Page 53 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams (Fated to the Sun and Stars #3)

Morgana

T he fight around the carriage slows. The escort realizes that help has come, just as the rebels and fae notice we’re outnumbered nearly three to one.

I stare around at the Temple men and women. Most of them are ordinary clerics, but there are some cleavers here too, their dark maroon uniforms and soulless eyes meaning even their comrades give them a wide berth.

An anointer stands beside Corrin’s prone body.

The crime lord is breathing heavily, and with each exhale a fresh dribble of blood flows from his wound.

I notice the senior cleric has one foot placed on the edge of Corrin’s sleeve, the toe of his boot almost crushing the crime lord’s fingers, as if the anointer doesn’t even notice he’s there.

“Surrender,” the anointer shouts, “and we will allow you to be cleansed before you meet your fate. Refuse, and we’ll send you to the Gloamlands like the heretics you are.”

It seems impossible for so many of them to be here so fast…unless someone tipped them off that we were coming. That’s what it is. Someone betrayed us. It would explain why the other group’s diversion failed.

“Just keep him talking for a moment longer. ”

I glance at Leon, letting him know I heard his thought, then I step forward, holding my hands up to show I am unarmed. I slip off my glamour ring, revealing my true features.

“I am Morgana Angevire, daughter of Queen Elowen Angevire, and rightful ruler of Trova,” I say.

It sounds pretentious as hell, even to me, but Leon told me to stall.

As it is, several clerics take a step back after I identify myself, and I feel a perverse stab of satisfaction. They’re afraid of the big bad heretic.

Beneath my feet, I feel a slight rumbling.

“Your offer is certainly a tempting one, sir,” I say to the anointer, pausing to check that the rumbling is indeed growing louder.

“But there’s the small matter of you wanting to murder those children.”

The clerics start looking around them for the source of the noise.

“And so I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” I finish. By now, the ground is shaking hard enough that windows in the nearest building rattle.

“Get back,” Leon orders, and I throw myself toward the carriage as the ground splits open and half the street falls away.

The air fills with screams as clerics plummet into the abyss.

The sound of their bodies hitting the bottom of the chasm below melds with the fizz of aesteri magic and the thud of flying dirt.

The rift Leon’s opened must be about fifteen feet wide, but there were several clerics who realized what was happening in time to save themselves.

While they try to scramble to safety, members of the escort rush forward to help them. I watch an empty-eyed cleaver use one cleric’s outstretched hand to heave himself up over the edge of the crumbling dirt. He doesn’t blink as his savior loses balance and tumbles over the edge.

Then the cleaver turns his black eyes toward me, and I ready my sun beams.

I take the cleaver out first, grateful that my magic is faster than his.

Then I focus on covering Leon, orbiting weapons away from him and hitting anyone trying to cast in his direction, giving him the chance to run deep cracks beneath the feet of the remaining clerics, forcing them to separate and scatter .

I try to keep track of the battle as I go, but it’s nearly impossible.

The rebels and clerics clashing around me just merge into a blur, and I can’t afford to get overwhelmed by the screams of the injured and dying, the smell of iron in the air and the crimson slickness of the cobbles beneath my feet.

I have to block all of that out and focus on doing what I can for as long as I can.

I don’t know if we’re making progress or if the clerics and cleavers are chipping away at us.

All I know is that Leon took out enough of our enemies with that chasm that we stand a chance.

But we’re in Qimorna—a city full of Caledon’s followers—and the longer we’re stuck in this fight, the more of them will come for us, like waves in an ocean.

If we’re not careful, eventually, we’ll get washed away by the tide.

CORRIN

The sky is very blue here, and the sun is very bright.

I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before.

It’s hard to get a clear day in Hallowbane because of all the smog.

Amazing, really, to think that just a little further south, the sky opens up like this, stretching into an endless, brilliant blue.

No, not quite endless, because there’s darkness hovering at the edges of it.

A soft, welcoming night that has something to do with the pain in my stomach.

It’s hard to focus on it, especially with all this noise.

Can’t they keep it down? All that screaming and banging is enough to give a man a headache.

I frown, because I have a nagging feeling there’s something I should be doing. It’s very important, and the longer I lie here, the worse it will be.

“Corrin! Corrin!”

Is that someone calling my name? They sound upset. I try to answer, but when I open my mouth, my throat catches on the word, and I cough up something wet that tastes like metal.

