Page 165 of Faeling
When Leita pushed with her magic, Ravenna tried again to rush Amaranthe with her blade. Desperation made her blood slosh and her hands slick. She caught one silk sleeve, but nothing penetrated the Queen’s defenses.
Leita was powerful but all brute force—if she’d ever been taught to use a weapon, those memories weren’t guiding her. She battered Amaranthe’s magic with her own, one brutal wave after another. Centuries of rage and despair buffeted the Queen, tears glittering on Leita’s cheeks as she came back from every rebuff to try again.
Their strategy wasn’t enough. Even together, it wasn’tenough.
A sick dread clutched Ravenna’s throat.
What if they couldn’t…
No, she wouldn’t think it. Failure wasn’t tenable. This had to end.
Ravenna got her arms up just in time to block a wave of magic. She went flying backwards, landing hard at the foot of the dais steps. A moment later, Leita landed in a heap near her, rolling across the buckling floor into the gaping hole.
“No!”
Pushing off with her feet, Ravenna slid across the marble, wings pumping to extend the glide. She grabbed Leita’s hand, using her magic to reverse their momentum. Her arm strained, nearly pulled from its socket. Ravenna bared her teeth in a grimace as she heaved, reclaiming Leita from the abyss.
“Fuck!” Leita cursed, scrambling away from the edge.
Ravenna shakily retook her feet.
Calls in orcish drew her attention across the destroyed citadel. Every fae left available to Amaranthe rushed, limped, or crawled toward the orcs, converging on the defensive line they’d made around Vallek.
Her heart bounded across the chaotic space, the bond pulling her in his direction.
Go, go to him. He’s all that matters.
He was. Fates, she wished she’d realized that sooner. She loved him so damn much.
That was why this had to end. Here. Now. Before the citadel crumbled into the sea with all of them inside it.
Ravenna grabbed for Leita before she could charge back in.“Punches of magic,” she rushed to say, “one after the other. Get me an opening.”
Understanding pierced the frenetic rage masking Leita’s face. She offered a single nod before she leapt up, bounding back up the steps.
Ravenna followed, gripping her dirk tight.
She’d just made the top of the dais when a horrid screech lanced through her skull. Amaranthe flung her arms and wings back, mouth agape. A percussive wave of magic burst from her lips, rattling the windows.
In a sudden rush ofcracksandsnaps, every window in the citadel exploded. Shards of every size rained down upon them, razor edges finding vulnerable flesh. Screams accompanied the tinkling ring of glass shattering into millions of splinters and fragments.
Ravenna threw her arms up to protect her face, cocooning herself in magic as best she could. Large pieces bounced off her protective bubble, but dozens of little slivers bore into the back of her neck and hands. She shuddered with the awful sensation, a hundred little splinters boring deep into her skin.
The silence that followed the shower of glass was almost more horrible.
It was a long moment before she could get any air into her lungs. Carefully, still in a daze, she brushed some of the glass from her hair, not quite believing the sight of her hands. Although bloodied with tiny cuts, her hands almost looked like dragon scales, blanketed in sharp edges.
Dozens of disembodied screams drew her gaze. Glass slid down the slope of ruined floor, a waterfall of shards falling into the darkness below. Bodies lay impaled with reds and greens and blues, glass faces and flowers peeking out from ruinedchests. The wounded cried for help and mercy. The dead, finally, didn’t get up.
A unicorn lay dead, their horn dark with blood. The others drew round him, withers and flanks shivering around the hundreds of small wounds scoring their coats.
Finish it, Crow,said Oberon bitterly, blood soaking him like some morbid caparison.
Ravenna saw red.
Orcs spoke of it. Their berserker rage. That unstoppable need to fight and win.
Perhaps herazailent her his. Perhaps any being reached their point of no return.
