Page 67 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

“NO! No, turn back, we have to go back! Vallek!”

Ravenna threw herself against the carved stempost of the boat, meaning to jump into the churning shallow waters.

A big hand caught the back of her cuirass, pulling her down into the footwell in front of the first oarsman seat.

She landed hard on her backside but was up again in a moment, pulling herself upright by the hull rail.

She would have thrown herself overboard had the hand not pulled her back again.

Asta’s heavy booted foot landed on Ravenna’s chest to keep her there.

“Stay down,” the orcess growled at her. Bloodied and sweaty, her strong arms flexed as she kept time with the other rowers, her face set grimly.

“We have to go back!” Ravenna cried. Wriggling under Asta’s foot, she clawed and fought to get free, desperate to go back. To help him. “We can’t leave him! We can’t—we can’t—can’t—”

She just managed to peek over the hull rail.

Across the narrow mouth of the strait, the sails of Amaranthe’s ships caught the breeze, the fae fleet fleeing quickly northward toward Fallorian.

At least six orcish ships—sleek longships that cut through the water—were in pursuit.

Their ships chased Amaranthe like some pod of marine predators, but that wasn’t enough—Ravenna needed to be with them, to chase the hag down herself.

She had to get her mate, she had to fix this.

“Asta—!”

“No.” The orcess snarled at her, something she’d never done before. Tusks bared in a grimace of pain, she said, “I promised him. Don’t make this any harder.”

She didn’t think it possible, but Ravenna’s heart ached even fiercer at the sight of Asta’s pain.

Tears streamed down Ravenna’s face, although she was too numb and frantic to sob. She refused to stay put, to let herself be carried to safety when her mate was in enemy hands. Because of her.

Searching wildly for any way out, any way to get Asta to turn the boat around, her gaze fell on Leita.

Curled up in the next footwell over, she stared out at Ravenna from the depths of her hood. Those dark eyes, so like Amaranthe’s, gazed upon her with pity.

Ravenna looked away, unable to bear it.

No matter what she did or said, Asta wouldn’t heed it.

Before long, the scrape of the boat running aground on the sandy southern shore of the strait jarred them all.

Asta and the handful of other orcs in their boat jumped off; the others pulled the boat further ashore while Asta grabbed both Ravenna and Leita.

Leita came quietly—Ravenna fought.

“Let me go—Asta—I have to— please —!”

But the orcess was merciless, marching them up the slope to the grassy hills overlooking the water where they’d made their camp the day before.

Upon the rise, Ravenna dug in her heels, desperate to see what was happening.

Others stopped along the rise, too, hands shading brows to watch.

Unhappy murmurs followed as they watched the orcish boats gain on the fae ships.

Suddenly, a great wave caught the orcish vessels, scattering them.

Most slid backwards across the water and were able to hold their balance—but two began to teeter dangerously.

A groan of distress went up from the berserkers as they watched two ships capsize. A handful of warriors rushed back to the ships, meaning to go aid their comrades.

Ravenna tried to go with them but was held back by Asta.

“I have to help him!” she wailed. “It’s my fault, Asta, it’s all my fault!”

She would never, for however long or short she lived, forget the sight of almost a dozen fae warriors piling onto her mate’s back to subdue him. She would never forget the way he looked upon her, slumped in the sand. Defeat had lined his eyes, a grim sort of determination making her blood run cold.

Ravenna hadn’t quite believed what he’d done even as she sailed through the air. Not until she landed hard on someone was reality knocked into her.

He threw her to safety.

He sacrificed himself.

Absolutely not.

This was Ravenna’s fight, Ravenna’s fault. If anyone should be taken or killed, it should be her.

She told Asta as much, trying to make her see, to let her go. “It should be me—let her take me . Not him, not him, not—”

Warily watching the battered, angry warriors around them, Asta pulled Ravenna in close. “Shut up,” she hissed, “and come quickly.”

Ravenna and Leita were more carried than walked the rest of the way up the slope and into camp. Asta was heaving by the time she dragged both of them into the king’s tent, out of sight.

Setting herself up at the entrance, Asta peered outside, a worried frown now adorning her brow.

Ravenna tried darting past her, but this time was stopped by Leita.

The fae woman threw her manacled arms around her, keeping her within their circle.

“Don’t,” whispered Leita. “Can’t you hear them?”

“Hear what?” She couldn’t hear anything past her own racing heart and how it was breaking down the center.

