Chapter 57
Cornered
Faster than I could register, Artton turned away from me and spread his hands out, conjuring in a flash. His midnight-blue magic glittered in a way that reminded me of Endymion’s arcane magic as it bolted forward, reaching the High Lord’s assault just before Artton’s shield.
The power colliding was so loud that I had to pop my ears to try to dispel it as the ground shook with an aftershock.
Artton readied again, his hand shaking something fierce.
“Artton!” I hadn’t intended for his name to come out so fearful.
“I’m not at full strength,” he gritted out as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.
“I have one, maybe two of those left. Then they will hit my shield. With that kind of force, it will go down. I’ll hold them off as long as I can, but…
” The words died on his tongue as he spared me a glance filled with a regret—a feeling I knew all too well.
I went to pull for my powers again, but it was useless.
I was as impotent now as the simple human girl who’d entered this realm a lifetime ago.
It went down exactly as he’d predicted—a testament to his skill and knowledge, even if it wasn’t enough to keep us safe.
Conjure. Crack. Tremor.
Round one down
The part of me that wished more than anything that Endymion hadn’t arrived yet because he’d done the sensible thing and gone back to the Summer Court as I’d asked, now silently cried out for him to save Artton from the inevitable.
Conjure. Crack. Tremor.
Round two down.
Artton’s entire body now visibly shook as he tried to maintain the shield and pull for a third time. Problem was, Wymond and Thaddeus looked utterly unphased. They fucken knew—like we did—that it was only a matter of time before they got their grubby hands on me.
Glittering midnight blue poured from Artton’s hands in another wave of power, meeting the odd mixture of Wymond’s magic and Thaddeus’ spellcraft.
This time, there was no crack. No Tremor. This time, Artton’s magic began to buckle in the middle, bisected by the dual powers as they came toward us at an alarming rate.
One moment, Artton pressed forward with every ounce of magic he had left; the next, I watched in horror as it broke apart like a log being split by an axe. He spun, pulling me into his chest as he wrapped himself around me, shielding me with his body as his shield buckled with a thunderous crack.
I was ensconced in his protection so thoroughly that I couldn’t see a thing. A heartbeat later his back arched as pain wracked his body. He didn’t scream. Instead, his grip became punishing as he held on to me.
“Artton,” I breathed.
His breaths came in hard, and when I shifted my gaze up, his blue irises were filled with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spark,” he panted.
Another blast hit him, and as pain consumed him, his brilliant blue eyes went glassy.
“Artton,” I cried, desperately trying to wiggle free from his death grip to help him, distantly aware of a putrid scent filling the air.
He held my gaze through unseeing eyes for a few heartbeats before they lulled into the back of his head, and his body went limp, falling atop me. I couldn’t breathe, but that had little to do with his crushing weight as he still held me tight.
The only solace was that he was still breathing.
Barely, but still.
Getting out from under him was futile, but I managed to free my hand enough to caress his face. “Artton?”
Nothing.
“Please, Artton. I need you.”
A fresh wave of tears stained my cheeks as I realized just how true those words were. I’d hated this fae with every fiber of my being. But now, clinging onto me as Father Death undoubtedly waited in the wings with his scythe, I’d give anything to hear him call me Spark.
Or see that damn dimple.
Thaddeus laughed, and visceral hate like I’d never experienced before, marked my soul.
Someone snapped their fingers, and the sound boots jogged toward us.
I braced myself, knowing pain was all that awaited me on the other side of my protector’s body.
Two sets of arms wrapped around Artton to pull him off me.
“No!” I screamed, holding onto his limp body with everything I had.
It took six of them, but they finally pried us apart.
My fragile heart pulverized when his head lulled back as they carried his lifeless form away. The tossed him next to Sidrick and the others, chaining him again. It was then with his back facing the ceiling that I finally realized where that putrid scent had come from.
Their attacks had burned away his leathers. Then his flesh.
Bile burned the back of my throat, and had I not been in shock, it wouldn’t stopped there.
Numb, I sat up, and pulled my knees to my chest as I pressing my back against the shield we’d mistaken for a window. Without Artton, I was exposed. Alone. Worst of all, I couldn’t stop staring at the carnage of his back.
Sounds of shuffling feet and shifting weapons came from beyond my transfixed gaze, and I was vaguely aware of the long, purposeful strides that seemed to echo in the vast hall from the same direction.
“Healer Aiden,” the familiar voice barked in pure command.
My eyes darted up, and I had to swallow the sob of relief as Endymion strode toward Artton. He spared the briefest of glances in my direction, his expression unreadable.
“Here, Lord Endymion,” the male I could only assume was Aiden said with a strange accent as his smaller frame struggled past the last few soldiers in the archway closest to me.
“Where have you been, Commander?” Wymond challenged.
“Pardon, High Lord,” Endymion said with a dip of a chin, forced to forget Artton and face Wymond.
Aiden stood at Endymion’s side, head bowed in deference to his High Lord as he waited for orders.
“I would’ve been here sooner, but I had to wait for your summoning spell to dissipate before I could return. ”
Wait? Did he just admit that he was with us?
Wymond bristled. “Explain yourself.”
“I’d gone to ensure the transport of the spark was seamless. I regret to inform you that I found Lothar and Njal in the tunnels escorting the prisoners to the ward boundary.” The lie slid so seamlessly off his tongue that I was equal measures impressed and unnerved.
Had he used that talent on me? And if so, for what?
An undeniable pulse of anger pulsed from the High Lord like a strong gust of wind.
