Page 47 of Atop the Faerie Throne (The Fifth Nicnevin #5)

Forty-Six

Rhoswyn

J aro’s shield bubble bounces and spins as it smashes against rock, tossing us all together without mercy as we tumble into darkness. An elbow catches my side, a foot slams into my skull, and at one point I’m sure my face ends up in someone’s crotch.

A wolf’s whine cuts off as my stomach lurches, and finally, blessedly, we thud to a stop. It’s a bone-jarring impact, made worse for the fact that I’ve definitely landed on someone else’s knee.

My headache is worse—so much worse—and deep in my gut, something rebels.

Iron. Lots of it.

And the portal, the tear in the fabric of Faerie, is so much closer now. It fills my dizzy brain with the urge to run as far and fast as I can.

Someone gently lifts me away from whoever I’ve squashed in the tumble, and I want to apologise, but it’s hard because every cell in my body is begging me to get up and move in the opposite direction of the portal.

I start to warn the others, but a hand clamps over my mouth before I can get a word out.

Jaro’s shield dissipates, along with Drystan’s fire, leaving us in darkness and surrounded by stone. The only illumination is a thin beam of blue light emanating from a fissure on my left. A harsh sentence in Fomorian fills my ears, and I stiffen.

Another Fomorian answers, her voice lighter, like she’s making a joke.

There’s at least two of them.

Something slithers past my leg, and I relax as I realise it’s Bree’s nathair.

“Two, guarding some huge doors,” my púca whispers a second later. “I think we’re outside some kind of great hall. Those mushrooms are everywhere.”

“The portal is close,” I tell them, trusting him to hide the sound. “Is everyone okay?”

A wolfish lick to my face is all the answer I’ll get from Jaro, and Drystan is as predictably silent as ever. Bree mumbles something that sounds affirmative, but I get the sense that he’s focused more on what’s happening outside, and Caed…

“Caed?” I ask, softly, feeling past the pounding in my skull for his bond at the same time.

Frustration and pain greet me.

“What’s wrong with the Fomorian?” Bree asks, as I start to dig through the pile of fur, limbs, and scales in search of him.

When my hand finds clammy blue skin, I grimace. “Paralysed,” I murmur, digging for the tiny vials in my pouch.

I draw my hand back on a gasp of pain as I find sharp shards of glass in their place.

Broken? No. It can’t be.

My pouch must’ve been crushed in the fall.

“Does anyone have any more of the antidote?” My voice is thin with anxiety.

Drystan must notice my panic, because he summons the tiniest flame of light for me to see by. The others move away, giving me some space as I search my Fomorian’s motionless body for the wound.

There, just above his boot, is a puncture wound as large as my fist. The wyrm’s bite must’ve passed straight through the muscle of his calf.

Shit. It must’ve happened while he was running for us before the collapse.

Grasping my pouch, I check again for any surviving vials, only to grimace when my searching confirms my fears. The fabric is sodden, and nothing survived. Okay. That’s fine. I can still fix this.

The potions were supposed to save my energy, but now that we’re no longer in a battle, and Titania is free to help me, that’s not such an issue…

A voice, speaking Fomorian, breaks my concentration. It’s far closer than it was before. Are they going to discover us?

I dive for the flame in Drystan’s palm, covering it with my own without thought.

My palm sizzles. Curiously, the pain only really starts to register once he’s extinguished it in a rush. His anger lights up the bond between us as my eyes water, and I bite down so hard on the inside of my cheek that I taste blood.

Oh, even with no head, I know I’m getting spanked for that later. It was a dumb move, but in my defence, I can barely think right now.

The Fomorian voice sounds again, even closer . I don’t dare breathe.

“Titania,” I mouth, relieved when she appears beside me. Her soft glow will be invisible to anyone else, and I hastily grab her hand, feeling for Caed’s wounded leg with my other.

The sticky wetness of his blood coats my palm once more. The muscle spasms beneath my touch.

But instead of making contact with my grandmother, my other palm lands on cold rock.

Rock that burns my skin.

No. Not now.

My headache screams at me as I reach for Danu with all my might. Something in my ear gives way, and another tremor starts, sending tiny stones pitter-pattering over my scalp, but I ignore them.

I have to heal him.

Hands grip my upper arms, wrenching me away from Caed. What? No! Stupid, over-protective—argh!

