Page 92 of Crown of Darkness
I lean against him and one of his wings tucks protectively around me.
“Vi.” There’s a look upon his face that I’ve never seen before. “You were supposed to get out.”
“You were supposed to fix the dam situation.”
Curse it, my throat feels like I’ve swallowed pure fire.
“I thought you were—” He bites off the words, his jaw locking as he turns to the side. “I didn’t think I would reach you in time.”
And my bleary eyes take in the crowd of people gaping at us.
Distrust fills their eyes and the way they look at him—and his wings—hurts my heart. They slosh through the draining water toward us, barely daring to let go of each other.
He is the monster they all fear.
Even in losing this hand, my mother wins.
Until a single woman breaks the spell, daring to step toward us.
“Ayelet,” she whispers, and then she’s no longer tremulous. She runs toward us and snatches the little girl up into her arms. “Ayelet.” Drawing back, she runs both hands over the child’s face as though she can scarce believe she’s still alive. She looks at me over the top of the child’s head, tears sliding down her face. “Thank you. Thank you. You saved us all.”
And as I look around I realize they’re no longer looking at Thiago’s wings, they’re looking at our feet, where the water has finally cleared.
Flowers bloom around us, little blades of grass pushing through the crevices in the cobble stones. A thin vine curls its way up my leg, caressing my calf.
What in Maia’s name?
“I’ve heard them say that when your mother bound herself to the land, the earth blossomed at her feet for her,” Thiago says. “There is summer in your veins. The city blooms for you.”
It starts with one man.
He goes to one knee, bowing his head. “My queen.”
And then the handsome fae youth at his side lands harshly on his knee. “My queen.”
One after another they fall to their knees, and it’s no longer a whisper, but a rising chant that pulses in time to my heartbeat.
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
It echoes through the streets until there are hundreds gathered, all of them bowing toward me.
Thiago looks around. Something raw touches his expression; a mix of awe and love and admiration. And then he too is going to one knee, capturing my hand and squeezing it between his. “My queen.”
Every inch of me aches.
Burned fingers. Bruised ribs.
But more than that, the heavy cloak of fatigue that hovers over me like a pile of boulders about to collapse.
“Get me out of here.” I know too well the power of symbols. “Before I fall flat on my face.”
And my dark prince sweeps me up in his arms, cradling me close. “As you wish.”
Then he launches into the sky, not bothering to hide the sweep of his wings.
