Page 86 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Her blood ran cold. She knew that sound.

She had dreamed of the beasts that made it since her sister’s death.

Arenna glanced upward and saw a snarling mouth made of gray flesh and eyeless sockets inches from her.

The druque roared, saliva spraying from its fangs as its mouth stretched from ear to ear, vicious and snapping.

It took every effort not to clamp her hands over her ears. On that day in the colosseum, she had been too shocked to really hear the volume of these beasts. But as the creature roared again, she winced against the rattling in her skull.

Stumbling backward, she reached for the handle of her sword, which had been knocked free of its sheath during her fall. The druque snapped its long arm in her direction, the tips of its talons grazing her knee.

Arenna screamed as the claws tore through flesh, warm blood spilling down her leg. The pain was unbearable, burning through her body and causing her fire to retreat. She glanced at the three slashes across her knee, noting the red smoke seeping from the wound. Poison?

Heart pounding, she dove over a short stone wall as the druque lunged. The clicking of twisted, unnatural bones rattled above her as it soared overhead, hissing and snarling in frustration. It hated that she was escaping—beating it by sheer luck—and it only made the creature hungrier for her blood.

When the druque skittered toward her again, Arenna repeated the maneuver and flung herself back over the wall. She pulled her blade from its sheath in record time as the beast broke through, shattered stone raining down upon her like a storm.

Arenna threw her arms over her head, protecting herself as stone slammed against her forearms. The druque spun in the wet dirt and slick, ashen grass, slipping as it turned to find her. She used its stumble to her advantage, throwing herself at the beast and thrusting her sword into its gut.

It cried out, roaring to the Realms. It slashed and clawed at the blade in its belly until Arenna pulled it free, black blood spraying. But its unnatural limbs were too quick for her.

Using its bony fingers, it pinned her to the earth, and fear flooded every one of her senses. She groaned on impact, her lungs aching from the constant cease of breath. Talons curled around her shoulders horrifyingly slow, the tips of the sharpened claws easing into her skin.

Arenna screamed again, unable to free herself from the blinding pain of whatever coated the tips of its fingers. The druque hissed, its severed tongue slipping from its mouth. She felt the beast thoroughly drinking her in despite its eyeless pits.

Pulling a knife from her belt, Arenna roared again through the pain and drove it home through the jaw of the creature. Blood spilled from the wound, coating her in sticky black, spilling into her open mouth.

As the druque crumbled atop her, Arenna choked on its rotten blood, using all her might to push its flailing body off her. She scrambled from her back to her knees, heaving and vomiting the rotten blood that had found her mouth.

A touch warmed her back. She spun, grabbing another knife from her belt and pointing it at the figure behind her. Bramnen stood wide-eyed, holding his hands up in submission.

Arenna let out a choked sigh of relief, letting her knife fall to the ground as she flung her arms around his neck. “I thought you would be at the front.”

“Got held up in the bunkers. Are you okay?” His eyes fell to the dead druque, then to the gash on her knee and the punctures on her shoulders. “Your wounds—they’re smoking?”

“Their nails were coated in something,” Arenna wheezed, bringing a hand to one of her shoulder wounds. She inspected the area with her fingers, trying to gauge how deep the punctures were. “Maybe poison?”

Bramnen’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Poison,” he said, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “What do you feel?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “Other than general pain, I feel nothing.”

“No burning?”

Arenna sheathed her sword. “Not anymore.”

“Dizziness? Nausea? Headache?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured, shaking her head.

“Doesn’t sound like poison, then,” Bramnen said, moving toward the creature on the ground. Hesitantly, he picked up the druque’s limp, thin arm and inspected the talons. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” He wiped a talon with a cloth from his pocket.

The substance on the cloth smoked faintly, like an extinguished fire pit. Arenna’s stomach plummeted. “Jasken’s powers—the Blood Magic—it looked similar on his body when he summoned it.” She stepped closer to the cloth, leaning in to watch red tendrils drift upward before vanishing.

“What are you thinking?” Bramnen asked.

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “We need to get it to Itta . . .” Her words faltered, her heart shattering at the memory of her friend’s fate. Dread filled her chest and only deepened when she looked up at Bramnen.

His dark brown eyes searched hers for answers. It didn’t take long for realization to set in, and his gaze turned hollow. “How?” he whispered.

Arenna’s lower lip trembled. “Stabbed.”

Anger—a look Arenna had never seen before etched on his russet skin—swept across Bramnen’s features. He was always kind, gentle, and caring, but this rage, the darkness creeping over him, was something entirely new.

“Brookworth isn’t stopping.” Arenna placed a hand on his arm. “We need to get down and help.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. Grabbing his dropped weapons, he reattached them to various parts of his body. “Okay,” he said, voice low.

She scanned the hills on the horizon, now covered with soldiers from both sides. “Where is Kayson?”

The Hand’s eyes were rimmed with fear. “I don’t know.” Bramnen brought a hand to his chest. “But he lives; I can feel it.” Arenna nodded. The smell of thick blood began to waft. “That’s what Jaksen turned our brothers and sisters into?”

Her heart dipped at his words.

Our . Not his, not theirs, but ours.

Had they not been in the middle of battle, she might have teared up at such a gesture. Every ounce of that subtle joy dissipated as the druque’s fingers twitched, its head clicking back into place.

“It’s not dead?” Bramnen rasped, pointing his mighty sword at the creature while pushing Arenna behind him.

“I swore it was,” Arenna shrieked. She slipped out of his reach and brought her own steel down on its neck in a single movement. Thanks to the blacksmiths in Worden, her sword cut clean through its flesh and already deteriorated bones.

Its rotten blood made Arenna’s stomach curdle, and she brought an arm to her nose to block out the stench. They stood in silence, watching for any movement while black sprayed and leaked.

Rushing sounds of claws against stone and glass shattering echoed. Arenna looked back toward the road leading to the front, where at least fifty foul creatures clattered through the streets of Emerlon, ripping and tearing through stranded Fae who hadn’t yet made it to safety.

Bones crunched, blood sprayed, and screams of agony filled the air. Bramnen screamed as he ripped his sword from his belt, tearing through a druque feasting on a young male. He drove the blade through the top of its skull, splitting it in two.

Two druque charged for Arenna. She did not reach for the sword on her back or the knives on her waist. Instead, she planted her feet in the soft dirt, snapped her hands open, and willed fire to her skin.

Flame erupted from her hands, searing through the air toward the charging beasts. Fire engulfed them, reducing flesh to bone as they hissed and thrashed. But Arenna did not yield, her hands trembling as she fought to maintain control.

She burned and burned until all that remained were piles of ash.

When the two druque had finally perished and Bramnen had dispatched another, Arenna collapsed to her knees, exhaustion overwhelming her. Why was she so weak? All this training, all this preparation, and she could barely keep up.

Bramnen was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside her.

“What happened?” His eyes widened as she lifted her hands, revealing the black that now crept up to her middle knuckles.

He cursed under his breath. “You need to replenish.” He pulled a small pouch from his pack and handed her a red capsule.

“What is it?” she asked, her breath ragged.

“A burst of energy. It’ll refuel you just enough to keep going.” Bramnen placed the capsule in her trembling hand.

Arenna slipped it under her tongue.

Almost immediately, her breathing steadied, her heart rate slowed, and her chest felt lighter. Her mind cleared. “Let’s finish this.”

He clapped a reassuring hand on her back. “Music to my ears.”

Together, they charged toward the next wave of snarling gray druque.