Page 196 of Kingdom of Ash

Yet they did not land many, either.

Dorian’s magic writhed, seeking a way out, to stop this. But she had ordered him to stand down. And he’d obey.

Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.

But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.

Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon’s shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.

Manon still remained on the far side of the line she’d drawn. Still held it.

The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon’s grandmother. “Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother.” A sneer toward Glennis. “And your father.”

The snarl that ripped from Manon’s throat rang across the mountains themselves.

Her grandmother let out a crow’s caw of a laugh. “Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth?We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact.”

Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.

Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.

The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.

Manon’s fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. “Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end.” A slash of a smile. “I think I shall do the same.”

Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.

Manon’s knees bent, swords rising. “Let us finish what was started then, too.”

She attacked, blades flashing. Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.

Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.

And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.

Stood a queen of two peoples.

The Yellowlegs Matron launched an offensive that had Manon yielding a step, then another, swords rising against each slashing blow.

Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

The Yellowlegs Matron pushed Manon close enough to the line that her heels nearly touched it. The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.

For a hunched crone, the Yellowlegs witch was the portrait of nightmares. Worse than Baba Yellowlegs had ever been. Her feet barely seemedto touch the ground, and her curved iron nails drew blood wherever they slashed.

Manon’s swords blocked blow after blow, but she made no move to advance. To push back, though Dorian saw several chances to do so.

Manon took the slashings that left her arm and side bleeding. But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.

Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.

Saw the side that Manon left open, the bait laid on a silver platter.

Worked into a fury, the Yellowlegs Matron didn’t think twice before she lunged, claws out.

Manon was waiting.

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