Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Violet
Ifeel like I am drowning, deep underwater, and that I may never breathe again. My sister was monstrous before, and now that she’s with child and has the High King’s favor, I can only imagine how much worse she will be.
The attack bell begins to toll.
Again.
“Where do you need me?” Rafe says, all soldier, his attention on Atlas, even though his hand still holds mine.
“Go with Dirk,” Atlas says. “Your experience will be valuable on the front line with the army.”
Rafe nods once, reaches to cup my cheek, and then he’s gone, striding from the room with Commander Dirk and his lieutenant.
My legs threaten to give out, and yet they must hold me.
“And what of me?” I whisper into a room empty but for Atlas and me.
“It’s time for you to be our Queen,” he says, rounding the huge table. “To take your rightful place.”
The air shimmers before him, and in his hands are familiar items: goggles, a jacket, sturdy boots, and sensible hide pants.
Equal parts thrill and nervousness assault me as understanding blooms. They look new—like a set Atlas might commission, especially for me. That Darrion implied that he would.
My lips curve up the slightest amount. There is not a bit of silk. Oh, how Darrion would sneer in disgust.
“Do you trust me, Violet?” Atlas asks. “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
“I do,” I reply. “With all my heart, I do.”
Lark
I sense a presence—forgotten and now remembered—drawing my awareness from the taste of blood and the scent of death.
My snout lifts. A lull in the fighting. I sniff the air, then I turn away from the soldiers and follow the instinct calling to me.
I do not go far before I find them lingering at the border of the forest, where a great gray beast pushes out of the thick undergrowth and moves to the fore.
The pack leader.
No, more. A royal. The leader of all the packs.
“You called us, brother. We heard you and came. For your enemy is ours.”
Around him, wolf shifters of every breed emerge from the forest. Tens upon tens. Hundreds.
“We felt their presence from a great distance, even in our packlands,” the royal pack leader says. At his side stands another gray wolf, almost as huge. “It is time to hunt the dark fae and their rocklings. Guide us, brother. Lead us in the hunt.”
My tongue rolls out the side of my mouth in pure wolfish glee before I pivot on the spot. “Follow me.”
Violet
My hands tremble as I don the clothes. Were Atlas not helping me, I don’t believe I could change at all. He is quick and efficient as he slips clothing into place and adjusts straps and buckles with a familiar ease.
His wings waft slowly, sending a shower of tiny golden dust all over the room and me.
It does not escape my notice that he is both huge and glimmering, almost seeming to pulse with power.
I did that… with a little help from my mates.
And now my cheeks heat anew as I’m caught staring at Atlas’s large, capable hands as he slips my leather helm over my head and tightens the strap under my chin. The goggles go over the top of my helm and rest over my forehead, ready to pull down.
I am ready.
We share a look.
My king.
My mate.
A Pride Leader.
“You have given us much,” he says. “You are a Queen worthy of legends—one who has strengthened the entire pride. Come. There is a battle to be won.”
And then we are leaving. He does not need me to offer greater urgency. A strange energy flows into me and out of me. It feels as though it comes from the very stones of the eyrie itself… the mountain core, trickling through me and then outward, pulsing… pulsing…
We reach the opening to the upper eyrie. The air implodes, and where Atlas stood is Aldric. He shakes out his beautiful gray feathers and directs his whirling silver eye my way.
The familiar harness is already in place across his back. I know where to place my booted feet, as he lowers one wing, making a platform for me to hop up onto his back, where I clip myself into place.
Aldric glances back and chirps approvingly, seeing I’m ready… and launches himself from the cliff.
My stomach drops with him before he spreads his wings and sweeps wide, following the line of the craggy mountaintop. To my left, Galeor and his wing, and to the right, Darkan and his wing. Beyond them, griffins in every color fill the skies—wings upon wings of them.
“We are ready for your command,” Darkan announces. “Commander Dirk and Rafe are in position.”
“And the damn mutt has roused the wolves,” Fenix adds cryptically—Galeor echoes his dark approval in my mind.
“Good,” Atlas says, all business. “Light the beacon. Let the battle begin.”
A fire blares to life on the very top of the eyrie. Aldric emits a mighty screech. The other griffins answer the call. A sound that once terrified me. Now, it creates a rush inside me, one that rises as his wings beat steadily, taking us toward the battle.
Below, it all spreads out: the fires, the battle lines, and soldiers on the outskirts of Acton Trussell, the once quaint little trading village.
The banners of the royal houses that have pledged their allegiance to the Hydornian king.
The black, insidious serpent banner of the dark fae.
Rising out of the monstrous rabble are great white beasts—rocklings.
Fenix’s wing peels away, and then they launch themselves into the battle. Darrion’s wing peels to the right before they do the same.
Dead ahead, a great horde of wolves—far too big to be anything but shifters—bound from the treeline and rush between the lines of human soldiers, seeking out the rocklings.
And all the while, I feel the power of the eyrie surging through me.
Atlas remains high, orchestrating the battle from above. “Hold the left flank… Galeor, support the eastern line… Pull back from the ridge, they will overrun you.”
My vision fractures into a thousand different scenes.
I see Rafe, a great sword in his hand, a black stallion beneath him, both splattered in blood as he carves his way through enemy men.
I see Lark, white coat bloody, as he hunts with the wolves.
I see ordinary men and women, simple villagers, gem miners, traders, and farming folk, helping shore up defenses and tend the wounded.
And there—her standard flying beside the High King’s—I see my sister with Elijah at her side.
Everything else falls away.
“There,” I say.
Aldric does not hesitate. He banks sharply, the wind tearing past us as he turns toward her.