“Corrin!” A woman appears above me, with brown skin and dark hair. She’s beautiful, like a warrior goddess fallen from the celestial kingdom.

Beautiful, and angry. She’s glaring down at me with bright green eyes .

“Corrin Wadestaff, you listen to me. You are not allowed to die.”

My frown deepens. That seems like a rather unreasonable request. Especially when the darkness is so welcoming.

“I mean it, you idiot. Focus on me, tell me my name.”

Now that’s fairer, because I couldn’t possibly forget the name of such an ethereal being.

“You’re…Damia…” I say thickly, doing my best to suppress another cough.

“That’s it. Just?—”

“Damia, the carriage! Get back to the carriage!” I recognize this voice too, calling from a few feet away. That’s when it all comes back to me: the Hand, the clerics and the fae, as well as the reason we’re here in the first place.

I gasp, and it feels like I’m dragging my lungs over hot coals.

“The child, Damia,” I mumble. “You have to protect them. What about the mission?—”

“Fuck the mission,” Damia says, and I watch as she pulls a snake from her collar, setting it on the ground. Next, she rips off her belt and starts to fasten it tightly around my middle, ripping a scream of agony from me.

My cry mingles with that of a cleric who just tried to get too close. Barb pulls her fangs from his leg, hissing happily as he backs away. Then she proceeds to dart playfully at another figure sprinting past us.

Damia’s ripped off a piece of her shirt now and is doing something with that too. I can’t see what; I can’t even lift my head. The darkness keeps coming, slowly spreading across my vision.

“I said don’t die , Corrin,” Damia snaps, shaking me. “Gods, you couldn’t follow an order if your life depended on it.” But now she doesn’t look so angry. In fact, she looks afraid. I didn’t think she could look like that. I don’t like it.

Then she disappears from my vision, and I’m left quite cold and alone. At least I still have Barb, hissing beside my ear to keep me company.

Footsteps shake the ground beside me, and Damia’s back. This time she’s dragging the princess with her .

My friend, the princess. Who would’ve thought it?

Princess Morgana is throwing out sun beams left and right. She’s like Ralus himself and seems to only half hear what Damia is saying to her.

“You have to heal him,” she shouts over the noise of battle.

“What?”

Damia forcefully spins the princess around, pointing to me. I try to smile in greeting, but I’m not sure if I still have control of my face.

“You have to heal him, now,” Damia says.

The princess looks at her with wide eyes. “I can’t heal wounds like this—you know that.”

“But you can buy him time,” Damia replies, and her eyes are like twin emerald fires burning in the night.

The princess gives her a long look, then she nods and kneels beside me. I’m even colder now. So cold that I can’t feel the princess’s hands when she lays them on me.

“Cover me,” the princess tells Damia, then closes her eyes. I join her, letting my heavy lids finally slide shut.

But something’s stirring deep inside me. A force eating away at the iciness at my core, a flare of power—of bright, warm, life-giving light. It surges through me, thawing my stiff, frozen body.

I’m still in pain. There’s a jagged stab like someone’s twisting a knife just below my navel. But I’m fully awake to it, my mind clear and my body strong enough to fight through it. If part of me was draining away moments ago, now I feel life coursing through me.

I open my eyes and slowly sit up. Hands grab my arm to steady me as I suck in air sharply through my teeth.

“By Winnivus, that hurts,” I say.

“Nice to have you back with us, Corrin,” Princess Morgana says with a tense smile as Damia takes one hand off me to grab her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Damia says to the princess, and I don’t think I’m imagining the catch in her voice. “Now go. ”

The princess throws herself to her feet, sun beams pouring from her hands as she rejoins the fight. For one, brief moment, my eyes meet Damia’s, and I think she might kiss me. Then her gaze lifts above my head, staring at something behind me. Her face breaks into an expression of relief.

“They’re here.”

I try to turn, but the stabbing sensation in my stomach stops me.

I have to wait, instead, as the thunder of hooves is upon us, and I can look up to see the diversion team riding into action—Stratton, Hyllus, Harman, and the others.

Some of them are sharing horses, and they all look bruised and bloody, but their swords are drawn and their magic primed.

I want to cheer, or do something else stupidly enthusiastic, but thankfully my wound stops me from making any sudden movements or sounds.

It’s for the best, because as I follow their charge into the battle, I spot another sight: several figures marching down the road from the opposite direction, wearing flashes of purple and white in the writhing sea of red.