Page 44

Chapter

Forty-Four

B arely a second passes before I’m pushed to the ground, a large body covering mine. The others fall around us, but I can’t see anything as Thorne’s large frame blocks out the rest of the world.

Arrows ping off the cobblestones, dozens of them landing one after another. A feminine scream cries out, echoing over the roar of the fire. My stomach drops. I twist my neck painfully, but I can’t see anything over Thorne’s shoulder. His body goes rigid, straining as a pained grunt rises in his throat. The sound turns my skin to ice despite the inferno surrounding us.

“Thorne?” My heart gallops against my chest, each beat sending another shudder through me as I wait for him to respond.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbles, shifting above me. “The bastards have shit aim.”

His words pound through my skull, and I feel as if I’m sinking deeper into the ground beneath us.

“Where are you hit?” I manage to ask.

“My leg. It’s only a graze,” he says, as if that somehow makes it better. “Hold on.”

A few seconds later, his weight disappears from my back, and I quickly push myself onto my knees. Glancing up, I find a blanket of shadow forming a few inches above our heads. Inside the darkness, snakes slither and hiss, snapping at each arrow that threatens to fly past them. The inky cloud hangs low, forcing us to stay close to the ground but providing enough cover to crawl around.

The sound of a quiet whimper pulls my attention behind me where I find the others gathered around Della. My heart stutters as I spot the arrow lodged in her left shoulder.

“No,” I breathe, moving on my hands and knees to reach her.

This can’t be happening. She can’t d—I squeeze my eyes shut as I stop the thought in its tracks, unwilling to even entertain the notion. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to assess the situation calmly.

Della lies on her side, cradled in Darrow’s arms as he applies pressure to the wound.

“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth.

“That doesn’t look fine.” He nods to the arrow sticking out of her shoulder.

“It will be once you pull it out,” she snaps.

“Can you heal her?” I ask Darrow, praying he’s got some enchantment up his sleeve.

“I can stop the bleeding, but it will take time to fully heal.” He pulls a vial of white powder from his pocket.

“Do it,” Thorne orders from beside me. His warm hand against my back is an anchoring weight. “Quickly. I’ll need to lower the flames soon.”

“What?” Darrow squeaks, his head shaking back and forth. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“With all of us in here, we’re a flashing target,” he explains. “They have the numbers, so we need to draw them apart into smaller groups. And it will be much harder for the archers to get a clean shot if we’re mixed in with the Forsaken.”

“Besides,” Griffen says, pulling at his collar as a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face, “it’s getting warm in here.”

He’s not wrong, I think as I wipe the dampness from my forehead.

“How long can you hold the flames?” I ask, knowing that’s part of the reason he’s suggesting this plan. Controlling a fire this large must be eating through his energy at a rapid pace. If he keeps going for too long, he’ll burn himself out. I’m not sure how deep a God’s magic reserves are, but we still have a big fight ahead of us. With the graze on his leg and the shadows he’s using, he’s already pushing himself.

His shoulders tense as he meets my gaze. “Long enough.”

Darrow gets to work quickly. Della cries as he pulls the arrow from her flesh. The sound makes me want to vomit. Thankfully, her screams fade as he shakes the vial over her bloody shoulder, sprinkling the enchanted powder onto the wound.

“It should help to numb the pain,” he says gently, taking her hand in his.

Not for the first time, I wonder about the history between those two. While I don’t know if it’s romantic in nature, they definitely have some sort of connection.

I insist Thorne allows Darrow to sprinkle some of the powder over his wound too, which he’s not happy about. When he lifts up his pant leg and exposes the long, jagged gash, I’m filled with the deep urge to break something. My knuckles bleach white as I squeeze my fists tightly.

“Fia,” Thorne calls as Darrow finishes with his leg. “I need you to take out the archers.”

She nods, pushing her shoulders back as she accepts his order without argument.

“Find cover and try to get a shot,” he continues. “I’ll send the snakes to search the houses, but that means they won’t be with us to stop any arrows that make it through.”

“We’re running out of time,” Della gasps, her horrified gaze fixed a few yards away where several of the Forsaken are throwing themselves into the flames, creating a gap with their bodies.

“What are they doing?” Darrow grimaces.

I gulp down the nausea that rises in my throat. “Making a bridge.”

“We have to move now.” Thorne pushes himself onto a crouch. “Focus on driving the Forsaken away from the house. We need to create an opening for Ivy and me to get through.”

Everyone prepares themselves, checking their weapons and getting into position. I crouch next to Thorne, and his bare hand reaches for mine, entwining our fingers for a few fleeting moments.

