Page 54 of Vines of the Underworld

The plan is simple yet requires precise timing. We will tap into my magic at the roots of the ancient tree, and then Diaphonus and the prince, both the most skilled and powerful mages of Faëheim, will amplify and channel the energy down the roots of the Sentinel and the surrounding vines. If it works and the magical ecosystem springs back to life, enormous amounts of arcane power will shoot up the vines and release on the surface, powering the wards. The mages and soldiers of all Fae kingdoms will then join forces to push back the invaders.

Our weak hope is based on the surprise of our risky counterattack. The Siphons are mighty yet severely outnumbered, and a massive, coordinated attack from all sides should drive them out.

The noose around my throat tightens when the massive iron gates of the underground city close behind us, and we head back to the lands of Dairell.

The wheels of the black carriage leave deep trails in the shimmering inky sand, and I can’t look away, a foreboding squeezing my chest. I cast one last look at the dark elves´ stronghold, hoping to spot the tall silhouette of Cyrell mounted on Cerberus, yet my mysterious stalker is nowhere to be seen. I make myself comfortable in the bouncing cart and try to sleep.

An abrupt stop wakes me up. Something is wrong. I feel it in my gut. Horses neigh and gallop around, and there are other, more disturbing sounds. It’s more like barely detectable vibrations that give me goosebumps.

“Stay inside, Celeste!” the prince commands, dismounting his horse. I hear him unsheathing his sword and shouting at his soldiers in the tongue of the Fae. My jaw drops when I look through the window.

Cyrell stands tall, a vicious lance in his hand, its tip pointing at Dairell. Cerberus` metallic plates reflect the dull light of the shimmering orbs floating above.

The Black Guardians around them act oddly; they run around or drop to the ground as if pierced by invisible blades.

What is the meaning of this pantomime?

After a moment of hesitation, I step out of the carriage. Death is written all over the handsome faces of both males. I am unsure about my role in this conflict, but I will do anything to avoid bloodshed.

“The mightiest warrior of the Lower Lands, allied with the enemy,” Dairell spits on the ground. “Will you fight me or let your newfound friends finish the deed while you cower behind them?”

Newfound friends? What does he mean? I look around, confused. It’s only us and the dark elf in the middle of nowhere.

Cyrell’s glowing eyes spot me, blazing with sudden longing and sadness. The prince follows his feverish gaze and whips his head toward me.

“So it is about her, then? I thought you, stoic and disciplined as you are, could keep your cock out of the state’s business.” The tip of Dairell’s long sword draws a half circle in the black sand. He takes a fighting stance, his mighty wings drawn up behind his back.

Shit.

“It’s always been about her. I tried to make you see some sense, but you refused. I will not let you kill her. I claimed her first, Dairell. I drank on her, and she tasted me, too. She is mine.”

Wait, what?

A roar escapes the prince, and he takes up to the sky, hovering over Cyrell before darting down, his blade aiming at the heart of the dark elf.

Dairell’s bitter cackling makes my skin crawl. “And you think your magic-hungry allies will spare her the second they sense her powers?”

“I will make sure they will. I called them here for you. They will let me keep most of the Lower Lands in return for the favor. And most of your lands, too.”

A deafening clang of steel cuts his words. Sparks shower from their blades. His battle instincts kick in, and Cyrell deftly leaps to the side. Their moves are so fast that I can see only blurry limbs and the lightning arcs of their steel.

I know I should do something, but what?

And what new friends does Dairell mean?

The air ripples around me like a hot day over a black road. I blink and rub my eyes, and then it hits me.

Is it even possible…

I sense a presence. I’ve heard from Diaphonus that my mortal eyes would most likely not be able to spot a Siphon, as these abominations are constituted of pure, unrefined magic. Yet I can sense them. And they are approaching. They will be onto us as soon as they finish off the remnants of our escort.

Both males are locked in a life-or-death skirmish, so no help is coming. Cyrell brought them to us? No, this cannot be. I try to wrap my mind around this. Then, suddenly, icy chills run down my spine. I feel watched.

Cold, eerie, unblinking eyes measure me up. I have drawn someone’s attention, just like the retreating postman captures the attention of the guard dog.

I step away from the carriage and the whistle and clang of the blades. The horses panic, and gallop away. I look around for a way out or help. But there’s nothing, just endless rows of dead vines on both sides of the road and two males consumed in their thirst for vengeance. Then, a shove by invisible hands throws me to the black sand. A caress of dead fingers, a curious brush of something other. Something that does not belong here.

Ice crystals form in my skull. I feel my mind violated, the pages of my memories flipped as if a careless child leafs through a book.

---