Page 52 of What Courses Through Her Blood
Fucking Samael. This reminds me of the time Lyra and I were captured and restrained with specially spelled metal bars and chains, crafted from a deal he struck, selling a piece of his soul to Euric for the power to strip my magic. Now, it seems he’s found a way to harness that same spell for mass deployment, which does not bode well for us.
“Have you checked on the other team?” I ask, hoping they’ve fared better but preparing for the worst.
“Yes, I’m with—” Then his illusion vanishes again. Godsdamn it.
“Everyone, watch out for arrows. They can nullify Fae magic. Spread the word, and don’t get hit by one, for fuck’s sake,” I shout to the men closest to me.
The castle looms on the hill in the distance, but Colton’s warning forces us to proceed with even greater caution. “Fan out,” I command, gesturing for the men to take different paths through the shadowed gardens.
It’s deep into the night, and with only a sliver of moon overhead, visibility is minimal. I navigate a narrow footpath leading through a gazebo, pausing outside as a prickling sense of beingwatched crawls over me. Surveying the small grassy area before me, centered by a softly murmuring fountain, I try to calm my nerves—water’s gentle sound being the only soothing element tonight.
With a surge of urgency, I dash across the open space, feeling dangerously exposed, and enter the rose gardens. These gardens are eerie, filled with angelic statues that add an unsettling touch to the landscape. Who thought this was a good design?
A sudden movement catches my eye—a childlike figure holding a bow and arrow seems to twitch. I blink, convincing myself it’s a trick of the light or my strained nerves. But as I take another step, reality strikes hard and painfully: a stone arm swings out, striking me across the head. Holy fuck, it’s not my imagination. The statues are spelled, animated now, descending on me.
I’m surrounded by a veritable army of these flying, child-like statues, all armed with bows. It feels like I’ve stumbled into a nightmare, one concocted by Samael in his most deranged moments.
I waste no time with these monstrosities and simply fix my gaze on two of them and obliterate them with a burst of my power. As another statue draws its bow, aiming a stony arrow at me, I take no chances. I swing my sword, cleanly decapitating the eerie little figure, then with a sweeping gesture of my arm, I reduce the remaining four to rubble.
Straightening up, a smug smile creeps across my face. The ease of it almost makes me laugh—it felt too simple, almost trivial. Stepping over the scattered remnants of my adversaries, I aim to continue down the path when suddenly, a rose bush lashes out, its thorns slicing through my tunic and cutting into my arm. After all the sophisticated traps I’ve navigated tonight, it’s absurd that a fucking flowerdraws first blood.
The sound of ceramic reassembling begins quietly at first. Reluctantly, I turn, dreading what I know is happening. The shattered pieces on the ground are pulling themselves back together, reconstructing the angelic figures I’d destroyed. I catch what looks like a smirk on one statue’s face, even though half of it is still missing, and that’s enough for me. This is too damn creepy.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I dash through the rose garden, my arm outstretched, shattering every statue in my path—spelled or not, I’m not sticking around to find out. I can’t shake the eerie feeling as I flee, the sound of reforming statues echoing faintly behind me in the dark, twisted garden.
“King Onyx, the men on the other side of the property have been attacked by guards—dozens of them,” Poe gasps, crouching next to me, breathless from his dash. The young officer is reliable, and I can’t help but feel protective of the kid.
“Better you stay with me then. We’ll head through the gardens toward the back entrance. The team can handle the other side,” I advise him firmly.
“Yes, sir,” Poe replies as we navigate the dark, zigzagged path. I keep silent about the statues. No need to relive that horror or scare him unnecessarily.
“Stop,” I whisper suddenly, extending my arm to pull Poe down behind some bushes. I’ve spotted movement on a distant balcony that I recognize as Lyra’s parents’ old chamber, likely now occupied by Samael, given its size and grandeur.
“What is it?” Poe whispers back.
I nod toward the balcony where I saw a light flicker. As if on cue, several lanterns blaze to life, illuminating the figures of Samael and several others. It’s difficult to make out faces from this distance, but the presence of Kaine and his wife are discernible. No sign of Citlali or any other Lamias though. Samael, donning a large mask that obscures his face, stepsforward confidently, his hands gripping the railing as he surveys his domain.
The urge to hurl a blade at his head surges within me, but I know better. Magical shields and protective spells are undoubtedly in place, and who the fuck knows why he’s wearing a mask?
“Oh, King Onyx, I know you’re out there somewhere,” Samael calls out, his voice unnaturally high-pitched and grating, echoing across the courtyard to our hidden spot. “Do you have my little bird with you? Oh, I do hope she’s with you. I’ve missed my pet,” he croons maliciously.
I clench my jaw so tightly I fear it might crack, repulsed by his possessive words about Lyra. Beside me, Poe’s eyes widen in alarm. I shake my head slightly, signaling him to stay silent.
“Nothing to say? Not ready to beg for my forgiveness and bow to me? I imagine you’ll be regretting that decision by sunrise, especially after what my men have told me about how your people are faring at my other camps.” Samael’s laugh rings out, a chilling echo mingling with the distant clash of battle.
I glance at Poe, ensuring his silence. Samael’s penchant for deception and provocation is well known. I don’t believe his claims that our other teams are struggling. Even if their magic has been temporarily nullified, my troops are far more adept at combat than the Sorcerers.
The lights abruptly extinguish, and all I hear is Samael’s dismissive, “Suit yourself.” Then the real onslaught begins. Guards pour from every corner of the castle into the courtyard, and I immediately grasp the unfolding scenario. I don’t bother to shout a warning about taking cover. It would be futile.
Arrows rain down around us, and as Poe starts to panic, conjuring a shield, I shout over to him, “It’s no use! The arrows themselves won’t hurt you. It’s the golden mist they release that takes away our powers temporarily. There’s no avoiding it outin the open like this.” The mist will penetrate our defenses, seeping into our very skin, even if we hold our breath.
The battle intensifies as we reach the hill’s crest, the eerie golden mist swirling around us like a premonition of doom. It’s a scene pulled straight from the darkest of fables, with shadows and fog dancing together under the moonlight, transforming the castle grounds into a living nightmare.
As I unsheathe my weapons, a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other—Dorian’s magic ensuring it returns after each throw—I’m momentarily reassured by the familiar weight and the faint hum of magic still alive within them. Despite Samael’s cursed arrows, our weapons remain potent, a small but crucial advantage.
With Poe close behind, we charge forward. Sorcerers, their robes billowing like dark specters, descend upon us. I waste no time. My strategy is simple—attack before they can utter a single incantation.
My sword slices through the air, finding its target with deadly precision. A head falls, the body collapsing into the mist, barely making a sound over the clash of battle. Without missing a beat, I hurl my dagger at another Sorcerer. It strikes true, embedding deep into his throat. As I spin to face my next opponent, the dagger flies back to my hand, slick with blood.
