Chapter 49
CHAPTER 49
Ezryn
“D elphia!” My voice cracks as I watch in horror as the harpy tightens its talons into her shoulders and whips back up into the sky. Delphia screams, the sound not of a steward or a princess, but a terrified little girl.
I push Eleanor back against one of the pillars and run out into the sand, tracking the winged monster’s movements. The creature laughs, its hypnotic song replaced by a half-human, half-animal cackle. The harpy is a twisted amalgamation of woman and bird. She cuts through the air with an eerie grace before landing atop one of the rock formations.
I know these creatures. I’ve seen them only once before, but not here. It was down in the Below during one of my visits to Keldarion when he lived there. I remember the traitor Caspian speaking to me of them, how they were a creation of Sira’s. His words from decades ago filter through my mind: The Queen of the Below has always been jealous of the Queen of the Vale. Aurelia made fae into birds, so Mother wanted to make fae into birds. You can see, Mother wasn’t quite so talented.
Have these monsters escaped from the depths and found salvation here?
Whatever the reason, they need to die. Now.
My heart rails against my ribs. I can get up there. I just have to figure out—
“Ezryn?” Eleanor says quietly.
I ignore her; I need to concentrate. The formations are about one hundred feet high. I could scale them, but it would take too long—
“Ezryn?” Eleanor says again, louder.
I don’t have time for her questions. “Not now, Eleanor.”
“EZRYN!” her voice ascends into a shriek.
I spin just in time to watch a second harpy fold in its wings and dive toward her. It spreads its gray-black wings at the last second and seizes Eleanor’s arms in its talons.
“Eleanor!” I lunge for the monster, but it’s too late. It jerks her up into the air, shrieking in delight, an old crone’s voice mixed with a bird’s screech.
No, no, no, no. They’re gone. They’re both gone. I promised Dayton, and through Dayton I promised Farron, I would keep their family safe. I can’t lose them, not like this.
I grit my teeth. I won’t lose them. These abominations will die before they steal another drop of fae blood.
I move without thinking now. Grabbing the grappling hook off my pack, I swing the rope in huge circles for momentum. I fling the hook forward. It lodges into one of the rock formations, but nowhere near high enough. It will still take me too long to get up there. The monsters’ cackles are louder now, and one of the girls is screaming.
A shadow passes over me as two more harpies cut across the sky. They’re heading for the rocks, too. They’re hideous things, with faces that vaguely resemble those of fae women, but the proportions aren’t right. Their eyes are too big, the color black within black. Their jowls are sunken, cheeks caved in. One opens its mouth to screech, revealing a maw of needle-sharp teeth.
I stare at the scaly legs descending into talons. They’re not quite bird feet, but a twisted semblance of faedom. The long, sinewy toes taper into sharp points, with sickle-shaped claws perfect for gripping. I turn my attention to its breast, covered in mottled, tattered feathers. Unprotected.
With a mighty heave, I swing the grappling hook back into the air. This time, it hits its target. The steel prongs make a squelch as they drive into the harpy’s chest. I grab the rope and pull.
The harpy gives a piercing cry but keeps flapping. Its companion looks down and cackles before descending to one of the rock formations. With a roar, I pull harder, dragging the harpy down toward the earth. A putrid odor washes over me as I yank the monster closer. It’s so strong, I can almost taste it, the smell of rot thick and cloying. Every desperate flap of her wings is redolent with the stink of carrion. Bile rises in my throat, but I fight it down.
With one last pull, the harpy is right above me. She grimaces, revealing sharp yellow teeth, chunks of rotten flesh poking out from between them. Patches of wiry hair sprout from her scalp in clumps matted with filth.
I lunge, grabbing hold of her ankles. She cries out and takes off into the air. My stomach loops as the ground drops away beneath us. Wind whips my face, stinging my eyes and stealing my breath, but I refuse to let go. Black blood drips over my face from the puncture wound in the harpy’s breast.
With each beat of her powerful wings, the harpy carries us higher and higher until we hover over the rock formations. Nausea roils through me. The rocks are each topped by a nest. They’re little more than crude piles of sticks and dried vegetation, but all heaped with festering carcasses and gnawed bones.
The harpy shrieks and starts thrashing above one of the nests. I let go, and don’t think. Not about the disgusting gushing sound my boots make as they land in the nest, not about the height. Not even about where Delphia and Eleanor are.
I act on instinct and by now, my instincts for killing are perfect.
There’s not enough room up here to get a hard enough swing with my sword, so I unsheathe one of Delphia’s instead. Her twin blades are small; this one is like a long knife in my hand. But it’s just what I need to slit the throat of the harpy, retrieve the grappling hook, and kick the creature over the edge.
My shoulders heave with my ragged breath as I scan the horizon. Three harpies leap up and down on the edge of a nest on one of the flat-topped rock spires in the distance.
I measure the length between the nest I’m on and the next closest one to the harpies: about ten feet. I clench my fists and roll my neck. Not much room in this nest for a running start, but it will have to do.