I flail, uncomprehending, but Drystan doesn’t stop pulling me through the tiny gap and into an ancient antechamber that’s overgrown with tumbling piles of bitterblues. Bree is crouched on top of one Fomorian on our right, while the other lies dead in the jaws of his cat-sìth.

It’s not until we’re out of the hollow, Jaro’s wolf dragging Caed through the opening after us, that the gravity of the situation becomes apparent.

The cave where we were hiding is collapsing, the rocks cracking and smashing as they tumble further into the room. I rush forward, intent on helping Jaro, but the wolf gives a warning growl and a giant heave.

My Fomorian skids over the stones, letting out a reed-thin groan at the rough treatment, but it was necessary. A huge rock crashes to rest where they both were a moment before, and I let out a whoosh of relieved air as I bend over him, Titania reappearing over my shoulder.

“A little more,” I murmur to myself. “Come on.”

The bright rust-coloured bands in the square pillars surrounding us taunt me, and no matter how hard I fight, I can’t reach my grandmother.

“Rose, stop.” A hand grabs my shoulder, wrenching me away. “You’re bleeding.”

Jaro tilts my head to one side, thumb stroking the spot beneath my nose and coming away red. I open my mouth to tell my very naked shifter exactly how little I care when the huge doors we’ve been deliberately ignoring groan.

A wall of male flesh is between me and the entrance in a flash. I grip Caed to me, smashing desperately at the block between me and my magic.

Titania’s fingers are chilly, a perfect contrast to the scalding pain in my burned palm. Holding back a sob of pained relief, I slam my other hand onto the green foaming wound in Caed’s leg, just in time for the shouts of alarm to reach us.

Heal, heal, heal, I urge frantically. But the iron is slowing the process. My head has passed painful and turned light and floaty, forcing me to ease off after only a few seconds.

I’m no use to anyone dead.

Caed’s leg is still bleeding… At least, I think it is. My vision is swimming, gut revolting. It’s all worth it when he rolls off my lap and staggers back towards the fight in the next instant.

Every breath is a battle as I kneel on the stone and hang my head in my hands. A golden bubble surrounds me, and I slump to one side in relief.

I did it. I healed him. I just need one minute to catch my breath. I can do this.

My eyes slide closed, only to fly open again as another rumble rattles the antechamber.

Unlike the others, this one is accompanied by a pulse from the portal in the room beyond. Tendrils of black smoke whisper across the floor in front of me, reaching for my feet with icy caresses.

I stagger upright, using the wall as a support when my legs won’t cooperate. My wings flutter on my back, the golden shield floating along with me as I shuffle towards the doors and the cavernous hall beyond. I pause, resting against the frame as I watch the battle unfold.

My Guard is magnificent, taking out the Fomorians that are packed into the space without hesitation. There’s no ring of metal on metal, no curses, or yells, and I know that’s because Bree has stolen all sound, protecting Caed from his father’s edicts.

They don’t even seem to need it to communicate. Bree’s inky daggers take out one Fomorian as Drystan’s whip catches another about to club his skull from behind. They might not have my magic, thanks to the sheer amount of iron that’s in everything from the stone, to the braziers, and the Fomorians’ weapons, but they don’t need it to be deadly.

We all accepted this was a possibility. Planned for it. All I have to do is remain here, allow them to clear the room, then take care of the portal once it’s safe.

The thought prompts me to search out the imposing stone arch.

It stands on a raised dais at the end of the hall, behind the crumbled remains of a dark throne. The tear in the fabric of the realm pulses with coal-black smoke that writhes in place like it’s trying to break free of some invisible net. The tendrils covering the floor seep from around the edges, and at the very top, a medallion the size of my hand glows and sparks like it’s fresh from the forge.

We’re not too late, but it’s a close thing.

Somehow, despite everything that went wrong with the tunnel wyrms, we have a chance.

Swallowing, I lean back against the wall, head falling back on a groan of relief. I need to use this moment to recover my wits, so I’m ready when it’s time to play my part. Closing the portal will take a lot of magic, and I’d rather not die from doing it if I can avoid it.

The fiery prick of iron at my throat stops me.

My eyes dart to one side.

Elatha.

