Page 98 of Forged By Malice (Beasts of the Briar #3)

97

Rosalina

N o, no, no. Please, no. Not this. Desperately, I fight against the hold of the guard, kicking as he tries to force my knees apart. But he’s so strong. I’ve lost so much blood, my mind is hazy. The other guard who hit me drops his pants. I thrash, throat raw with screaming.

The other one has grabbed my arms, but it’s the slight turn of his head I notice first. The low surprised murmur under his breath.

A man steps into the room, no armor, face sprayed with blood. But his eyes are on fire. And they’re on me. He drops his sword.

Ezryn . My lips form the word I can’t speak. My mind desperately tries to call to him through the muddled bond.

He moves before the soldiers even let me go. He grabs the one above me by the neck and drags him to the side of the center stone tablet that still holds the bow. He slams the man’s head down hard. Hard enough to break the skull. Hard enough to spray blood and brain matter. Hard enough to kill him in a single blow.

But he doesn’t stop with one hit. He smashes the guard’s head down again and again and again and again, until there’s nothing but broken flesh beneath his fingers.

The guard who hit me lets me go, stumbling over one of the Nightingale’s iridescent brambles, then vomits over himself.

Ezryn drops the mutilated guard to the ground and retrieves his sword. His eyes are ablaze with a terrible fury.

There’s the screech of metal, and I whirl to the elevator. The Nightingale and the trident-wielding knight step out.

Her gaze shifts from the guard with his pants around his ankles to me splayed on the stone tablet. She draws a dagger from her hip and throws with deadly precision.

“Ezryn! Look out!” I scream, scrambling up, desperately shoving my dress down.

But the dagger wasn’t aimed at him. It strikes the guard in the skull. He drops. The Nightingale waltzes over to retrieve her blade. “Disgusting creatures, men. Aren’t they?” She shakes her head. “Regrettable. But I promise to make your death quick.”

She draws another dagger and throws. Silver flashes, and Ezryn steps in front of me and knocks it away with his sword.

“Going to try and kill me too?” She sniffs, hand on her hip. “Half this monastery is already dead. You saw to that.”

I pull myself up, gripping the back of Ezryn’s shirt, needing that contact with him.

The Nightingale makes a clicking sound, as if considering. “Kai won’t be happy about me killing you. But nothing will keep me from my vengeance. Even you, Prince of Blood.”

With a wave of the Nightingale’s hand, the Turquoise Knight charges. He hurtles his trident at Ezryn, who intercepts the attack, blocking and pushing his adversary to the side.

But it leaves me wide open for the Nightingale. She tilts her head, and her hood shifts slightly. Poking out from beneath her pointed ear is the white petal of a flower. A stardrop.

Odd. I wouldn’t think she’d wear anything that isn’t completely practical. She walks toward me, unbothered.

Desperately, I grasp the spear of one of the fallen soldiers and run at her. I toss it. She sidesteps out of the way easily. But the move brought me right beside her.

“Did you really think that would do anything?” she asks.

“No, but this will.” I shoot my hand beneath her hood and snatch the white flower. Then stuff the whole thing in my mouth.

Because I’ve seen this flower before. Seen it pinned in the armor of Kairyn and his Penta Conclave. Seen the acolytes who work in the keep wear them behind their ears. Even Eldy wore one for a time.

This is the antidote.

That’s why Kairyn’s minions are always wearing them. He didn’t want to chance one of his loyal followers being corrupted by any of this poisoned magic.

The white bloom negates the magic. At least smelling it does. When I walked up the mountain in a haze, passing a patch of them cleared my head slightly.

But I can’t just smell this; the poison she gave me is in my system.

I gulp the petals down. Either this will kill me or…

“Stop!” the Nightingale snarls, drawing a slim blade and striking it toward me.

Or it will save us.

The Nightingale is too late.

My magic is back.

I feel for her iridescent thorns scattered throughout the room. She’s not expecting my attack, and I easily make them my own, bringing them up as a shield around me. Her blade embeds in the briar, giving me a precious moment to think.

A quick glance shows me Ezryn is holding his own against the Turquoise Knight, despite the divine weapon.

I need to get to him. Then I can try to use the Nightingale’s vines to carry us out of here.

A briar snags me around the ankle, and I fall.

“If you want to play with thorns,” the Nightingale snarls, “you’re going to get pricked.”

“Likewise.” I shoot out my hands, taking control of two briars. They writhe up, slashing across her stomach.

Ezryn lets out a grunt as the prongs of the trident rake against his shoulder. He twists, slamming his blade against the knight. The turquoise armor shimmers in the dim light as Ezryn's blade rebounds harmlessly off the breastplate. Gritting his teeth, Ezryn dances back.

The Turquoise Knight laughs, then twirls his trident until the whole thing glows and the smell of sea water infuses the room.

I need to concentrate on my own fight, but I can’t take my eyes off Ez. I pull at the briars holding my ankle, tearing them loose, and scramble away from the approaching Nightingale.

With a huge force, the Turquoise Knight shoots forward and smashes Ezryn on the side of the head with the trident’s shaft. He staggers backward, grabbing the bow’s pedestal to steady himself.

“Careful! Don’t touch it!” I scream.

Ezryn gazes up at the radiant weapon and hastily pulls his hand back.

The Nightingale drops her dagger and barrels down on me, fingernails like claws over my face, tearing at my hair. “Magic isn’t enough to save you. You’re not special. You’re soft! Weak!”

