Page 16

Fifteen

Jaromir

T hey rise from the wall like spiritual sentinels, clutching their weapons at attention, somehow solid even though they’re formed of blue mist. Rose’s power animates them, making them glow in the darkness.

Beside me, a warrior wearing armour I don’t even recognise swipes his pike out in a deadly arc, cleaving the Fomorian before us in two.

Blood spurts.

All around me, Fomorians are being butchered by thousands of dead fae from ages past.

Soon, the space around us is clear, and I shift, watching Rose with awe.

My mate’s head is thrown back, her wings fluttering furiously as she channels enough magic to make her glow like a small sun. Her hair swims around her, hands spread as Danu’s power sweeps over Elfhame in a staggering boom. When I look down, blinking away sunspots, I can’t help but gawk at the host of spirits swooping down from the wall in all directions.

They’re silent. Eerily so.

The Fomorians are not.

Their commanders yell frantic orders as dead fae descend on them in an unstoppable, unkillable tide. Their dread is palpable as they realise their weapons can’t even land a hit. As I watch, discipline fails, replaced with panicked calls for a retreat.

They try to flee the city, only to run straight into the fae army attacking them from the other side of the wall. Three minor royals and hundreds of powerful fae soldiers, all rested and ready for battle, motivated by the sight of their Goddess shining like a beacon.

Eventually… the Fomorians give up screaming orders and just scream.

I’ve always thought of myself as having a strong constitution, but the slaughter is turning my stomach.

The cries of dying soldiers are nothing new, but a massacre on this scale is indescribable. Rose may have given an order for those who surrendered to be spared, but I’m not sure the proud blue warriors even understand the concept. The fae fighting under Cressida, Aiyana, and Ashton won’t respect it, even if the ghosts do.

Their hatred leaves little room for mercy, and the Fomorians would never have offered any in their place.

I don’t want to watch anymore, so I turn back to Rose. My chest pangs painfully as I realise when she comes back from this, her soft, mortal heart will crumble. What anyone else would count as a decisive victory, she’ll see for what it truly is: a brutal waste of life.

She’ll hate herself for this.

Suddenly, what seemed like the best plan that would result in the fewest fae casualties is obviously a terrible idea.

I’ve barely arrived at the conclusion when she starts to jerk like she’s being struck by lightning.

“Rhoswyn!” Drystan barks. “Let go. Our armies are through the inner gate.”

Our mate is past the point of hearing. Perhaps she has been this entire time. She’s shaking—no, vibrating—with the power coursing through her, helpless under the weight of it.

Lost.

My wolf howls in my mind as I consider how to get to her—but Lore beats me to it. He blinks, wrapping his legs around her waist as he whispers something in her ear that she doesn’t respond to. His fingers comb through her hair reverently, even though his body is rigid, like he’s come into contact with lightning.

She doesn’t stop, but his weight is too much for her delicate wings. She sags in his hold, descending like a falling star.

My wolf paces agitatedly in my mind, wanting to tear into whatever is hurting her. But we’re powerless to do anything more than catch her before she can touch the iron.

Shit.

A jolt of power arcs from her into me, zapping my spine and snapping my jaw shut before I can adjust.

“Rosie, let it go,” I gasp, clutching her tightly as Lore finds his feet and presses in against her back. “Come on. We’ve won.”

Her heartbeat is racing in her chest, the rhythm uneven and panicked. The violet eyes I love so much are glazed and unseeing. We have to do something, but what?

“Rein it in, little pet,” Lore murmurs, pressing kisses to her flushed cheeks. “You don’t want your blue asshole to drop dead, too, do you?”

Shit. I forgot all about Caed’s curse. My gut turns over as I realise Lore just admitted her dying is a very real possibility.

“Rosie,” I begin, searching her eyes for any sign of my mate while my wolf tears and claws at my insides. “Come on. I’m begging you. Just pull back. Please.”

I shove myself along our bond, trying to get to her, but all that answers is the endless rush of magic from a deity a hundred times more powerful than I can ever be.

My claws erupt, eyesight flashing yellow as my wolf battles to get to his mate. I can’t win. Not when blood starts to weep from the inner corners of her eyes, her nostrils, and finally the corners of her lips. My beast howls as he bursts free of our skin, shoving his face into her abdomen. His tongue bathes her face, tasting her life force mixed with her dust, tears, and pain, but unable to do anything about it.

Please, Danu. I beg the Goddess as Lore takes over the task of holding her up.

Last time this happened, Drystan managed to snap her out of it. “Rhoswyn—” he begins.

Whatever he might’ve said is lost when she convulses.

“The iron.” Lore blinks her away in the next breath.

Too late.

My wolf’s paw burns like it’s been dipped in molten lava, and he whines, lapping frantically at the spot. It’s enough of a distraction that I manage to slip back into control, and I shift back immediately. Drystan and I exchange pained looks as Lore reappears…

Without Rose.

