Page 143 of Atop the Faerie Throne
But instead of making contact with my grandmother, my other palm lands on cold rock.
Rock that burns my skin.
No.Not now.
My headache screams at me as I reach for Danu with all my might. Something in my ear gives way, and another tremor starts, sending tiny stones pitter-pattering over my scalp, but I ignore them.
I have to heal him.
Hands grip my upper arms, wrenching me away from Caed. What? No! Stupid, over-protective—argh!
I flail, uncomprehending, but Drystan doesn’t stop pulling me through the tiny gap and into an ancient antechamber that’s overgrown with tumbling piles of bitterblues. Bree is crouched on top of one Fomorian on our right, while the other lies dead in the jaws of his cat-sìth.
It’s not until we’re out of the hollow, Jaro’s wolf dragging Caed through the opening after us, that the gravity of the situation becomes apparent.
The cave where we were hiding is collapsing, the rocks cracking and smashing as they tumble further into the room. I rush forward, intent on helping Jaro, but the wolf gives a warning growl and a giant heave.
My Fomorian skids over the stones, letting out a reed-thin groan at the rough treatment, but it was necessary. A huge rock crashes to rest where they both were a moment before, and I let out a whoosh of relieved air as I bend over him, Titania reappearing over my shoulder.
“A little more,” I murmur to myself. “Come on.”
The bright rust-coloured bands in the square pillars surrounding us taunt me, and no matter how hard I fight, I can’t reach my grandmother.
“Rose, stop.” A hand grabs my shoulder, wrenching me away. “You’re bleeding.”
Jaro tilts my head to one side, thumb stroking the spot beneath my nose and coming away red. I open my mouth to tell my very naked shifter exactly how little I care when the huge doors we’ve been deliberately ignoring groan.
A wall of male flesh is between me and the entrance in a flash. I grip Caed to me, smashing desperately at the block between me and my magic.
Titania’s fingers are chilly, a perfect contrast to the scalding pain in my burned palm. Holding back a sob of pained relief, I slam my other hand onto the green foaming wound in Caed’s leg, just in time for the shouts of alarm to reach us.
Heal, heal, heal,I urge frantically. But the iron is slowing the process. My head has passed painful and turned light and floaty, forcing me to ease off after only a few seconds.
I’m no use to anyone dead.
Caed’s leg is still bleeding… At least, I think it is. My vision is swimming, gut revolting. It’s all worth it when he rolls off my lap and staggers back towards the fight in the next instant.
Every breath is a battle as I kneel on the stone and hang my head in my hands. A golden bubble surrounds me, and I slump to one side in relief.
I did it. I healed him. I just need one minute to catch my breath. I can do this.
My eyes slide closed, only to fly open again as another rumble rattles the antechamber.
Unlike the others, this one is accompanied by a pulse from the portal in the room beyond. Tendrils of black smoke whisperacross the floor in front of me, reaching for my feet with icy caresses.
I stagger upright, using the wall as a support when my legs won’t cooperate. My wings flutter on my back, the golden shield floating along with me as I shuffle towards the doors and the cavernous hall beyond. I pause, resting against the frame as I watch the battle unfold.
My Guard is magnificent, taking out the Fomorians that are packed into the space without hesitation. There’s no ring of metal on metal, no curses, or yells, and I know that’s because Bree has stolen all sound, protecting Caed from his father’s edicts.
They don’t even seem to need it to communicate. Bree’s inky daggers take out one Fomorian as Drystan’s whip catches another about to club his skull from behind. They might not have my magic, thanks to the sheer amount of iron that’s in everything from the stone, to the braziers, and the Fomorians’ weapons, but they don’t need it to be deadly.
We all accepted this was a possibility. Planned for it. All I have to do is remain here, allow them to clear the room, then take care of the portal once it’s safe.
The thought prompts me to search out the imposing stone arch.
It stands on a raised dais at the end of the hall, behind the crumbled remains of a dark throne. The tear in the fabric of the realm pulses with coal-black smoke that writhes in place like it’s trying to break free of some invisible net. The tendrils covering the floor seep from around the edges, and at the very top, a medallion the size of my hand glows and sparks like it’s fresh from the forge.
We’re not too late, but it’s a close thing.