“The warriors. They’re angry with you.” Leita looked upon her seriously. “They blame you.”

Ravenna groaned. “It’s my fault,” she insisted. “This was my plan, my revenge—it should have been me!”

Her words were drowned out by the commotion outside the tent.

“Let us have her, Asta,” said a deep, threatening voice just outside.

“She’ll come out and speak with you in a moment. Let her regain her composure.”

“Damn what she has to say. This was her bloody doing—give her over.”

“My brother knew what he was doing,” said Asta. “Hope isn’t lost. She’ll no doubt send terms soon.”

“We shouldn’t wait. Let’s hand her over. We must free the king.”

“My brother wouldn’t want—”

“Damn what he wants!” shouted another voice.

“He’s our king. We can’t allow him to be held captive,” said another.

Ravenna could feel Leita’s shaking breath on her clammy cheek, and the fae woman drew her further into the shadow of the tent. The anger outside swelled, more and more green bodies looming at the entrance.

Asta stood firm, blocking their way. “We’ll think of something. Regroup and see to the injured.”

“We already know what to do. Hand over the halfling and—”

“That halfling is your queen.” Mattias shoved through the crowd to come and stand alongside Asta. “She is your king’s mate. You will respect that.”

More grunts and arguing, but, eventually, the crowd outside dispersed. Asta and Mattias remained at the entrance, though, wary to let down their guard.

Dragging Leita along with her, Ravenna approached the wall they made.

“Let them have me,” she said, “trade me for him.”

“We have to wait for terms,” Asta said unhappily.

“Fuck that! Give me a boat and let me—”

“STOP IT!” Rounding on her, Asta loomed above Ravenna—and the unfortunate Leita—her tusks bared in anger. “Just stop it! The plan went to shit. Everything went to shit.”

“I know!” Ravenna yelled back. “It was all shit and it’s my fault! Let me fix this!”

“I don’t exactly trust your plans or your judgement. Not right now.” Asta may as well have said she didn’t trust Ravenna, for that was how her words felt. A slap to her face.

One Ravenna deserved.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m so, so sorry, Asta.”

The orcess huffed, nostrils flaring, and turned away. “I promised Vallek I’d keep you safe. He valued your life over his own, as any mate would.” When Asta looked at her again, it was with a forbidding frown. “ We will think of something to get him back.”

Ravenna didn’t know if she was included in that we .

She didn’t deserve to be. Not after this.

Asta retook her place at the front of the tent, and Leita withdrew her arms.

The fae offered another piteous look. “Amaranthe destroys everything. She’s like a plague, heartless and inevitable.” With those rousing words, Leita silently slipped to the corner of the tent she’d claimed as her own over the past few days.

Left alone in the center of the tent, Ravenna’s legs shook until she finally went down. Her energy crashed along with her, all her confidence and determination left to pool on the packed earth floor.

Fates, what have I done?

Her horror was a shard of ice in her heart. How could she have believed she would best a Fae Queen? Armed with a dagger and a set of manacles—how could she have been so arrogant?

Because she had visions? Because her mate had decided she was a queen herself?

She was nothing. None of that. A scared little halfling girl, alone in the world.

She should have stayed in her bower. Not a bother or burden to anyone anymore. All she did was cause misfortune and harm to others.

She should have been brave enough to stop her parents, to stop Vallek. I’m not worth it. They didn’t need to protect her, to sacrifice for her. She was nothing.

For the first time since her death, Ravenna ached for her mother.

She hadn’t let herself miss Aine too much, focusing instead on her revenge, but now, with the wreckage of that vengeance surrounding her, Ravenna wept.

Drawing her arms around herself, sobs wracking her, she longed for her mother’s soft voice, her gentle comfort.

Aine’s touch wouldn’t solve anything, but in her darkest hour, Ravenna wished for nothing more, nothing less.

But Aine was gone. Just like Vallek.

Tears burned her cheeks, but Ravenna didn’t wipe them away. She couldn’t move from her place on the floor, hunched over on herself. Limbs heavy, rubbery, she didn’t want to move, either. Down here was where she belonged. In the dirt. Amongst the worms.

Her breathing grew reedy as failure pressed upon her shoulders. The bond inside her, that precious thing she’d denied for years but foolishly let grow, strained under the distance. He was alive, for now, she could feel that at least. But he was gone. Not here. When he should have been.

He should be here.

Vallek was the one worthwhile. He was the one meant to lead and remake the world. The gods, fates, destiny, whatever it was, had marked him for greatness.