Page 130 of Wrath of the Fae Queen
Flying away from Keira,leaving herin such a vulnerable state—it is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I may have topped her up, but it will only last so long. I wasn’t even able to heal the wounds draining her of blood, and that cage will continue to steal her magic with every brush against her skin.
I try and fail not to think about her fainting from blood loss within her cage and falling onto those long, sharp spikes. Vivid images of them piercing her body, right through her organs and poking out the other side, keep rising within my mind, turning my blood to ice.
Edmund holds out a hand and I look at it with confusion. “I know what you did for my daughter. You have drained yourself.Take some of my magic to refill your reservoir. You can do that, with your healing powers, right?”
I nod. All fae can combine powers by weaving into the same wield, but sharing raw magic is unique to my court.
I take just enough to revitalize myself, without drawing too much. I do it while the dragon is spiraling down toward the broad balcony right before the main entrance of the palace, where our last battle will be held.
The dragon we ride lands on the balcony, crushing multiple enemies beneath her body, and I slide down to the ground like a man on fire with Edmund at my side. The immense platform looks over the entire city, broad enough to fit hundreds, if not a thousand warriors from both sides, thrashing and slicing into each other in this mad dance of violence.
Beyond a sea of bodies lies my way into the palace.
I swing my sword with my first step away from the dragon, removing a Truth Templar’s head from his shoulders as he charges at me. My blow sends helmet, bone and flesh rolling across the ground while the rest of him crumbles to his knees. Channels of Edmund’s flames arc over my shoulder. His voice carries as he demands the red dragon bring his Protector Guard to him to fight this last assault.
I thread my power into the hidden branches of the Wisteria of Mythanar that are woven within the floor of the balcony and through the walls of the palace. They have chopped down the decorative limbs that snaked along the railing, but their absence doesn’t hinder me.
Stone walls and wooden planks explode as thick branches erupt out of them, picking up fae and tossing them over the drop. Fashioning wooden spikes and piercing through their armor. Wrapping around limbs and dragging them along, clawing at the ground. For every warrior I kill, it feels like two more rush out of the palace to replace them. The grand foyer is clogged with enemies waiting to descend upon us.
I have no fucking clue how we are going to cut our way through the force on this balcony, much less the numbers still within the palace. I cannot find the rest of my closest friends in this mass, despite knowing they are up here.
Bodies press so close around me in the crush that I can hardly wield my sword. I manage to bring it up and stab a man through the chest, but he doesn’t fall as he dies. No, he remains upright, pinched between the shoulders of warring warriors.
I can’t tell friend from foe in the crowd, can only see the blood-splattered faces right before me, twisting with pain or fear or rage. There is something animalistic in the way we fight, tearing at each with a pure, desperate need to survive.
A shout rings out and hundreds of arrows descend upon us. I throw up an air shield over myself, and extend it at the last moment over Edmund, who still fights at my side. I cringe at the thunk of multiple shafts hitting it. One arrowhead hovers in the hardened air an inch from my face.
There are at least a hundred archers standing in the rooftop garden of the palace, firing down into the fray without a care if they hit their own troops alongside mine. Nightmares scale the walls and leap upon their prey, the Wildrose Guard panicking at their display of claws, teeth and scales. I spot Nico’s huge branching antlers and Ada’s leathery black wings among them.
The beast of Dante’s Nightmare form materializes among them, a huge colossus five times my height, larger than I have ever seen him. Shadows billow from the shards of spikedobsidian that form his pelt and the blue starlight that seeps from the cracks is almost blinding. He throws back his head and lets out a high-pitched howl. The glass windows shatter all around him, but that is not what sends a cold shiver down my spine.
The other Nightmares run from him like their lives depend on it.
When Dante is the last assassin on the roof with the archers, as they swarm him in the dozens. He howls again, turning my blood to ice and make my bones ache. I press my hands over my ears as intense pain radiates from them.
A shockwave ripples out from Dante’s beast, the result of that sorrowful sound, and the heads of every single archer near him explode in a messy wave of red pulp. Those further away clutch their ears, blood pouring out of them. So many fall from that height, the effect of Dante’s howl a physical one pushing them from their perches.
I suddenly realize he majorly held back when we fought in that arena during my last trial. That the only reason I almost won and came close to killing him was because I caught him off guard with my ability to freeze a fae’s muscles.
It doesn’t matter how many archers Dante kills; more flood the space, taking up positions closer to the balcony filled with assassins and my forces that he clearly doesn’t want to unleash that particular ability upon. Those, the other Nightmares take care of.
Despite these counterattacks, more archers come, raining arrows down upon us. I am constantly forced to pause the swing of my blade and duck beneath wards with every launch. My eardrums damn well feel like they will burst under the pressure of Dante’s howls.
I find Cyprien and Cedar in the press, fighting alongside each other, both wearing their primal forms. Cyprien’s eyes are completely black with no whites at all. Tusks and fangs eruptfrom his mouth and his inky fingers are tipped in long claws. Cedar has green-striped skin and short horns.
“I will fight for you to my last dying breath,” Cyprien grunts as he cuts down a Truth Templar. “But we are not getting through this mess. Not in time to save our queen. It will take days of fighting, maybe weeks, for our larger numbers to grind them down.”
“The palace is built as a fortress, easily defendable even with small numbers,” Cedar says. “Even the secret passages are blocked.”
A Wildrose Guard runs at Cyprien’s back and I have multiple branches impale him. “There has to be another way. I can have the Wisteria of Mythanar burst open walls for us.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that all of Titania’s forces are up here, and the majority of ours are still down there. There is not enough time,” Cyprien bites out as another wave of arrows hits our shields. “If Keira, Drake and Sasha weren’t in those cages, we could do this differently, but how long do you think they will last?”
“You must take the only option left to us,” Cedar says.
“I do not like making myself vulnerable to the politics of another court or guild,” I growl, even though my hands are tied.
I glance over to Belladonna and Valentine, who fight in a cluster with other assassins. Belladonna dances around her staff, using the pole to propel her horizontally off the ground, kicking out her legs to throw a soldier off the balcony. Valentine tosses blades of pure burning starlight, the blue-white glow of it painful to behold. Smaller shadows ripple out of them, killing our enemies in far, far fewer numbers, and I wonder if they too are tiring.
