Page 125 of Song of the Heart Scale
I pressed my forehead to hers and sobbed. “Why? Why?Why?”
Thorne watched with cold indifference. “She was just a servant, Arya. I can get you a hundred more. Honestly, she should have been punished days ago. She’s the reason you were tortured in the first place.”
I raised my face, tears blazing hot trails down my cheeks. My voice was steel. “You bastard,” I whispered, my voice filled with deathly calm. “I will kill you.”
Thorne snorted as he wiped his hands on a napkin as if touching Maeve had soiled them.
My teeth chattered and my bottom lip quivered. As I held Maeve in my arms, the guilt of putting her in this situation ate me up inside. This was my fault. All of it. I killed her.
I was powerless to stop the tears that flowed down my cheeks in an unceasing trickle. “I will end you even if I have to die in the process!” I seethed.
“She’s just a bloody servant!” he shouted.
I shot to my feet, dropping Maeve and charging toward him. “And you’re a piece of shit!” I went to strike but he caught my wrist. “You want war? You just got one,” I growled.
Thorne stood silent, his expression unreadable.
I screamed.
Not out of fear.
Out ofrage.
Guards flooded into the room at the sound, but I was long past caring. I dropped to the floor and cradled Maeve against me as tears streaked down my face, my throat raw from screaming.
This was it.
No more hiding.
No more games.
Thorne just signed his death warrant.
And I would be the one to deliver it.
25
DAMIEN
The scent of smoke hung in the air like a warning.
I stood at the edge of the ridge, staring down at Dragon Valley in the distance as the morning sun crept over the horizon, bleeding orange and red into a sky far too calm for what was coming. The land beneath my boots trembled as the tension of the realm coiled like a bowstring ready to snap. This was it. The day everything changed.
My armor felt heavier than usual, not because of the weight, but due to the responsibility that came with it. Before dawn, the encampment had burst to life behind me. Soldiers—humans and dragon shifters—moved like clockwork as they sharpened blades, counted arrows, and whispered quiet prayers into the wind. Clad in obsidian black, the Nightwing soldiers stood out among the rest, their expressions grim and resolute. Lord Mercer was already giving orders near the command tent, his booming voice carrying over the morning hush.
Uncle Bai approached from my left, his silhouette cutting clean lines through the swirling mist. He was dressed in ceremonial battle robes, black with threads of silver thatcaptured the light like lightning. His face, though weathered, betrayed little emotion. But his eyes... his eyes held worry.
“They’re ready,” he said simply.
I nodded. “Is Garrick back?”
“Not yet, but Klaus sent word through a raven that he and the fae are already in position, hidden along the western tree line. If Garrick’s done his part, the wards should fall just before we strike.”
“And if they don’t?”
Uncle Bai looked at me. “Then this turns into a massacre.”
A chill worked its way down my spine despite the heat of the rising sun. I turned back to the valley. Dragon Valley’s outer wall shimmered faintly with magic. Even from here, I could see the glow of enchantments—old ones, buried in blood and dragon fire. But no ward was perfect. And today, we would find its weaknesses.
