Page 45 of Atop the Faerie Throne
Fifteen
Jaromir
They rise from the wall like spiritual sentinels, clutching their weapons at attention, somehow solid even though they’re formed of blue mist. Rose’s power animates them, making them glow in the darkness.
Beside me, a warrior wearing armour I don’t even recognise swipes his pike out in a deadly arc, cleaving the Fomorian before us in two.
Blood spurts.
All around me, Fomorians are being butchered bythousandsof dead fae from ages past.
Soon, the space around us is clear, and I shift, watching Rose with awe.
My mate’s head is thrown back, her wings fluttering furiously as she channels enough magic to make her glow like a small sun. Her hair swims around her, hands spread as Danu’s power sweeps over Elfhame in a staggering boom. When I look down, blinking away sunspots, I can’t help but gawk at the host of spirits swooping down from the wall in all directions.
They’re silent. Eerily so.
The Fomorians are not.
Their commanders yell frantic orders as dead fae descend on them in an unstoppable, unkillable tide. Their dread is palpable as they realise their weapons can’t even land a hit. As I watch, discipline fails, replaced with panicked calls for a retreat.
They try to flee the city, only to run straight into the fae army attacking them from the other side of the wall. Three minor royals and hundreds of powerful fae soldiers, all rested and ready for battle, motivated by the sight of their Goddess shining like a beacon.
Eventually… the Fomorians give up screaming orders and just scream.
I’ve always thought of myself as having a strong constitution, but the slaughter is turning my stomach.
The cries of dying soldiers are nothing new, but a massacre on this scale is indescribable. Rose may have given an order for those who surrendered to be spared, but I’m not sure the proud blue warriors even understand the concept. The fae fighting under Cressida, Aiyana, and Ashton won’t respect it, even if the ghosts do.
Their hatred leaves little room for mercy, and the Fomorians would never have offered any in their place.
I don’t want to watch anymore, so I turn back to Rose. My chest pangs painfully as I realise when she comes back from this, her soft, mortal heart will crumble. What anyone else would count as a decisive victory, she’ll see for what it truly is: a brutal waste of life.
She’ll hate herself for this.
Suddenly, what seemed like the best plan that would result in the fewest fae casualties is obviously a terrible idea.
I’ve barely arrived at the conclusion when she starts to jerk like she’s being struck by lightning.
“Rhoswyn!” Drystan barks. “Let go. Our armies are through the inner gate.”
Our mate is past the point of hearing. Perhaps she has been this entire time. She’s shaking—no, vibrating—with the power coursing through her, helpless under the weight of it.
Lost.
My wolf howls in my mind as I consider how to get to her—but Lore beats me to it. He blinks, wrapping his legs around her waist as he whispers something in her ear that she doesn’t respond to. His fingers comb through her hair reverently, even though his body is rigid, like he’s come into contact with lightning.
She doesn’t stop, but his weight is too much for her delicate wings. She sags in his hold, descending like a falling star.
My wolf paces agitatedly in my mind, wanting to tear into whatever is hurting her. But we’re powerless to do anything more than catch her before she can touch the iron.
Shit.
A jolt of power arcs from her into me, zapping my spine and snapping my jaw shut before I can adjust.
“Rosie, let it go,” I gasp, clutching her tightly as Lore finds his feet and presses in against her back. “Come on. We’ve won.”
Her heartbeat is racing in her chest, the rhythm uneven and panicked. The violet eyes I love so much are glazed and unseeing. We have to do something, but what?