Rotten sinew and brittle bones crack beneath my feet as I run then leap. I land in the next nest with a thud, rolling over a half-eaten carcass of what might once have been a horse. Then I’m up and leaping to the next one before I give myself a chance to think.
With jump after jump, I cross the rock spires. As I approach, I see the girls huddled together, backs pressed to the edge of the nest as the three harpies surround them. The monstrosities screech and cackle, poking at the girls with their wingtips. Delphia grabs a bone from the nest and swings it wildly. One of the harpies shoots out a foot, grabbing the bone in its talons and cracking it. Delphia screams.
Eleanor buries her face into Delphia’s shoulder and raises her hands. A shower of sparks flies from her fingertips. An ember catches on one of the harpy’s feathers, and it begins leaping up and down, desperately trying to snuff it out with its fae-like maw. The other two harpies laugh hysterically.
Rage boils through me. I take each jump faster, more recklessly. With every beat of those monsters’ wings, my fury intensifies. Blood courses through my veins. Already, I can feel their wings snapping under my hands, feel the splatter of their blood as I make them pay.
With a primal roar, I charge forward, taking the very last jump and landing in their nest. The world around me blurs into a whirlwind of motion as I launch myself at the first harpy. Delphia’s blade cracks through the breastbone and I push harder until I feel the spurt of heart’s blood.
The second harpy screeches and bats its wings to get away, but I’m faster. I cut this one horizontally. A gush of foul innards spill from its belly before I kick it over the side.
The last harpy hovers protectively over her prey, attempting to shield the girls from my sight. One of her talons grips Delphia’s tunic and slices through the skin. A line of blood courses across Delphia’s collarbone.
Red floods my vision. I snag the harpy around the neck and pull her away from the girls. She beats at me with those dirty wings, but I wrestle the monster to the ground, pinning her beneath me. Her leathery skin cracks as she bites at my neck.
With a sound as animalistic as the harpy’s, I drive the blade down into her chest. Her neck. Her eyes. Her wings.
Black blood splatters over my face, but I don’t stop. I stab and stab and stab. This monster must pay . The muscles of my arm scream, and I can barely get a breath in. My vision is red and black spots, but I don’t stop stabbing.
Finally, my blade hits rock. I take in a shaky breath. The creature below me is so mutilated, I’ve cut all the way to the bottom of the nest. My hand stills.
My hand and Delphia’s beautiful blade, modeled like her brother’s, are both pitch-black with monster blood. Sitting back on my heels, I try to regulate my breathing.
I blink the blood out of my eyes and turn to the side. The girls have their arms wrapped around each other. They’re shaking, their eyes wide and haunted.
They’re afraid.
Not of the harpies.
Of me.
I try to wipe the blood off my face, but there’s no part of me that’s unmarred. I can’t even clean Delphia’s blade. “Girls …”
A soft whinny sounds from the other side of the nest. It’s coming from beneath the body of the first harpy I killed. Grateful for any distraction from staring at the horrified looks the girls are giving me, I get up and walk over to the body. With a shove, I roll it off the edge.
Beneath it quivers a white foal. At least, I think it’s white, though its coat is covered in harpy blood and tucked tight to its body are …
“Seven realms,” I mutter. “Delphia, you were right.”
“What is it?” she asks, her voice shakier than I’ve ever heard.
“Come and see.”
The girls don’t move. I turn to them and try to smile. They both stare at me with the same etched look of fear.
I return to them and hold out my hands. “Come on. You’ll want to see this. I promise it’s okay.” I look from Eleanor to Delphia. “You can trust me. It’s not going to hurt you.”
The princesses look at each other, silent words passing between them. Then they each take one of my hands. I walk them over to the other side of the nest.
The young Pegasus blinks up at them and gives a little whinny.
“You were right, Delphia,” I whisper. “The Pegasuses are here. We’re going to find them, okay?”
Delphia sinks to her knees. Her body shakes and tears rush down her face. She holds her hands out, and the foal sniffs her fingers before leaning into her touch.
“They’re real,” she cries. “I knew they were real!”
Eleanor falls to her knees beside her and runs her hands over the foal’s body. Then she blinks up at me. “We’ll save her, won’t we, Ezryn?”
“Of course we will.”
Two hours and a complicated pulley system using my grappling hook and rope later, we’re back on the ground. All four of us.
The girls chatter excitedly about names for the foal before deciding on Drusilla, the name of Delphia’s grandmother. The little beast trots happily beside them. Besides a few talon marks, the foal is unharmed.
It is completely unafraid of them , I think. This is no wild animal. It has been raised with the fae. We’re going to find the Huntresses. I’ll bring them back to Summer with Delphia and Eleanor. We’re going to survive this.
Though the foal has eased some of the pain and fear, I can still sense it from the girls. A wariness they’d never had before.
Good. It’s what’s needed to survive. If I have to be a killer to keep them safe, I will be. Even if they hate me for it.