Chapter 51
Fifty-One
SENAN
I don’t know if losing my head is going to hurt, but life is painful, so I imagine death will be as well.
There’s no point in fighting the guards escorting me to where my executioner waits. So many people have come to watch the spectacle of our “trials” and executions, the gathered crowd of Scathian lords and ladies as large as any ball the king has thrown.
Refusing to let my brother see how thoroughly he has defeated me, I kneel on the marble without a word and place my neck on the wooden plank.
The memory of Kyffin’s sobs fill my ears, as piercing as Allette’s screams for mercy.
I know better than to beg the wretch who understands nothing of the concept.
If I am to die, I will do so with dignity.
Inhaling my final breath, I close my eyes and picture my girl, smiling, laughing, and buying lemons while I wait for the strike of the axe.
I love you.
I’ll wait for you.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.
The balcony beneath my knees begins to vibrate, then shake violently, rattling me to the bone. My eyes flash open, and I lift my head, glancing over my shoulder to where the executioner had been standing, only to find him careening backward toward the balustrade, the axe in his hand falling onto the marble.
A giant crack lances across the balcony between us and the entire ledge breaks away, tumbling into the clouds below, taking the executioner with it. Boris bellows for the guards, skirting backward into the castle even as the tower continues to shake. Large pieces of the ceiling crash down, splintering the empty throne and crushing the chair still holding his wife.
Blood oozes from her limp body, spreading around the rubble.
Screams slice through the mayhem and people start running, wings sprouting from backs as the Scathians take off for the sky.
I stagger to my feet, stumbling for the throne room.
Guards rip their swords and daggers from their scabbards and sheaths, some rushing toward where the king has been knocked flat on his arse, others surrounding a group of fae in cloaks holding their ground amidst the chaos.
A cloaked man kneels at the front, both hands pressed flat to the floor. When he raises his head, I catch a flash of silver hair beneath his hood.
Iver Nightingale.
A pair of forest-green wings appear over the broken balcony, and the executioner lands with a thump, fumbling for his axe. The moment his fingers wrap around the handle, thorns shoot from the smooth wood. The axe clatters to the ground once more, sliding right off the edge of the broken balcony. The whimpering man clutches his bloody hand to his chest before taking off with the rest of the lords and ladies.
“Senan!”
I whirl toward the sound of my girl’s screams.
Eason Bell is dragging Allette toward the far balcony.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Allette!” My boots skate on the rubble as I sprint for her, running as fast as I can. But I’m too slow. He’s going to reach the exit first, and then he’s going to fly away with my girl.
“Iver! Help!” I shout.
In a flash, the archway collapses in on itself, blocking their escape.
Bell spins, his face twisted in fury and eyes slitted, promising death. When he sees me, he shoves Allette aside and reaches for his sword. My girl throws out her arms to catch herself, but the chains around her wrists get tangled around Kyff’s broken chair and she goes down hard.
Bell stalks toward me, and I search the ground for any abandoned weapons.
One of the fae with Iver throws back her hood and grins—Regina. Low whispers fall from her lips as her hands move in sporadic circles. A bolt of water whizzes through the air, crashing into Eason.
Allette stumbles to her feet, running not for the hallway, but for me. I close the distance between us, and she melts into my embrace.
“Are you all right?” I ask, cradling her face.
“I’m fine,” she says even as I trace a bruise on her cheekbone.
Chaos reigns as the tower shudders, but as long as my girl is with me, we will find a way through.
“You fool!” Boris hurtles toward us, his face twisted with rage. “What have you done?”
I can’t help but smile as Iver and the rest of the Tuath sidle up next to us. One of them puts a hand to the manacles on my wrists, cutting straight through the bracelet. The chains fall away, clanging onto the ground at my feet.
He does the same to Allette’s, leaving us free to access whatever power still burns in our hearts.
“Did I fail to mention my new friends?” I clap Iver on the shoulder, and he bares his teeth in a vicious smile. “They only wanted a bit of sunlight. And I gave it to them.”
Two more Tuath drop to their knees. The tower shudders, knocking Boris into the wall while his guards scramble to find purchase.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” the king snarls. “They will destroy us all.”
All of us? I don’t think so. “They only want you.” The fire deep within me burns with righteous indignation. The king is about to understand the meaning of wrath.
“Kill them!” Spittle sprays from Boris’s pale lips as he clings to the quaking wall. “Kill them all!” He slips and stumbles for the hallway, demanding our deaths.
Guards surround us, but the Tuath don’t appear the least bit worried even though we’re outnumbered three to one with a sea of silver stretching all the way to what’s left of the balconies.
A guttural howl echoes to my left, and one of the Tuath crumples to the ground, clutching his arm to his chest, blood spurting from where his hand should be. A guard raises his sword for the killing blow when a torrent of air whips through the room, sending the weapon flying to the far corner.
Allette’s hands stretch toward the fallen Tuath, her expression fierce and dark waves lifting at her back.
