"Rest, Lysander," I tell my commander, seeing the exhaustion beneath his triumphant exterior. "You've served admirably today. Tomorrow we'll discuss our next steps."
He bows and withdraws, leaving Scarlett and me alone with the reality of what we're becoming.
Chapter
Eleven
SCARLETT
In the strategy room, Lysander awaits with four prisoners, now freed from Mara's control but clearly damaged by the experience. They kneel on the stone floor, their expressions haunted, their iron armor removed and replaced with simple cloth tunics.
"Rise," Ravenna commands, her voice gentle despite the formality. "You are not enemies here, but victims."
The soldiers stand with uncertainty, their eyes darting between Ravenna and me with a mixture of awe and fear.
"You know who we are," I say, studying their faces. "What you may not know is that we are allies now,unitedagainst the corruption that enslaved you."
