Chapter 231 World Threat

Chapter 231 World Threat
"You have the command keep," I told her, my tone completely level. "The lower cellars are secure. The wind cannot reach you there."

The old woman shook her head slowly. The thin, dark veins beneath her pale skin throbbed with the slight movement.

"We did not follow you into the dead lands just to hide in a hole, Siren," the Elder wheezed. She pulled her arms free from the young warriors supporting her. She swayed on her feet, but she refused to fall. "When you claimed our mountain, you told me you would lead the line. You told me you would map the war."

I watched her, my hands resting on the cold stone railing. "I did."

"I am old," the Elder continued, striking her bare heel against the rock. "My bones are hollow. I cannot fight the iron men. But my people... my people saw the gate fall. They saw the earth swallow the Emperor's hounds."

She turned her blind face toward Riven.

The scaled leader stepped forward. He did not look at Klaus. He looked directly at me. He dropped heavily to one knee, the hard scales of his leg scraping loudly against the stone floor of the balcony.

The two young warriors behind him immediately followed, sinking to their knees and bowing their heads.

"We thought you brought a sickness to our camp," Riven stated, his harsh, grating voice echoing clearly over the wind. "We thought you were a curse. But the curse only eats the men who put us in the dark."

Riven raised his head, his single yellow eye burning with a fierce, terrifying loyalty.

"You are the Rot-Bringer," Riven declared, the title heavy and raw in his throat. "You are the queen of the dead earth. We do not hide behind your shield anymore. We march in your shadow."

I stared at the massive monsters kneeling on the cold stone. They were the broken, discarded mistakes of the Empire. They had lived their entire lives fleeing the silver chains and the heavy boots of the guards. Now, they were offering me their blood.

I did not smile. I did not offer them warm, comforting promises. They did not need a savior. They needed a warlord.

I stepped away from Klaus, closing the distance between myself and the kneeling leader. I stopped right in front of Riven. I reached down, placing my bare, calloused hand firmly on his heavy, scaled shoulder.

I did not let the toxic magic leak from my skin. I held the rot back entirely, keeping my touch completely clean.

"Rest your men, Riven," I commanded, my voice ringing with total, unyielding authority. "Sharpen the glass. Scavenge the steel from the courtyard. In three days, we leave this basin. We march south."

Riven bowed his head lower, his scaled chin touching his chest. "Yes, my Queen."

I pulled my hand back. I looked at the blind Elder. She gave a single, slow nod of approval before allowing the warriors to help her back toward the stairs.

I watched them descend into the dark halls of the garrison. The heavy, quiet reality of the moment settled deep into the marrow of my bones.

I had an army. It was not a massive legion of armored men. It was a starving, desperate horde of hybrids armed with broken glass and bone. But they were entirely mine.

Klaus walked up beside me. He rested his heavy forearms on the stone railing, looking out over the endless, yellow expanse of the dead basin.

"Three days," Klaus murmured, his tone calculated and sharp. "The Outcasts need the rest, but three days is not enough time to forge real weapons."

"We do not need real weapons," I told him, turning to lean my hip against the stone. I looked at the stark, brutal lines of his face. "Draven’s armor did not save him. The Emperor’s high walls will not save him either."

I raised my left hand. I focused on a small, loose chunk of broken grey masonry resting on the edge of the balcony.

I pushed the cold fire down my arm.

I didn't touch the rock. I simply aimed the intent.

A thick, black drop of oily sludge formed on the very tip of my index finger. It hung there for a fraction of a second before dropping onto the piece of masonry.

The stone hissed violently. It melted into a small, bubbling puddle of black decay in the blink of an eye. The foul stench of rot drifted into the wind.

I curled my fingers into a tight fist, cutting the magic off instantly. The hissing stopped.

"I control it now," I said softly, looking up at Klaus. "It does not own me. I own it."

Klaus stared at the melted rock, then back at my face. The deep, consuming pride in his chest was a tangible force, radiating from his hot skin to mine. He reached out, his thick fingers wrapping securely over my closed fist.

"The Emperor built a machine to drain the magic from the earth," Klaus stated, his voice dropping into a dark, rough growl. "He thought he could use you to filter the power. He never considered what would happen if the filter decided to push the poison back."

"He will consider it when his throne room turns to ash," I promised.

Klaus let go of my hand and wrapped his arms around my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the wide stone railing. He stepped between my knees, caging me entirely against the edge of the balcony. The drop behind me was sheer and deadly, but I did not feel a single ounce of fear. His grip was the strongest anchor in the world.

He rested his hands on my thighs, his thumbs pressing into the heavy leather of my trousers.

"You broke me out of the deep dark," Klaus whispered, his face inches from mine. "You bled for me. You fought an army for me. I am entirely yours, Nerissa. Point me at the Spire, and I will tear the gates off their hinges."

"I know," I breathed, sliding my hands up his chest to rest over his steadily beating heart.