We might be holding off the guards for now, but our magic will run out.
I must find a way to end this once and for all.
Stepping over the body of a fallen guard, I collect his sword and start for the hallway where the king disappeared.
My heart thunders as I sprint after him only to skid to a halt when I pass through the door and find Boris holding Kyffin by the hair, his blade pressed to our baby brother’s throat.
The poor little lad’s eyes are so wide and full of fear, they look as if they’re about to pop out of his head.
“Take one more step and he dies,” Boris growls, his face contorted and eyes wild.
No… Not Kyff . The blade in my hand wavers. “Let him go. He’s only a child. He’s innocent.”
“He is a fucking traitor just like the rest of you.”
What other choice do I have? Boris has proven he’s capable of anything. I wouldn’t put it past him to run the little lad through without batting an eye. Slowly, I bend down, abandoning the sword on the marble. “There. I’m unarmed. Let him go. I’m the one you want, remember?”
“This is why you will never be king. You are too fucking soft.” He adjusts his grip on the dagger’s handle.
I roar for him to stay his hand, but it’s too late.
Boris drags the blade across Kyff’s throat.
Kyff collapses onto the marble, blood gushing from the wound like a flood, painting the floor crimson. Boris sprints for the balcony at the end of the hall, his wings bursting from his back.
I fall to my knees next to my brother, barely able to make out his features through the tears in my eyes.
I press a hand to his throat to try to heal the wound, but there’s too much fucking blood. I shed my shirt, wrapping Kyff’s neck as tightly as I dare. His pale lips open, as if he’s trying to speak, but the only sound he makes is a weak gurgle.
“Hold on, Kyff. It’s going to be all right. You just have to hold on.” His face grows paler as life leaves his body. Even as I call forth the dregs of my magic, I know in my broken heart that it won’t be enough to heal him.
“Help! Someone! Please, help me!” Anyone. Please.
Allette falls down beside me, laying her hands on my brother’s gaunt cheeks. Her palms begin to glow, but I dare not remove the shirt to check if the wound is still bleeding.
Kyff’s lashes flutter shut, dark fans against milky white skin.
“We need more magic.” He’ll die without it. Hell, he might die with it. Allette nods and runs back to the throne room, returning with Harold. He sinks next to us and presses his hands to Kyffin’s chest as Allette instructs him on how to heal.
I hold my baby brother’s hand, praying it’s enough, that he will live and laugh another day.
I should’ve gone straight to him, ensured his safety the moment all hell broke loose.
The slightest pressure brushes my fingers. One. Two. Three.
I love you.
He’s still with us. Thank the gods. We’re not out of the woods yet, but Kyff is strong and full of sunlight. Perhaps his magic will be enough to take over now.
One of the hallway doors opens, and a maid lurches into the room just as the tower sways. She throws off her mask. Braith .
Allette asks Harold to take Kyffin somewhere safe and find a healer. Before he can carry him away, a shadow passes over the balcony where Boris escaped, and a man with black wings lands with a thundering roar, dragging another by the throat.
A man I’d recognize in the dark.
“Aeron?”
My older brother tosses the king to the floor like the piece of garbage he is. I grab my sword and stalk toward where Boris gasps, his eye blackened and blood spilling from his split lip.
The cool hilt bites into my fingers.
A cough tightens in my chest, climbing my throat. A grim reminder of my fate. “Roll him over.”
Aeron takes Boris’s shirt in two hands, flipping him onto his stomach. Blood roars in my ears as I raise my boot and stomp the top of his spine. Boris’s wings appear, the black feathers gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Sunlight he and the rest of the Scathians have kept for themselves for far too long.
I bathe in the king’s screams as I saw through bone and sinew, stripping him of his right wing.
His status.
His freedom.
When I finish, I hand Aeron the sword, letting him take the left.
For the woman he once loved and the life he lost because of the pathetic male whimpering on the marble.
Aeron’s chest heaves, blood and sweat dripping down his brow as he scowls at our wingless king.
Hatred shadows my vision as I turn to Boris once more, his cries for mercy blocked by the memories of my own.
How I sobbed when he took Allette from me.
How I begged for one more night.
How he smiled through it all.
Blood pools toward my boots as I take the sword from my brother, raising the blade over my head, my heart beating a steady rhythm in my chest.
This isn’t just for me.
It’s for the woman I love and the years that were stolen from us.
For my baby brother who might not live to see nightfall.
For my guard Bilson who gave his life to save mine.
For the Tuath who’ve been locked in a cage beneath the clouds.
For all the lies we’ve been fed as truths.
My hands do not falter as I drive the blade into Boris Vale’s black heart and watch the life fade from his eyes.
Before they close forever, I kneel beside the fallen king and whisper, “You once told me there was too much darkness in me. And you were right. But the difference between my darkness and yours, is that I will use mine to save this kingdom, not cast it into ruin.”