I grab her wrists, eyes wide as Ezryn leaps away from the trident’s pronged jab. The knight is too strong. Without the Blessing, he won’t be able to—

Ezryn rolls, then stands before the pedestal, the bow’s light silhouetting him in an ethereal glow. The Turquoise Knight gives a half-laugh, half-bellow, then charges, bloody points of the trident aimed straight for Ezryn’s chest.

But my mate falls to the ground, whipping his leg out, tripping the goliath knight. In a crash of turquoise armor, the knight stumbles, the trident falling from his grasp. His bare hands reach out to steady himself—

Grasping on to the Bow of Radiance.

Blinding light envelops the Turquoise Knight, and his body convulses. A harrowing scream pierces the chamber. His armor cracks, then caves in on itself, becoming a puckered shell. The helmet flies off and rolls across the floor, landing right in front of the Nightingale. Left behind is a lifeless husk, and Ezryn, breath heavy as he stands victorious.

The Nightingale falls away from me and picks up the helmet. Her lip twitches. “Oh, you shall pay for that.”

Thorns burst through the stone, striking Ezryn, and lifting him into the air. His silver sword slips from his fingers.

“Ezryn!” I call out, holding out my hands, trying to take control of her thorns.

“Not today!” The Nightingale glares at me, and I’m hit by a wave of her power. “These are my thorns. Make your own if you want to play.”

I can’t! I try to concentrate, but I don’t know what I’m even reaching for. She’s right. This is her magic. And I can’t get in if she won’t let me.

Anger rises through my chest, and flames erupt from my fingers. With a flick of her wrist, a large, oily briar slams into me, and I clatter against the stone table in the middle of the room. My ears ring, my vision blurry. Colors from the stained glass swirl over my arm, painting a wavering rainbow across my skin.

Ezryn struggles in the grip of the thorns.

“Oh, Prince of Blood,” she purrs, “a tower of soldiers, one member of the Penta Conclave, and it was all for naught. Because you were never going to get past me.”

Ezryn snarls, eyes blazing.

“There’s only one thing left to decide.” Her blue eyes flick to me. “Which one of you to kill first?”

I stagger to all fours. I need to help him. But how? I can’t take control of her thorns. My magic is back—but it’s nowhere near as powerful as hers. Though my whole body shakes from my wounds, adrenaline keeps me conscious. Adrenaline and spite.

“Oh, don’t look so glum, Princess.” She smirks. “Just make those little golden roses. Or was that another fairytale like the Enchantress and her beasts of the Briar?”

“That was no story,” I say.

The air crackles with magic as Ezryn changes, one moment a man, the next a great black wolf. His jaws widen, and he swipes a massive paw at the Nightingale. She leaps back but isn’t quick enough as he strikes her across the arm.

“I’m not so easily disposed of as your goblins, beast!” The monastery shakes with her rage. The stained-glass window behind her shatters, spraying crystal into the air. Thorns break through stone, covering the entire room.

It’s like we’re at Castletree, with its briars and beasts.

Her iridescent thorns ensnare the massive black wolf. Tears stream down my cheeks to see the wolf struggle and whine, huge thorns digging into his flesh. My fingers curl into a fist, a light flickering over the top of my knuckles.

Light from the Bow of Radiance that glimmers beside me. The weapon of the Queen.

You have everything you need right here. Caspian’s words drift into my mind, and I place my hand over my heart, mirroring his movement.

Slowly, I stand, eyes on the glowing bow.

The Nightingale cocks her head. “That weapon doesn’t belong to you, human .”

Except it does. It isn’t the magic of thorns I wield, but that of roses , like the Queen planted in this realm. The magic of change, of object to element, or fae to animal. And the magic of realms.

Twenty-five years ago, my mother left. Twenty-five years ago, the Enchantress came to Castletree.

Or the disguised Queen returned to Castletree.

Words and images play through the hushed corridors of my memory; moments insignificant on their own now converging into a tapestry as clear as the one that hangs here in the monastery.

The Queen was fascinated with humans.

This magic inside of me is no mere coincidence.

It is my legacy.

You welcomed me home, Cas. You called me Princess because you knew. You always knew who I was.

I reach for the bow.

“Rosalina, no!” Ezryn calls.

“Touch that without the Queen’s token, and it’ll burn you up!” the Nightingale hisses.

“I don’t need her token,” I snarl and grab the bow. “I have her blood.”

Power rushes through me, lighting me from within. The bow ripples and changes, golden vines growing along the staff. And as I hold it, my skin lights, glowing white-gold.

The Nightingale freezes, horror erupting over her features. Shock and reverence ripple in the wolf’s eyes.

A string of glimmering gold appears as I draw my hand back, and an arrow of starlight rests on my sight. This may be a magic bow, but the aim is all my own.

And I aim at the Nightingale’s heart.

“You don’t need the token,” she says, eyes widening. “Give me that bow.”

I’m half-tempted to, just so I can watch her burn up.

I adjust my aim, and the arrow flies into the thorns. They writhe in golden light before shivering away in black dust. The wolf falls to the ground.

“Leave,” I say, drawing another arrow and pointing it at her.

“Why would you spare my life?” she growls, almost cowering beneath the light of the bow.

For Caspian and the affection he holds for her. For another reason, I can’t name. For the simple fact that I do not wish more blood on my hands. In answer, I only draw the arrow back further.

She hisses, then a tangle of new thorns start to rise. This I allow. Just enough to swallow her up and take her back to the Below.

The moment she’s gone, all the energy leaves my body, and the bow drops. I fall.

Arms catch me, and I tumble against Ezryn’s bare skin. We collapse together to the ground.

“Ez,” I say weakly.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my hair. “I’ve got you, my Queen.”