Page 35

AREK

“H old,” I bellow.

All around me, archers hold their bows, arrows nocked and ready to draw at my signal.

Dust clouds fill the horizon line, Sola’s forces making their appearance out in front.

They’re traveling faster than should be possible.

“Some kind of magic at play here,” Lara mutters next to me. Morrow stands in front of her, guarding her in a way that makes me ache to be able to do the same for Kyrie.

The wall we stand on pitches under our feet. Lara stumbles forward, but Morrow holds her upright as she swears.

A sideways glance tells me my warriors have held firm, their footing not put off by whatever magic Sola’s working.

“Look,” Morrow says, his voice pitched low. Anxiety creases the corners of his eyes.

Sola’s forces are at our gates.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs, and I turn towards my people, all ready to give their lives to defend the wall.

“Warriors of the Fae,” I shout, a tremor going down my spine. “Today we fight—we defend our last home. We defend our people!” I slam my fist into my chest.

“Our people!” the Fae around me respond, voices loud enough that the soldiers and priestesses below us falter.

“This is not a war for land or for conscience, this is a war of survival,” I continue, well aware of everyone’s attention, of the hopes they pin to me and each other. “What Sola would take from us?” I shake my head, locking eyes with a soldier furthest from me. “Everything. What we fight for? Everything.”

“Everything!” The cry goes up as one.

“We will not let them take our home. We will not let them take our lives. We fight!”

“We fight!” they repeat.

“For the Fae!” I cry out.

“For Hrakan, for death and glory!” the captains yell out, and goosebumps rise all across my skin.

“Death and glory,” the soldiers repeat, arrows still nocked, ready to be loosed.

A glance behind me shows a phalanx of pikes drawn behind the gate.

The bulk of our forces, though, are waiting at the end of the tunnel that spills into the castle grounds.

My lips press into a thin line.

There will be much blood spilled this day.

“Draw,” I shout.

Sola’s forces are armed with siege weapons, great burning balls alight in what look like massive religious censers.

More magic, then.

My brow creases as I watch.

“Hold,” I shout. My arm raises overhead, my hand fisted.

“Hold,” my captains repeat the command.

Not yet, not yet. An iron ladder slams against the wall, and Lara rocks forward once more, saved from falling by Morrow, steady at her front.

Mortar and gravel rain down on the forces below.

A line of priestesses, marked by their blood-red robes, raise their arms as one in line with the siege weapons. A wave of magic washes over my skin.

“Aim for the handmaidens,” Morrow yells, then dips his chin at me.

Our archers adjust their aim, the magic the priestesses emanate only building the longer we take.

It’s time.

“Loose,” I scream, snapping my arm down.

White feathers erupt from a dozen priestesses’ chests, several knocked off their feet at the impact.

“It’s not enough,” Morrow mutters.

“Nock,” I yell, raising my arm again.

Another line of priestesses replace the dead on the platforms near the enchanted siege engines.

“Draw.” The command has more arrows targeting priestesses.

“Loose,” I shout.

More are killed this time, the white on red a sign of triumph that manages to turn my stomach all the same. A third line of handmaidens take their places, their chanting continuing uninterrupted.

Magic swells, the bitter sulfurous odor of Sola’s work tainting the air.

We can’t kill them fast enough.

The thought swims through my head, and I close my eyes, refusing to accept it.

“Nock,” Morrow shouts, taking over for me. “Draw!”

Opening my eyes, I nod at him, grateful.

Below, the siege machines groan as their operators cut the ropes holding them taut.

“Loose,” Morrow shouts.

The white-tipped volley soars through the blue sky, a flock of deadly birds aiming for Sola’s chosen.

The flames of the spelled incendiary rival the brightness of the sun, taking on energy with every inch they gain towards the walls.

Lara barks a word out, and purple fire ignites the tip of each arrowhead.

I squint, trying to unravel whatever spell she’s cast.

Purple explodes across Sola’s ranks, and shouts of warning from them turn into screams of pain as Lara’s spell wreaks utter havoc.

Violent lavender fire wraps around the spelled debris, and the red-clad soldiers trying to climb the walls below turn into fuel as the fallen projectiles land amongst them.

Soon, a wall of purple fire surrounds the stone and mortar we stand on. The unforgettable smell of roasting flesh fills the air.

It’s a scent I associate with one thing.

War.

My fingers tighten on the broadsword I’ve drawn without thinking.

I haven’t missed this.

Lara gags, her eyes glowing purple, a hand over her mouth.

A fresh wave of priestesses take the platforms, and I stare at them, a muscle in my jaw ticking. There are less than before, though.

Their chanting begins anew, the trebuchet operators winding them up again as the priestesses raise their arms.

My eyes widen at the power they’re commanding. They shouldn’t be able to channel so much.

Blood-red magic swirls from the ground, and at first, I think they’re pulling it from the earth itself.

I narrow my eyes, and it hits me all at once?—

They’re channeling from their own dead. The censers begin burning again.

I let out a roar of outrage.

“They are not yours to command any longer, Sola.” I raise my sword with both hands, then sink it into the stone at my feet, the impact sending twin bolts of pain up my arms.

A shockwave of power ripples through the wall, gathering speed as it travels across the field in front of us.

Darkness swarms the priestesses, and satisfaction rolls through me as they scream again.

I raise the sword from the fresh wound in the masonry, and a sickening crack sounds as the priestesses’ heads jerk left, so powerful their feet leave the ground.

I don’t need to watch them crumple, lifeless, back to the earth.

But I do anyway.

Their feet won’t leave the ground again.

Victory is short-lived however, as Caedia screams.

Caedia, who is supposed to be using her powers in the tunnels to hold Sola’s main force at bay.

“We’re overrun,” Lara says, using Caedia’s voice, her eyes momentarily green.

Morrow begins praying, glowing with Lojad’s magic, taking off at a run for the tunnel and Caedia.

Kyrie , I think desperately . I wish I had one more day with Kyrie.