56. Dayton
Dayton
I’m on the ground again.
How many times have I hit stone tonight? My body’s screaming. My arms are filled with molten lead. Every breath scrapes through my chest as if it’s trying to escape me.
I didn’t want to admit it before.
Didn’t want them to see it.
But the truth is I’m empty.
I’d been running on the Green Flame. Whatever scrap of life the Baron shoved into me when Farron dragged me from death, it’s almost gone now. A snuffed-out candle in a storm.
I’m flat on my back, still catching my breath, when Keldarion goes full divine warrior. There’s a flash of blue light, and then bam, our High Prince of Winter is wrapped in enchanted sapphire like the walking night sky.
Snowflakes swirl around him dramatically. His cape flutters even though there’s no damn wind.
“Right,” I mutter, dragging myself up, coughing on dust. “Of course Keldarion gets the special armor. Sworn Protector of the Realms, Starbringer of Winter, Blades of Brooding—well, I’m just making shit up now.”
No one’s listening to me.
Doesn’t matter.
Because Farron’s roaring across the battlefield, flames coiled tight around him, and he’s still going at Sira with everything he’s got. But she’s not slowing down.
He stabs his lance, and she disappears in a puff of smoke, reappearing behind him, shadows extending from her hands. He barely ducks in time.
I try to move, to help, but my limbs are sluggish. I grunt, pushing to my knees.
Light flares to my left.
Ezryn is glowing.
His fist is extended before him, and he unfurls his palm.
The air tastes sweet. Like the first breath of spring after a bitter winter.
Armor blooms over him in shimmering plates, starlight silver, edged in pink and green vines.
A faint shimmer of petals bursts around him like confetti from the gods.
His pauldrons are new buds curling open but with steel instead of petals.
Unlike Keldarion, his helm covers his entire face, his T-shaped vizor edged with silver.
I blink.
“Okay,” I whisper, grinning. “That’s pretty.”
I rise to all fours, and it feels heavy against my neck—the queen’s token, that little shell nestled among all the normal ones and the piece of red sea glass that Farron strung for me.
Kel, shining like a glacier, and Ezryn, blooming like dawn, move against the Prince of Thorns and the Baron. Farron holds back Sira’s blades, but his movements are slowing. She’s too fast.
And he’s too focused on her. Has he realized what’s happened to Kel and Ez?
I know what I have to do.
I push to my feet, every muscle shrieking in protest. My hand rises, slow but sure. I press it to my chest, right over the token. What did they do again?
But I know. Know it in my bones, in my blood. Magic sings beneath my skin, and I don’t think I could move any other way.
One breath.
I lift my hand and unfurl my palm.
The world ignites.
Light bursts around me, not soft like Ezryn’s or sharp like Kel’s but hot and fierce and full of life. Water and sun. Laughter and battle cries.
Armor slams into place, piece by piece, stunning teal and gold, edged with curling wave motifs.
Coral embossing twists down my gauntlets.
My shoulders flare with sunbursts, a swirling cloak trailing behind me, frothy as sea foam.
Then the helm settles onto my head. Curved cheek guards, a sharp nose ridge, and, rising from the crest, a plume of shimmering gold and teal feathers.
I catch my reflection in the obelisks. I look like a prince carved from sunlight and summer storms.
And damn if I don’t feel like one too.
I grin, wide and wicked. One last fight.
“Well,” I say, summoning the Trident of Honor to my hand with a satisfying snap, “someone had to bring the flair.”
Then I leap.
Sira’s already mid-swing when I crash between her and Farron, trident meeting her shadow blade in a shower of sparks.
She snarls. I don’t flinch.
“Come on, pup,” I say, flashing Farron a wink. “Let’s see you in some pretty armor too.”
He blinks. Then smiles.
Farron steps back, examines us all, then lifts his hand to his chest.
He breathes in and glows like a harvest moon.
His armor roars into being, vibrant orange and burnished bronze, carved with Autumn trees and wolves, a flowing mantle of flame curling behind him. His eyes are sparking embers. A circlet of golden leaves adorns his brow, the color bringing out the red in his hair and beard.
“Show-off,” I mutter.
Rosalina’s standing by the crystals, staring at us like we’ve stepped out of a story.
Maybe we have.
But this story’s not over.
Not yet.
Farron and I move in unison. We have to hold Sira back, kill her if we can, give Rosalina enough time to free Queen Aurelia.
My body aches, and my muscles scream in protest. But if this is the end, then I’ll go out in a blaze of glory.
One last fight. I can give my friends one last fight. Sure, it’s not the Sun Colosseum, but I couldn’t ask for better teammates or a fiercer enemy. I mean, a cosmic god and the Queen of the Below? My brothers will greet me with pride.
But what of Delphia? A pang of hurt washes through when I think of my little sister. She never wanted to be high princess. But if we pull this off, then she can be a princess of peace, not one of war.
I flash a glance to Rosalina, so beautiful. My mate. She will lead them well.
Farron and I move as if we’re two parts of one body.
Fire and water, strike and counter. He feints high, and I sweep low.
My trident flashes in a whirl of teal light while his lance blazes with ambered gold, both of us driving Sira back with unrelenting force.
Her smoke forms falter under our rhythm, her shadows too slow to catch us when we’re together.
We don’t speak. We don’t need to. Every step, every blow, is instinct.
Lovers. Warriors. A storm of Summer and Autumn crashing down on her like the end of a season.
And I know for sure now, once we defeat this psycho bitch, I can go in peace. Because they’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.
My little Autumn leaf has set us both free.