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Chapter sixty-five

A strid followed Dimitri up the stairway that once led to the arena.

Warmth blanketed her as they stepped onto the thick grass that had nothing to do with the winter sun.

The temperature was regulated by fire weavers while earth weavers maintained the fruiting trees.

Surrounding them, beyond the reach of their magic, were shadowed, snow-covered pines.

The orchard had changed greatly since she’d last seen it. The trees no longer formed a walkway. They were grouped in small clusters and spread throughout the green space.

Even the graves were different. Queen Vesta’s headstone had been replaced by a fountain. A statue of the Three-Faced Mother was positioned at the center of the water feature. The hooded females stood in a circle with their backs to one another, each holding the stages of life.

The egg, the serpent, and the shed.

An engraving, lettered in gold, graced the statue’s base:

Vesta Morana

Beloved Mother

Queen of Ledivion

She glanced at her sword. Did he know being buried at the Mothers’ feet was the highest honor a soul weaver could receive in death?

“It’s a beautiful tribute,” she said.

Dimitri smoothed his hand over the fountain ledge. “This was her favorite orchard. She had one at every palace.”

“Because Ledivion is freezing and this place felt like home,” Astrid replied.

He lifted his chin and gazed at the Mothers. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Astrid didn’t mention the missing grave. She was curious if Dimitri moved his father or if he was here, unmarked and forgotten. He would tell her eventually during one of their nightly talks.

“I’m readying the legion to march on Clorea,” Astrid said. “We’ll ride ahead by half a day and kill Sorin. The nobility will fall in line—”

“Or I’ll kill them,” Dimitri finished.

“More than one person is needed to run a kingdom. The nobility will serve me, or I’ll cage their heads, and hang them beside my cousins.”

The thrum of a bowstring resonated through the warm air and Astrid tensed.

A heavy arrow struck Dimitri’s thigh the next moment, slicing muscle and embedding in bone. He fell to his knee with a roar and Astrid dropped to his side.

Instinct overwhelmed her as her magic swept over him. She couldn’t stitch his soul and Astrid’s eyes narrowed at the wound. This was far too wide to be an arrow. She began stabilizing the injury and yanked the projectile free.

The arrowhead was wide and crescent shaped. These weapons were meant to cut rigging lines on ships.

More bowstrings thrummed in the distance.

Astrid caught Dimitri’s arm and dragged him backwards. “Get up. We have to move,” she hissed, angling him closer to the fountain. Her magic pulsed over him, focusing on his heart and lungs while she slowed the bleeding.

Two more arrows struck his injured leg, severing it, and more struck his wings.

No. These were modified arrows—of her creation. Hooks attached to the back of crossbow bolts staked Dimitri’s wings to the ground, immobilizing him.

Astrid scanned the snow-covered pines as she worked to stop the bleeding. There wasn’t time to regenerate his leg. They needed cover and she couldn’t move him on her own.

Another arrow struck, opening Dimitri’s ribs, and his shadows engulfed her. Serrated teeth harrowed her soul and Astrid screamed, blinded by agony.

It suddenly stopped, and Dimitri clapped his hand over the back of her head, pulling her close.

Pink foamed at the corners of his lips as he choked on his words. “Stay out of my shadows.”

“I’m strong; I’ll survive this. Take what you need,” Astrid cried, clinging to him.

Dimitri violently yanked his wing through the arrows pinning him. The membrane tore and the leading edge of his wing struck her.

Pain exploded over Astrid’s side as the air was knocked from her lungs. She was thrown from Dimitri’s side, weightless for the span of a heartbeat. Two.

She collided with the ground and tumbled into freezing snow.