Page 91 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Red smoke couldn’t penetrate the ward Kayson raised just in time to block Faylen’s fury. Her voice was muffled behind the ripping, translucent hues of blue and purple, but her rage was evident even without the accompanying noise. Arenna breathed, her heart pounding in her throat.

Faylen’s body shook, her mouth shouting yet no noise left it, her eyes a vibrant mix of red and black. She turned back toward the Brookworth army, yelling and instructing in a way that made the men raise their fists, pound their shields with their swords, and rile the druque up.

“I can’t hold this up much longer,” Kayson gritted, keeping his hands raised toward Brookworth, thrusting all his power into the ward. His arms shook, sweat rolling off his forehead.

Wylder placed a hand on Kayson’s shoulder. “Let it fall,” he said quietly. “We have defended our home before, and we will do it again.”

His mouth pulled into a tight line, letting out a snarl every few seconds as his reservoir of power strained him. Faylen’s blood magic was a strong force beyond the ward, pushing against it and forcing Kayson to work harder.

Marea and Bramnen walked up to where the remainder of the group stood. “Let it fall,” the commander said, pounding her fist against her chest three times before knocking another arrow.

Kayson’s eyes fell to Arenna’s, a pain so evident there that it tore her already aching heart wide open. She nodded, making the fire in her hands dance brighter. “Let it fall,” she said.

He turned to the ward, to Faylen standing on the other side, palms stretched outward with red power circling from her hands. “Once it comes down, we fight with everything we have.”

Kayson dropped the ward, and Arenna raised another burning wall of flame to prevent Faylen’s power from striking any of them. He forced the land back together, ridding the blackened earth of its gaping hole, and led an attack toward the sea of red.

Faylen smiled as she muttered something under her breath, then whipped her hands toward Arenna. She braced for whatever pain would follow, but it wasn’t the former Serpent Queen who fell to her knees screaming in agony.

“ MAREA! ” Wylder screamed. He fell to her side, his shaking hands hovering over her body.

Marea had curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down her freckled face as she yelled into the earth. Her skin was blistering and bubbling, like she was being boiled from within. “ It burns, ” she cried out, moving her trembling hands over her body. “Make it stop. Make it stop , Wyld.”

Wylder had hardly ever shown even a hint of emotion, his features usually neutral and calm, always assessing, always watching. But the pure, unfaltering fear in his eyes made Arenna’s skin crawl.

She spun to her sister. “What are you doing to her?”

Faylen grinned. “Boiling her blood.” Mouth parted, Arenna turned back toward the Lady Commander.

Her eyes fell to the veins on her neck, still bulging and bubbling beneath her skin.

“I can turn it off, but only if you join me, little sister.” Faylen narrowed her eyes, turning her hands slowly as if she were turning a doorknob.

Marea screamed again, her voice so cracked and broken that it brought tears to Arenna’s eyes. “Let her go,” she snarled, summoning fire to her hands and hurtling it toward Faylen.

To protect herself from the onslaught of flame, Faylen dropped her hold on Marea and covered herself with red smoke.

With a final look toward the commander still on the floor but now raised to all fours, Arenna let her power free. She walked toward Faylen slowly and methodically, calling fire to her hands.

Her once older sister screamed to attack, sending Brookworth’s army toward them.

Ropes finally fell from the snapping jaws of the Fae-turned creatures, and they did not hesitate to skitter across the dark earth, racing straight for the Worden army.

Their twisted limbs clicked and groaned as they pounded into the ground, clawing at the dirt as they pushed themselves harder.

Brookworth soldiers advanced, armored men following the druque.

The world stopped turning.

Through flames in her vision, Arenna could only see the beasts and the wave of red and the hunger for death in their eyes. She slowly glanced at the black that now covered the entirety of her fingers but not yet her hands.

She still had more to give, more to offer the Fae she had chosen to defend. There was only one option, and Arenna did not fear the consequences that would follow when she acted on it. They would find another way.

She was sure of it.

Arenna breathed, slowing her heart rate.

Closing her eyes, Arenna found that reservoir of fire within, saw the molten flame lower than it had ever been.

Sounds filtered through the peaceful quiet of her mind—hooves hitting the ground, swords clanging, arrows flying.

After two more heartbeats, Arenna’s eyes snapped open.

The druque were mere feet away, Brookworth soldiers close behind.

Faylen had stayed atop the hill.

Bloody coward . Just like Jaksen. They were made for each other.

Arenna spun to find Kayson, his eyes scanning hers for answers. “Make everyone ripple away.” She knew each Fae soldier had a pocket in their armor for rippling capsules, only to be used to get out in extreme circumstances.

Kayson slowly shook his head.

“Make them,” she said.

Pain lingered in his features, but he turned and shouted to his army. Soldiers were gone within seconds, retreating to the safety of Emerlon—or what remained of it.

The king did not leave. Marea clutched her stomach but stood proudly beside Bramnen and Wylder. She smiled at them all, at the life she would be offering them.

Kayson’s confusion drained from his face, replaced by such a potent fear that Arenna swore she could smell it. His teeth snapped in her direction as he hissed, “Do not—”

Arenna turned away and sent her fire toward the Brookworth army before he could finish his sentence, before the druque that was inches from ripping her face apart could land its devastating blow.

The creature crumbled to the floor, as did its brothers and sisters around it. Arenna released every ounce of fire she had—screaming as power ripped from her body, her eyes, her mouth.

It streamed from the tips of her fingers, thrashing around her body like a tornado, screeching as it tore from the very depths of her soul. It snaked across the blackened plains, incinerating everything in its path—the expanse of it nearly covering the entire valley.

Brookworth’s army did not stand a chance.

Druque did not stand a chance.

The shops and small cottage homes that spread out across the once-rolling hills of green did not stand a chance.

There would be time to rebuild, to replace what had been lost. But with so many Worden already dead, injured, and bleeding out on the hills of their once-mighty home, Arenna couldn’t let another soul perish.

She damned the consequences and pushed her flames harder.

There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t covered in red, orange, and gold as she sent wave after wave of fire toward their enemies.

Bodies burned, creatures turned to ash. Steel melted; shields perished. She was a plague of her own, ripping through everyone in her path with no guilt at all. She came to conquer, and she would not call back her power until every single soldier was dead or until she burned out.

Whichever came first.