“Be careful,” he whispers, his crystalline eyes reflecting the flames.

I nod, but the gesture is too stiff to appear natural. “You too.”

Please , I beg the Fates. Let my friends survive.

As usual, my prayers drift into the ether without any response. Still, I hope they hear me.

His hand slips from mine as the fire extinguishes. Within seconds, the battle has swallowed us whole, cutting off my view of the others. Forsaken come at me from all sides as I dodge their attacks. Lunging forward, I deliver a death blow to a young man. His hateful eyes blaze right until the moment their light fades. A helpless rage pulses through me as I let his lifeless body fall to the ground.

The sword , I tell myself. Once we have the sword, we can end this.

The dead pile at my feet. There’s nothing merciful about the way I slice through the Forsaken, taking their lives with each swipe of my blades. Hands reach for me from all directions, their numbers endless. I push down every ounce of humanity as I become an instrument of death. Cocking my arm back, I send one blade flying toward a Forsaken, my empty hand immediately unsheathing another.

Footsteps crunch behind me, and I spin, striking out only to halt an inch from my target as I catch sight of a familiar face. A memory pushes through the murderous haze of my mind as I take in his features. The mendax appears far more haggard than the last time I saw him, standing outside his shop in Midgarden. His shaggy brown hair is matted with blood, his eyes teeming with hatred as he stares down at me.

Unfortunately, my moment of hesitation costs me. His hands shoot out, grabbing the sides of my head and squeezing it tightly as his magic pours into me. The sounds of the battle fade as reality slips away, and I lose my mind to his illusion.

When I open my eyes, I find myself lying on a picnic blanket in the field near Pomeroy manor. The afternoon sun beats down on me, warming my skin with its comforting rays.

“Ivy!” a feminine voice calls. “You’re here!”

I sit up to find Clara, my former governess, running through the grass as her sage-green dress billows around her. Bellamy follows close behind, snagging her hand in his own as he intertwines their fingers.

“We’ve been waiting for ages,” he says, a wide smile stretching across his face.

Confusion wrinkles my forehead as I watch them approach. “Waiting for what?”

Clara tilts her head, a patient smile on her lips. “For you, silly.”

The sound of shouting echoes from somewhere in the distance, but I find no signs of distress as I scan the field around us. I open my mouth to ask what we’re doing here, but another voice pulls my attention.

“There’s my girl!”

I tense as Lord Pomeroy approaches, appearing out of nowhere as he pulls me into a tight embrace. His hand cups the back of my head, running over my hair as if I’m precious to him.

“We’ve missed you, daughter,” he whispers in my ear before releasing me.

My eyes flare as I pull back. “What’s going on?”

Everything about this scene is perfect, but the too tight feeling creeping over my skin tells me something is very, very wrong. I’m not supposed to be here.

“What do you mean?” Bel asks, concern leaching into his tone. “Are you alright, Ivy?”

“Do you want to lie down?” Clara wraps an arm around my shoulder, her familiar scent clouding my mind and pulling me back into the haze. “I could tell you a bedtime story. You always loved those.”

I open my mouth to say yes, when a voice shouts again, this time closer.

“Iverson!”

I turn around, searching for whoever is calling my name. “Did you hear that?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” my father says. “Come sit down and have some of the berries.”

“I picked them fresh from the garden this morning,” Bel says as he pops the blue fruit into his mouth. “I wanted today to be special for you.”

With no reason to object to their request, I trudge toward the flannel blanket. I’m only a foot away when Clara steps in front of me, blocking my path. I glance up to ask what she’s doing, but the sight of her face sends me stumbling back in horror.

The pleasant expression she wore earlier melts away as her eyes grow unnaturally wide. White light bursts from behind her irises, glowing like moonlight. It radiates throughout her whole body, emanating from somewhere within her.

“Wake up, Ivy,” she says, her voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “You need to?—”

Her words cut off as the tip of a blade suddenly pushes out of her forehead. A scream rises in my throat as her face contorts, and the world around us melts away, being replaced by chaos. Smoke tickles my throat. The sound of weapons clashing is everywhere as a mob of people battle in front of the rotting gray house.

Instead of Clara, a man stands before me with a sword through his head. The mendax, I realize as the blade is pulled free, leaving the Illusionist to fall lifelessly before me.

“Are you alright, my lady?” a shaky voice asks.

