Page 178 of Cursed Shadows 4

The Cursed Shadows invade—because Daxeel won.

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Thump,

thump,

thump.

Bootfalls are pounding down the dirt slope to the battle blocks. Rushed, frantic steps thump on the hard, packed earth towards me and the bodies that are scattered around.

I blinked on the realisation of my defeat, of Dorcha’s victory—and in that moment, all chaos broke loose.

Those raining bootfalls are piling past me, some steps slamming much too close to my aching body.

A wince cuts through me as I peel myself from the ground. I must move before I am trampled.

The pain of standing is instant, it’s a sharp and shredding spear right through me. The hum of my spine is more of a scream that wobbles my weight; and there’s a fresh streak of blood falling down the side of my face that I only now feel sweltering at my temple.

I stumble a step, then my legs give out.

I fall down.

My ass hits the ground, hard enough to jolt me. I drop my head into my hands and wait for the pulsating dizziness to stop spinning me.

That nausea returns, stirring and stirring and stirring.

Then it strikes and, twisting over myself, a force of sick spills out of me. I watch it splash on the grass, nothing but regurgitated water—then it settles on the thick, lush blades of nature herself.

I slump with a wispy moan snaking out of me, silenced by the rush of fae parting around me, a river around a rock.

The flesh of my palm glistens with blood,myblood, seeping out from a wound just above my temple, a gash I didn’t know I had until I tried to stand.

I push a breath out of me, and my lips shiver around it.

Slowly, I shift onto my front, on all fours.

My hands press into the earth, the dirt beneath the lush grass, a green as dark as the deepest shade of moss, and I have the urge to bury my face in it and kiss it and tell it I love it and that I only ever want grass around me from now on, and that if I see snow or ice again I will destroy it all.

But I have no energy for that. I have no energy to even smile at the grass so lush beneath me, not when I must force all scraps of strength into moving.

Can’t stay here on the cusp of the hill.

I need to get up, I need to get to the courtyard where the stands are thinning and the fae are crawling all over the bodies, the corpses, the survivors, desperate to find the ones they love, and the rest of them are gawking up at the Cursed Shadows, still swirling above, still thickening the air,whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, an awful pulsation that dizzies me more.

Nausea has its grip on me, still.

My eyes burn with tears as I push all my strength into my wobbling, trembling legs and I rise up, unsteady.

My knees buckle under my weight.

I stagger for balance, one hand spread out, the other pressed to my pulsing, gashed head.

I blink away the tears. I am not ashamed of them.

I still have breath in my lungs.

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