His hands—still missing one finger—clutch a long iron halberd. It’s a huge weapon, the metal haft long enough to pass through my protective golden bubble, which is useless against the iron. The sharp edge is pressed so tightly against my neck that my gasp brings a burst of pain. His mouth quirks as I take in my situation, and my stomach clenches with fear.

Can he take my head before Jaro realises and expands my shield?

If I die now, no one else can close the portal.

Danu. Goddess. No. I can’t fail.

My brain fights against the iron-induced fog, struggling to think my way out of this.

The weapon lifts, his swing lined up and ready to take my head. I send a frantic pulse of fear to my mates, praying that one of them can fix this.

The answer doesn’t come from where I expect.

The whole room explodes from below, the floor churning with the force of the impact.

My redcap bursts out of the floor with two daggers sunk into a beaten and bloodied tunnel wyrm.

“SORRY I’M LATE!” he crows. “I made a friend !”

All of the magic in the room falters as everyone involved stops fighting and ducks for cover. Boulders shower us, a dreadfully familiar whirring hiss echoing off the walls during Bree’s ensuing lapse of control.

The distraction, and sudden, deafening rush of sound, is enough to make Elatha fumble. I throw myself to one side before he can recover, ignoring everything else as I frantically dive for safety, crawling away on my hands and knees. My vision is full of dead bodies and blue legs as the Fomorians momentarily lose composure.

“Caedmon Fomorii,” Elatha booms, his voice echoing above the carnage. “Use your slave magic to defeat the Guard and bring me the Nicnevin?—”

The sound is sucked away again, but it’s too late. Caed’s anguish hits me as the heavy silence returns full force. Stifling a wince, I launch myself into the air, wings screaming as I struggle to fly above the mute chaos, heading straight for the portal. He can’t catch me up here. I just need to get to that arch and close it. If I do that, I can die. We’ll choose the Otherworld. Faerie will be safe, and my Guard and I… we’ll be together.

Almost there. Almost ?—

“No!” I scream mutely, as a ghost sword slices through my wings.

It’s not a precise cut. It doesn’t have to be. My back spasms, the muscles crying out in agony.

I don’t have time to brace for impact. The Fomorians are too busy trying to deal with the tunnel wyrm to think about catching me, so I slam into?—

Fur?

Jaro. His wolf is splayed beneath me, having barged through a small army to break my fall. I roll off him with a low sob as I watch the purple filaments that once graced the right-hand side of my back flutter down around us like shredded tissue. The remaining three on my left spasm, flicking up, only to seize as the action makes the stubby remnants of their counterparts erupt. The pain is brutal, but my mind is blank with numb shock, my limbs shaking as I crawl backwards.

My wolf rises and snaps at the Fomorians, who’ve finally noticed the prey in their midst.

White noise fills my ears. Blood is pouring from my back, adding to the slippery mess that coats my skin. My armour scrapes, digging into sore muscles as I drag my trembling body up the first step, then the next. All around me, the Fomorians are fighting with renewed resolve, throwing themselves into the chaos.

I can make it. One hand, then the next. Just keep going.

A hand grasps beneath my arm, my mating bond sparking with regret and resolve as Caed drags me to my feet, sword in hand as he… helps me up the steps?

A burst of sound rocks into the two of us, sending me stumbling into him, forcing my heavy head up.

All of my hope dies at once.

No. He’s not helping me to the portal. He’s bringing me to his father, just as he was ordered.

Elatha is right beside the shadowy doorway, foot braced on the crumbled throne.

I cast about frantically for my Guard, but they’re split up and each surrounded by Fomorians and ghostly swords. The tunnel wyrm, which was in poor shape when Lore rode it into the room, is dead. My redcap is being pursued by three of the spectral blades. Every time he tries to blink to me, he’s rebuffed by Caed’s magic.

It doesn’t stop him, and I whimper as he tries again and again, becoming more bloodied and frenzied with each strike. He still blinks forward even when one of the swords takes the hand that reaches for me, blood spurting over us.

He won’t ever stop.

But he’s too late.

My head falls forwards, my knees slamming into the stone with jarring force as I’m finally dropped before Elatha. Spidery fingers claw into my hair, sharp nails scraping my scalp until it bleeds, forcing me to look up through glazed eyes.

At last, I kneel before the Fomorian King, just as he always wanted.

It’s over.

I… failed.