Chapter 31
We walk through a dark passage with an old, mossy stone ceiling. Raphael carries a torch, and its warm, guttering light dances over faded carvings in the walls. Beneath my feet, the stones are slick from centuries of foot traffic.
At Tristan’s insistence, Raphael has thrown a cloak over his bare shoulders, and both of them have pulled up their dark cowls.
The two men stalk before me in silence, shoulder to shoulder, neither one wanting the other to take the lead.
Both of them have to hunch over to walk because the passage ceiling is barely high enough for me.
From behind, my halo casts a pale golden glow over their broad shoulders.
“Why is the portal outside of the fortress?” I ask.
Raphael glances back at me. “Nimue was once the Lady of the Lake, back in the days of primal magic. Her tower still has enough magical power to help us easily create a portal.”
Tristan glances back at me with an amused smile. “So, Syn Malleore is going to destroy the world. Why am I not surprised?”
“Tana said it’s necessary to restart things,” I say. “A rebirth.”
“Risky,” Tristan murmurs.
“Tristan,” I whisper. “It sounds like Avalon Tower can use me there. I want to stay at the Veiled Court as long as I can. I want to help protect the republic and stop the next tyrant.”
Raphael scowls back at us. “Can we just focus on getting you to the portal alive first?”
“What kind of weapons do the Iron Legion have here?” I ask quietly. “In London, they’re armed only with swords and blades.”
“Some idiot politician has given them guns,” Raphael says. “They have some supporters in high places. Government officials who claim they have absolute immunity.”
As we get to a door, Raphael pulls a vial of glowing blue liquid from his pocket. “This will shield us in case we run into gunfire.”
“And how would that happen? I thought the bridge walls would protect us.” Tristan asks. “Because I know the magic of that potion doesn’t last forever.”
Raphael’s eyebrows rise. “There’s a tiny chance the paramilitaries will approach from the lake and get into Nimue’s Tower. We’ve been given the clear, but with a caveat that it’s hard to have absolute certainty in the fog.”
“Lunacy,” Tristan mutters.
Raphael turns to me and dabs my forehead with the potion. As he does, I feel its magic like an icy, liquid metal dripping over me.
Tristan takes it from Raphael and dabs it on his forehead himself. Then he turns to look at me, his green eyes almost glowing under the cowl. “Once we get outside, keep low and cross the bridge to Nimue’s Tower. When you touch the altar, the portal will take you right into the Veiled Court.”
When we’re all shielded, Raphael pushes through the door. The bridge is longer than I expected, spanning hundreds of feet over the lake.
Raphael and Tristan start to move along the bridge, crouching down for cover, and I follow behind them. My scabbard drags along the stones. Beneath us, the lake laps at the base of the bridge.
Out here, the air smells of apple blossoms, reeds, and damp grass. Mist roils above us, coiling above the bridge. It feels peaceful, but looks can be deceiving.
In the thick fog, I can hardly see the tower ahead of us, only worn carvings in the ancient stone bridge around me. Moonlight tinges the fog with silver.
When we’re three-quarters of the way to the end, I start to relax a little.
At least, until Tristan and Raphael freeze. My blood runs cold, and my gaze flicks over their shoulders. I have only a moment to see what’s made them stop: a shadow moving through the mist that makes my heart skip a beat.
Fuck.
Two men stalk closer through the mist, their guns aimed at us.
My heart stutters. I reach for the hilt of my sword just as one of the figures ahead of us shouts, “Get on the ground!”
The man’s not even from here. He’s American, I think. I wonder if he’s come all the way over here just for the chance to hunt Fey. In any case, they don’t actually give us a chance to get on the ground before they open fire, and bullets slam into our magical armor.
I grit my teeth, thankful for the potion.
With swords drawn, we start to move closer to them.
The only other thing that can move fast as a bullet is Tristan, and he’s already off in a lightning-quick blur of shadow. Within seconds, there’s a shout and a spray of blood. As Tristan’s first kill falls off the bridge, he’s already stabbing the second man. He’s slaughtered them both in moments.
But they’re not alone. Already, more paramilitaries are running from Nimue’s Tower.
“Get on the fucking ground!” one of them roars, and even from here I can see his fury. A vein pulses on his forehead as he stares at me. “Fucking bitch!”
The three of us rush forward, and I swing for one of them. My blade bites into a man’s shoulder, and I force it through his muscle and bone until his arm gives way. The gun falls to the ground along with his arm. He starts screaming, reaching for the gun with his good hand, but I kick it away.