Endymion merely blinked as his raven hair was pushed back before falling into its natural state, and it was clear he’d witnessed this loss of control before.
Possibly often. Though, I wasn’t the only one to throw an ineffective arm up against it.
My hair flung back, dancing against the shield for a few seconds before cascading back down.
I looked behind me to see countless leaves fall to the ground in its wake, the rain no more than a dribble.
Shifting my weight, I faced forward and knelt resting back on my heels, holding my breath in anticipation.
Sidrick’s gaze caught mine, then glanced down at Artton, then back, the message clear; he needs help—now.
My feet were moving before I could think better of it as I dashed toward Artton’s prone form. They could finish their fucken meeting another time. Besides, I was the only one in this room they couldn’t kill—at least until I no longer possessed the spark.
All eyes turned to me, but I ignored them as I crossed the room. I went to go down to my knees to tend to Artton’s exposed back, but rough hands gripped my arms, wrenching me back up. I screamed from the punishing grip that dug into my flesh.
The unmistakable sound of a sword being unsheathed filled my ears, and it took me a moment to find my bearings.
“Call him off,” Endymion ordered.
The grip around me tightened, and my back was pressed harder against the chest of whomever held me.
Endymion stared in my direction from the middle of the room, and my eyes trailed the commander’s steady, two-handed grip on his golden sword, to the tip, which was now resting against Thaddeus’ throat.
I wasn’t being held by a fae.
Or Thaddeus.
Call him off.
“Nevander,” I breathed. His grip faltered for a heartbeat, and my focus shot to Tarrin, who looked at us with wide eyes, confirming what I already knew.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment as my heart fractured just a little more.
I hadn’t seen him, and I wondered if he’d been among the soldiers.
Either way, he was here. And I was in his grip. “Nevander, please.”
“Don’t,” he warned.
“You don’t understand,” I pressed. “It’s all a lie. The Great War—”
“Don’t,” he snarled, his hands around me now tight enough to steal my breath.
“I can free you from him,” I rasped around his grasp.
Noting my struggle, Endymion stiffened, and had it not risked me, that lethal edge would be against Nevander’s neck instead of Thaddeus’.
Nevander scoffed, the sound bitter and harsh. “Yeah, look at Tarrin. Free as a bird from your help.”
“Even in chains he’s freer than you’ll ever be,” I spat.
I squeaked as his grip tightened even more.
“I won’t ask again,” Endymion said in response.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Thaddeus spat.
Lowering his tone to a deeper, more menacing octave than I’d ever heard from him, Endymion said, “I’ve already killed the High Lord’s third and fourth commanders today. Trust me when I say I’d be more than happy to add King to that list.”
“You’re going to let him talk to me that way?” Thaddeus demanded of Wymond.
“I should think the sword to your throat would be the more pressing issue than his words,” Wymond mused.
A choked laugh escaped me, despite myself.
Endymion shot me a look, brow raised.
I was losing it, and I wasn’t entirely sure I could blame it on a lack of oxygen. It was all just too much. How the fuck had I gotten here, in this situation? And when would this nightmare end?
“My commander’s ask is a simple one, King Thaddeus,” Wymond continued. “And as I understand it, he’s already warned you about engaging with the spark without permission.”
So, Endymion had told his High Lord about earlier. Interesting.
Thaddeus’ defiant look he threw Endymion’s way promised retribution when the odds favored him.
“Release her,” Thaddeus said through gritted teeth.
Sucking in harsh breaths, I wasted no time grabbing Aiden’s arm, and dragged him down to the ground with me. He yelped in surprise as he fell ungracefully to his knees. “Heal him, please,” I begged.
He glanced over his shoulder to Endymion, who nodded.
“You’re going to heal the summer bastard after what he just pulled?” Thaddeus roared.
Aiden ignored the outburst, focusing on Artton. We both grimaced as he pulled back some of the tattered remnants of scorched leathers.
Unable to watch, I looked away.
Endymion moved, drawing my attention to him.
Sheathing his sword, he stepped into Thaddeus’ personal space and released a low growl of warning when Nevander reached for his weapon.
“I’ve already warned you once today,” Endymion said, his temper flaring.
“You are a guest of this court, but know nothing of our customs or treaties. Satisfying your bloodlust is not reason enough to send back a dead commander to the Summer Court. So, yes, our healer will keep him out of Father Death’s clutches. ”
“Enough of this,” Wymond’s voice rolled through the Great Hall, and everyone stilled. “I grow tired of this day and want what I came for. Let’s finish this and be on with it once and for all.”
Terror iced my veins, and my gaze shot to Endymion, who dipped his chin ever so slightly.
He’d warned me I’d have to resist; that this would happen. But a na?ve part of me had refused to believe it would come down to that—until now. Until those cerulean eyes plead for me to understand. And I did. Endymion couldn’t stop this.
Surveying the Great Hall I was startled to see just how many soldiers had flooded into the room, the hallways now bursting. There were a hundred. Maybe more.
Swallowing hard, I finally accepted that we were out of options. That I was out of options.
I squeezed Artton’s shoulder.
“Ny, no!” Tarrin called.
I looked at him, at all of them, and offered a sad smile.
There was no miracle coming our way. The only thing I could do was trust that this would buy time for Endymion to find us another way out. Even then, it might all be for naught.
Pressing my hands on my thighs, I stood, readying myself for the very real possibility that resisting wouldn’t work and Thaddeus and Wymond would rip every last drop of power from me—regardless of the cost.