Page 57 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

56

Dayton

M y hands tangle in the fur of Fare’s brown wolf, heart pounding. Rosalina is in danger. Farron is near rabid with terror as we race down the mountainside. He’s following the pull of his mate bond. Even without my own mate bond, my whole body feels sick.

Or maybe that’s from seeing the Prince of Thorns evaporate an entire legion with the flick of his wrist. We’d seen them from the mountain as we rounded a bend. Hundreds of Dreadknights and goblins—one moment they were there, and the next they were gone.

I can’t even question why he’s fighting for us or how Keldarion got here. My mind is still reeling, trying to comprehend that amount of magic. And those green flames … Just like what Quellos harnessed during the battle in Autumn.

The willow tree sways up ahead. “Almost there!” I growl.

Leaping off the wolf, I drop Farron’s pile of clothes and draw my swords. Only one soldier still stands, the woman who tried to stop us from escaping the Below.

The Nightingale.

A crystal is shattered at her feet, and a noxious trail of yellow smoke curls from it. The ground rumbles. I stagger closer, and Rosalina rushes into me as we hold each other steady. Kel and Ez give me a quick nod, tightening in around Rosalina.

But Caspian keeps his gaze fixed on the smashed crystal and growls, “Blades up, boys.”

The yellow smoke expands, getting bigger and bigger, forming a strange shape with long wispy ends. Then it solidifies and falls to the ground in an earth-shattering rumble.

Before us stands a creature that defies the laws of nature. My heart quickens as I observe the amalgamation of a giant rat. Its fur almost entirely covered in rotten plant-life and moss. Thick, spurred vines wrap around its limbs. Sitting on its hind legs, the creature is over ten feet tall. Its tail is long with a pink spiked bulb at the end.

The Nightingale quirks her head, and though I can’t see anything beyond her mask, the glint in her eyes promises a shit-eating grin behind it.

“What sort of cursed union is this?” I ask. “Whatever gets your dick wet, but by the gods.”

“I don’t think that thing was born.” Farron runs up, a fae now haphazardly dressed. “It was crafted.”

Caspian cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “The ice abominations that invaded Autumn were just the start.”

“Perth,” Keldarion growls. “So, he’s in the Below.”

The plant rat takes a step closer to us, a sinister grace to its movements. It opens its mouth, monstrous jaws unfurling thick petals that bare miniature teeth.

“This thing gets worse and worse,” I say, tugging Rosalina tighter to me. Her knuckles are white around a bow of thorns.

The monster twirls, swinging its serrated vine tail toward us. Caspian shoots out his hands and a barrier of briars sprouts up between us and the … the—

“What do you call a half-rodent, half-plant monstrosity?” I ask. “A rat-trap? Planty ratty? A rodent of unusual sprouting?”

Caspian grits his teeth, digging his heels into the ground. “I don’t care what you call it, but I can’t do this all night.”

“It’s just leaves and flesh,” Farron says, his eyes blazing gold. “I’ll take it down.”

Caspian flashes a grin. “By all means, Autumn Prince, be my guest—”

The barrier of brambles shatters, and the serrated tail strikes, slashing across Caspian’s arm.

“Caspian!” Rosalina screams, breaking from my grip and kneeling beside him.

The Prince of Thorns cries out, falling to the ground, clutching his shoulder that sputters blood.

“Look out,” Keldarion growls. He leaps in front of them as the Planty Ratty lunges. He drives his blade—a brilliant, gleaming sword of ice, the godsdamned Sword of the Protector—right into its jowls.

The Planty Ratty hisses, petal mouth shaking in rage.

“Get away from my family!” Farron yells, and a great torrent of fire bursts from his palms. Flames engulf the creature. It thrashes, tail whipping back and forth. The fire consumes the creature in a blaze of brilliance, momentarily transforming the dark glade into brilliant light.

I glance at the Autumn Prince. The control he has now is impeccable. Not a spark flies off to the surrounding trees.

Keldarion backs up, standing directly in front of Rosalina, who bends and binds Caspian’s shoulder with a ripped tatter of her dress. Yeah, let’s make sure the stardamned Prince of Thorns isn’t hurt. Not like he led an attack on the Autumn Realm only weeks ago.

But whatever the Prince of Thorns is doing here, I don’t have the full story. He just saved my girl’s life.

The hisses of the burning rat grow to such an intensity, a small part of me feels pity for it. Figuring the atrocities that have been inflicted on it, death will be the most peaceful escape.

Ezryn bumps my side, and nods past the creature to the Nightingale. Even though I can’t see his face, I can read him as if he spoke the words. Once this thing falls, we’re going after her.

The flames fall away, and charred marks line its body, seared chunks of burnt fur and plants fall to the ground. But the monster still stands. Its body shivers, then explodes, new vines bursting forth from some infernal center, tail splitting into two, mouth expanding with more teeth.

The Nightingale’s laugh carries over the glade. “Even a High Prince’s magic is no match.”

But then Planty Ratty turns its gaze on her. Caspian looks up, strands of dark hair falling across his brow. “Birdy, look out—”

A gurgling sounds from the creature, and then it spews a spray of yellow slime toward her. She dodges, but a few drops land on her thigh. They sizzle and pop, working through the thick metal and down to her flesh.

So, it has no loyalty to any master.

She screeches, grabbing at her leg, then breaking into a run toward the lake. The monster darts after her, but Caspian jumps, spearing a thorn through its flank. I’m not sure who this woman is to him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want her dead.

Though unfortunately, his little rescue attempt has set the creature’s sights on what he had been protecting. Rosalina.

It lunges, petal mouth hissing. Keldarion grabs Rosalina around the waist and Caspian by the shirt and tugs them out of the way. The creature dives into the dirt.

Farron and I rush forward, magic on our fingertips. But Ezryn strikes first, driving his blade deep into the creature’s mouth.

There’s a terrible gushing sound. Ezryn pulls to retrieve his sword, but it doesn’t budge. He cries out, dropping his hand, as Windscythe is eaten away by acid.

“He loves that sword. My father gave it to him,” Farron pants, shooting a fireball.

The creature whips its tail and snares Ezryn around the waist, lifting the Spring Prince with great ease, and dangling him above its waiting acidic maw.

“Ezryn!” I yell.

A shadow swoops in from above, black cloak billowing. A sword smashes down upon the creature’s back. It squeals in pain and drops Ezryn.

Kairyn lands in a crash and holds out his hand to his brother.

The brother whose life he just saved.