Page 119 of Court of Lies and Deceit

Alarm shoots up my spine.

“They’re here!” I gasp.

The group is crashing through the trees straight to our right.

“In here,” Draven snaps.

I don’t even have time to turn my head before a storm wind slams into me from the side. My breath is knocked right out of my lungs as I fly through the air and slam into a tree trunk. Gasping, I try to get my breath back. But any air is knocked right back out again when Alistair crashes into me. Followed by Galen.

Blinking, I try to clear the ringing from my skull and figure out what the hell just happened.

“Stay down,” Draven orders, his voice low but pulsing with command.

I stop moving.

The six of us are lying in a pile, our limbs all tangled up, blinking and looking dazed. Everyone except Draven, who orchestrated this move. He’s on his feet, yanking a long curtain of that dark purple moss closed in front of us. The patches of ice are gone as well.

Gloomy darkness falls over our group.

Drawing in a soft breath, I glance around me. A twisted and gnarly tree envelops our messy pile. Branches stick out on both sides, and the thick curtains of moss hide us almost entirely from view in here.

Still on his feet, Draven summons his magic and fills the cramped space with dark clouds as well.

A moment later, a group bursts through the trees outside.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Lying there on the ground with Alistair half on top of me, I stare out between the small gaps in the hanging moss as nine people run out of the woods.

And my mind can barely comprehend what I’m seeing.

They look like us. Like fae. But at the same time…more.

Just like us, they have an ethereal beauty to their features. But these people look as if they have been sculpted by the Goddess Mabona herself. Tall and muscular, they somehow manage to look both powerful and graceful at the same time. And based on their height compared to the trees around them, they look to be at least half a head taller than even Draven. And not just one or two of them.Allof them.

Light glints against their polished bronze breastplates, and long pointed ears stick up from their shining hair that flutters behind them when they run. Arrows rattle in the quivers they carry, and eight of them are holding powerful bows. The ninth person, the severe-looking male who is running at the head of the squad, carries no bow. But lightning crackles along one of his arms and fire burns along the other.

I gape at them.

What kind of beings are these people?

They thunder past, their boots thudding against the ground as they rush through the trees and towards the location where we landed earlier.

For a few seconds, all six of us just stare after them in shocked silence.

“Fuck,” Alistair says at last.

A rather apt summary indeed, so I nod. “Yeah.”

That seems to snap us all out of our stupor. Sucking in a breath, we start to detangle our limbs and push up from the ground.

Isera cuts Draven a look as she straightens and brushes blades of grass from her fighting leathers. “A little heads-up next time, Ryat.”

He arches an eyebrow back at her. “Like you gave us with the ice path?”

For a moment, she just looks back at him with those cool eyes of hers. Then she lets out a huff, and I swear she almost smiles.

He smirks, looking satisfied with his win, before shoving the hanging moss aside and jerking his chin. “Come on. We need to put as much distance between them and us as possible before they figure out that we’re not there.”

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