Page 63 of With Wing And Claw

The yelling voices grew louder and louder as she flew over the bone hall at breakneck speed, past the symmetrical towers to its right, past the dining halls and the bathhouses. It seemed the noise was comingfrom the direction of the academy galleries – no, from thearchives– which didn’t make sense. Gadyon was about the last person to cause trouble, and why for the gods’ sakes would anyone feel tempted to attack a hall full of paperwork?

And yet it was before the steel entrance doors that she finally found the source of the uproar.

A crowd of a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty fae had gathered in a corridor far too narrow to hold them, carrying weapons, ropes, torches. Fists were raised. Red flashes burst from the throng. Chanting voices reverberated off the high marble ceiling, rendering the hollered words themselves unintelligible – but more than a few of the assailants had donned the grisly skull masks that were only ever worn at Korok’s festivals, and she didn’t need words to know the meaning of those.

Gods help her.

What had theydone?

Only as she landed in a high, open window did she catch a glimpse of the dead fae near the doors, their blood smeared across the corridor in hundreds of bright red footprints. The first two she could make out seemed to have died from a simple blow of magic to the throat, but the third …

Hands around the knife in her chest. Face contorted in that tell-tale agony of demon magic.

Naxi.

For a single moment, she forgot to be cautious.

‘What in hell is going on here?’ she snapped, and although her voice didn’t rise above the clamour, the first few fae who whisked around to see her alerted their neighbours well enough. Within seconds a sudden silence spread through the corridor. Eyes turned towards her; fists ceased their furious pumping. Just a moment of stalemate, and then—

‘Oh, there you are,’ a familiar voice sneered.

Bereas came elbowing through the mob, his long red hair swept across his brow in a particularly dramatic fashion; a trail of blood, as red as his wings, trickled down his biceps and his sleeveless shirt. He was grinning, though, a wild, violent grin – the look of a tiger finally released from its cage.

Where the hell was Nicanor?

Where was the rest of her army, for that matter?

‘As moving as it is that you missed me,’ she bit out, ‘what is the meaning of this bloody—’

‘When were you going to tell us?’ Bereas interrupted with a broad, theatrical swing of his hand – a gesture that was no doubt intended for his audience rather than her. Cheers went up behind him. ‘While you were kicking us out of our houses, perhaps? Or were you at least planning to give us a warning a few minutes beforehand?’

She blinked at him.

Weakness, to let herself be stunned into silence for the whole world to see – but what in the gods’ names was he talking about? Kicking himout? Why would she kick anyone out of—

‘Thehumans,’ Bereas snarled. ‘Did you really think we wouldn’t find out? Your plans to force us out of our homes to let the fuckingservantslive there instead?’

A chorus of hissed curses and yelled agreements rose from the crowd behind him. Someone flung a blistering ray of red at the archive doors, merely to make a point, it seemed; the steel grew back in place a moment later.

Mages on the other side. Was that where Nicanor had gone?

‘My … my plans?’ She forced her attention back to the broad-chested, beefy-necked male before her, wrestling to stitch the clues together. Was this about the promise she’d made to Inga, decent living quarters for the remaining humans at the court? But she hadsaidin that meeting she wouldn’t be relocating any fae, hadn’t she? ‘There are no plans to—'

He scoffed. ‘Well, then, tell your pet demon to step aside and let us remind the servants of their proper place at the court, becausetheysure as hell seem to think there are.’

Remind them.

Fae encounters.

‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Her voice cracked. Damn it. ‘You’ll get the hell out of hereand—’

Bereas shrugged, turning his back on her without another word and swinging up his butcher’s knife. ‘Let’s get on with it, friends!’

More loud cheering rose as the crowd returned its attention to the archive doors. Torches flickered. Red magic crackled through the air, shooting from a dozen hands at once; the thick steel splintered to nothingness, and she caught a single glimpse of Nicanor’s people behind it before a storm of blue restored the entrance again.

A couple of yards away, a smaller group was starting to break through the walls, where no such defences would be present.

Gods have mercy.