Looking up, I find Calum standing in front of me, his chest heaving up and down as he catches his breath. My focus snags on the bloodstained sword clutched in his trembling hands.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

“We aren’t lettin’ these bastards take our home from us,” he curses, his rheumy eyes shining with determination. “The Lowers may not be much, but it’s ours. And we’ll defend it.”

My gaze flits over the chaos once more, and I realize he’s right. All around us, mortals are battling the Forsaken. When did they show up? How did they know to come? Questions swirl through my mind as my attention drops to the man lying dead at my feet.

“You saved me,” I whisper, glancing up at my friend once again.

“Of course.” He waves me off with a shaking hand. “Ya can always count on me, my lady.”

My brows shoot up as my mouth falls open. “You know who I am?”

“I may be old, but I’m not daft,” he grumbles, his shoulders hunching forward as he struggles to hold up the weight of his rusted broadsword. “It’s not hard to guess the identity of the invisible lass from the pub when you live in the same city as a wraith.”

Shock barrels through me, nearly tipping me over, but he reaches out to steady me. I never realized he knew who I was when we would sit together and chat over a pint of ale. In all honesty, I always assumed he thought I was just a voice in his head, not someone real…

“We need to mo—” His words cut off as his eyes go round.

The lines of his face tighten as he falls to his knees, and I spot the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his back. The world shudders around me as I notice the person standing behind him, a gleeful smile twisting her wrinkled face.

The old woman who attacked me a few weeks ago.

The one I spared.

“ He said all the rats will bleed and die,” she sings her haunting song, jumping up and down as she claps her hands. “ When all the stars fall from ?— ”

Her voice abruptly cuts off when my blade pierces her throat, but I don’t bother watching her die. Instead I turn back to Calum, sinking to the ground as I roll him onto his back. His head falls limply to the side, his cloudy eyes seeing nothing as they stare at the battle raging next to us.

“No,” I whisper, the sound going unheard as it’s eaten up by the clashing of swords.

My fingers shake as they press against his neck, searching for a pulse I already know I won’t find. Death has been my constant companion over the years, haunting every step I take. I’ve met many iterations of it, yet somehow, this one feels the most unfair. I know Calum lived a great life. He married his childhood sweetheart, and they spent fifty-three years together until she passed. He was ready to follow her through the veil, but it shouldn’t have been like this. Not here, where he’s just another body piling up on a battlefield. He deserved to be warm in his bed, surrounded by his family.

Something wet trails down my face as I close his eyes and position his hands over his chest. He almost looks as if he could be sleeping…

Air swooshes toward my cheek, and I duck seconds before a sword slices over my head. Turning, I find a man standing above me, his eyes burning with wicked delight as he raises his weapon to swing again. I roll out of the way, tossing a knife at his chest as I shoot to my feet. He falls to his knees, his wound spewing blood all over the ground, but I don’t have time to care.

Forcing myself to leave Calum’s body behind, I push aside all the emotions swirling within me, leaving only a cold, righteous fury to fuel my fight. Scanning the crowd, I find a large group of mortals gathered near the porch as they try to fight off the Forsaken. I search their faces for a glimpse of my friends but come up blank. There’s too much chaos to find anyone in this mess.

Knowing I’ll never make it through that mass of people, I take off running around the side of the house. Several Forsaken try to stop me as I sprint through the raging battle, but all of them regret that choice as the light leaves their eyes. There’s no room for mercy tonight. Only death.

It’s eerily quiet as I reach the left side of the house, finding it free of any fighting. A frisson of unease curls around me as I search for a way inside, unable to stop myself from glancing over my shoulder every five seconds. The windows on the bottom floor are boarded up, but most of the ones on the second story are wide open.

A truly stupid plan forms in my mind, but with limited options, I latch onto it. Grabbing a nearby trash bin, I tip it upside down and place it directly under one of the second-floor windows. I thank the Fates that it holds steady under my feet as I climb on top. Even with my arms stretched above my head, there’s still about twelve inches of space between me and my target.

I take a deep breath, steeling my spine as I bend my knees. Relying on every ounce of muscle I’ve built over the years, I push off the can and jump. Uneven wood digs into my fingers as they latch onto the windowsill. My arms and shoulders protest painfully as I hang against the side of the house, my feet kicking wildly. Fire burns in my core, but I manage to pull myself over the ledge and tumble into the room.

I lie on the floor, my breathing ragged and heart racing from the exertion.

“I told them you’d come.”

The air gets thinner as his scratchy voice echoes through the room, more familiar than my own. Scrambling to my feet, I turn to face him. My mentor. My friend. My Forsaken enemy.

Remy.