His manic eyes are lit with a murderous sheen as the three of us try to think past the lingering pain in our marks and the deadened branch of our souls where our mating bonds should be.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, voice disturbingly empty as he passes Drystan something. “I haven’t yet gotten my pet a mating gift.”

The dullahan opens his palm, displaying the shimmering, ash-covered snowflake necklace that Lore passed him, then clenches his fist around it again. “Redcap, you need to?—”

Lore’s already gone.

I don’t think I’m imagining it when the screams of the dying below grow louder.

I kick at the powder with my bare foot, my toes itching at the contact. “Lore’s right. It had to be the iron.”

Somehow, the stress of using so much magic while around the metal she’s so sensitive to must have overwhelmed her body. This awful powder gets everywhere. It was on her boots, in her clothes, probably even in her lungs.

Our mate bonds must’ve helped, otherwise she would’ve burnt out far sooner, but in the end, they still weren’t enough.

“Agreed.” Drystan flexes his palm with a furious glare, no doubt trying to dispel the throbbing itch that lingers long after our Nicnevin has returned to Danu. “Praedra has a lot to answer for. Maybe we should force her to invent a way to clean this shit up.”

“You really think she’ll be in a talkative mood? There’s a good chance Caed just got smote by Danu. He did abandon Rose to chase after his father.”

Admittedly, I understand his reasons for doing so. There’s no chance that Drystan will ever trust him while Elatha lives, so Caed’s as good as dead if his father makes it out of this.

“Come on,” I mutter. “We should go after him and Bree. They might need our help.”

If I just stand here doing nothing, I’ll go mad.

The words have barely left my mouth when the púca drops in on massive black feathered wings, looking the worse for wear. There’s no Caed with him, and my posture slumps. Has Danu already killed him?

“Elatha?” Drystan asks.

Bree rolls his shoulders as his wings disappear, sighing. “On a ship, probably sailing back to his mountain.”

“With the Goddess-damned Fomorian, I presume?” The dullahan glowers out over the parapet, lifting his sword and cleaning the blood and dust from it with his sleeve.

Personally, I don’t believe it. Caed worked too hard to earn Rose’s forgiveness. The way he treated her on her mating night was reverential. No male does that, then turns their back on their female.

“No, actually.” Bree takes a spot beside him, voluntarily putting himself within arm’s reach of Drystan.

Only inches separate them, the distance smaller than any the púca has allowed previously.

“What happened?” I ask, kicking more of the black dust over the edge of the walkway in disgust. “He ran?”

“He took a crossbow bolt for me, then disappeared in a burst of flame that provided enough of a distraction for me to escape.” Bree swallows. “Rose’s symbol was branded on the ground.”

Which means Danu took him. “Shit.”

It was one thing for us to forgive him for Rose’s sake, but if the Goddess has had a change of heart, then she’ll be devastated.

Bree’s ears droop. “My sentiments exactly.”

“We won’t know for certain until Rose returns.” I really hope she does, because my chest aches, and my wolf is already giving me a headache.

“They can’t know she died,” Drystan says, breaking my train of thought.

“What?”

“The minor royals. Her iron sensitivity hasn’t come up, but if it does…”

Eero is a very good example of what could happen. There’s never been a Nicnevin with such a glaring weakness before. We all saw how she struggled during the battle, the little moments when her head hung with weakness before she managed to push past it.

“How do you plan to keep it from them?”

“With a distraction.”

Drystan starts to elaborate, but he’s forced to stop, hissing out a breath as our mating bonds sear back into being, echoing with the most harrowing pain I’ve ever experienced.

“Shit!” I curse, doubling over as my wolf goes berserk. “What’s happening to her?”

Bree shrugs, muscles stiff but otherwise coping much better with the agony than Drystan and I can.

Drystan’s eyes widen with a kind of sick realisation. “This is what she goes through whenever she chooses to revive instead of travelling to the Otherworld.”

No.

No way.

I suspected it was exhausting, given how we found her, but she never said it was literal torture… did she?

“Surely the Call—” I cut off, knowing in my gut that he’s right.

“The call was designed to tell us when she’s in danger. It was a surface-level bond compared to what we have now.” I have no idea how Bree looks so put together, but I suspect his facade is very close to crumbling, given how his ears have flattened against his skull.

Every time she chooses us—chooses to return—she faces this? Every time we’ve failed to protect her…

“When she gets back,” Drystan mutters. “We ask her.”

He’s older, which probably explains how he’s able to compartmentalise the pain so well. I’ve had my fair share of injuries in battle and training, but this is insane.

“How long does this go on for?” I’m about to throw up.

He turns on his heel, heading for the palace. “We need to find Kitarni. She must have some potions or tonics or something in that bag of hers that can dull this.”

The promise of any kind of relief has me stumbling after him, guilt chasing me. Rose can withstand this, and has done so multiple times, and yet here I am ready to barter my soul for the promise of any kind of relief.

“Did Kitarni know?” I wonder aloud, then shake my head.

Of course she knew. She’s the High Priestess.