Chapter 42 Crimson Feathers
Crimson Feathers
Time slows, as though Sascia is experiencing the world through cold water.
Nugau and her wyvern dive to catch the remains of the Queen’s charred body in midfall. The princess is askew, nearly out of her saddle, pulling her mother’s shriveled corpse close. Aesin riders crowd around the pair, both Nugau’s faction and the Queen’s, in a blur of armor and wings.
A wail rises from Nugau’s lips, the mournful sound of utter devastation. The aesin throw back their heads and howl, not a war cry this time but a searing lament, torn from the throat, shredding the vocal cords. When the howls ebb, Nugau gives a sharp command.
At once, her allies separate from the crowd and begin rounding the army to form a funnel.
Numbed with shock, the aesin simply follow instructions, diving back into the Maw in a steady stream that widens and widens.
In mere minutes, all but Nugau have disappeared back into the Dark.
The humans are holding their fire, satisfied to see their enemies retreat.
Nugau is the last to go. The princess’s gaze rises to Sascia on the parapet, where she is frozen atop her machine of violent death. The sharp features of Nugau’s face are chiseled into pure, deathful wrath.
Sascia opens her mouth to speak, to explain, but—
“You promised,” Nugau calls out, voice breaking. “We could have had peace and unity, but you—you chose the blade. The next time we meet, I will choose the blade too.”
Then, with a flick of the reins, she dives into the Maw.
You have been judged for your actions in the Battle of Feathers, Nugau had said the very first time they met in the alley on 53rd Street, and you have been found guilty of treason.
Even through the tangle of time of the ymneen, Sascia thought her choices were still her own.
She tried to make the right choice, to stop the coming war.
But she ended up doing the very opposite: She led the army of the Jagged Blade here.
And by killing the Queen—however unintentionally—she has started the war between humans and aesin.
There is no stopping it now, no changing what’s to come.
She has failed, yet again, in a way so spectacularly foolish that there can be no coming back from it. No second chance, no forgiveness, no hope.
Beneath her lies a wasteland of corpses and shattered glass.
Crimson feathers drift across the sky, dotting the skyline in a snowfall of death.