They keep coming—gunfire pounding our shields, blades flashing from the fog—until all I know are my ragged gasps, the copper scent of blood, and bullets hammering against magic.
They’re screaming at us as they shoot, calling us Fey pigs.
Most of the bullets ricochet off the stone around me, but one slams against the force field below my chest, hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. I know the potion is fading.
I strike one of the armed men, hefting my blade straight through his neck. His body crumples to the ground just as Tristan takes down another gunman. I turn and thrust my blade through a man’s throat, slicing his jugular. His gun lets off a few more rounds into the air, but he collapses.
From the corner of my eye, I see one of the bullets pierce Raphael’s shield, driving into his chest. He falls back, the force field around him cracking, sputtering out.
And just as I’m distracted, a bullet pierces my shield, driving into my bicep. Grimacing with agony, I can only watch as Tristan kills the last two gunmen, his sword slicing through their throats almost instantaneously. Their bodies collapse to the ground.
Blood stains the stones around us. It all happened so fast, and now corpses litter the bridge, and the air smells of death.
Raphael slumps against the side of the bridge, his hand pressed against his chest to staunch his blood.
A sharp ache lacerates my bicep. Iron is leaching from the bullet lodged in my shoulder, and it makes me want to vomit.
I wipe my mouth with shaking hands, tasting copper and salt. I don’t know if it’s someone else’s blood or my own. My legs are trembling as my adrenaline crashes.
“Syn,” Tristan says, turning to me with concern. “You were hit, let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I think Raphael needs help.”
I turn to Raphael and find him clutching his collarbone, still trying to stop the bleeding. I kneel next to him. “Are you okay, Raphael?” I ask through labored breaths.
“Fine.” Blood pours from his chest and leg.
I pull open his cloak—he’s still not wearing a shirt under it. The bullet hit him near his collarbone, and blood flows from the wound. Another bullet hit him in the knee, probably shattering his bones.
If he gets to a healer soon, he’ll survive.
“You need to go, Syn,” Raphael says through clenched teeth. “You’re almost at the portal.”
“Wait,” Tristan says, crouching next to me. “I need to get Syn’s bullet out. If we send her back with that, her cover will already be blown. Plus, she could die from iron poisoning.”
The excruciating pain is making me feel hot all over, and my limbs are shaking. I can only imagine how Raphael feels with two bullets in his body.
Blood seeps into my purple cloak. I pull it off and turn my injured arm toward Tristan, who stares at it with a deeply intent concentration. I look down to see my injured bicep, just beneath the cuff of my T-shirt.
His eyes lift to mine, and a line forms between his eyebrows. “This is going to hurt.”
My teeth chatter. “It already does.”
I close my eyes, trying to imagine myself anywhere but here.
Tristan’s hands reach for my arm, pressing, probing—and then he jolts the bullet with a hard, agonizing tug that makes my eyes water.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away with a bloodied hand before Tristan can see.
Blood pours from the bullet wound, and I clamp my hand over it.
I have no idea how I’m going to heal this in the Veiled Court, but I’ll find something.
Distantly, I hear more shouts—probably more paramilitaries heading for us, drawn by the sound of gunfire.
Tristan takes my face in his hands and stares into my eyes with the intimacy of a lover. “Run to the portal and touch the altar. I’ll take care of Raphael. Get your arm healed as soon as you get back. Tell them you were attacked by an unidentified assailant. I don’t know.”
“I’ll think of something. Be careful,” I whisper.
He kisses my forehead. “You’ve got the portal key?” he asks.
Hell of a time to ask that.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out a silver bracelet that glows in the mist. “Of course.”
He slides his hand around the back of my neck, and warmth cascades through me.
With his green eyes locked on me, he leans in closer.
My halo gilds his features from below. My gaze lingers on his black eyelashes, the high cheekbones, the sharp jawline.
Such pretty features on a hardened warrior of a man.
My heartbeat picks up, and I breathe in his scent.
For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
Instead, he presses his forehead against mine and closes his eyes.
He lets out a long, slow sigh. “I’ll come back to the Veiled Court as soon as I can,” he says in hardly a whisper.
Then, he reaches into a small sheath at his waist and pulls out a dagger.
“In case anyone sees you returning and wants to know how you were shot.”
“Thanks. Will anyone notice that you’re gone?”
He shakes his head. “Only Arlene, and she’ll never tell on me.”
I slip the dagger into my cloak and start to move for the portal. As I reach the door, I turn back to see Tristan sliding his arms under Raphael’s legs and back to carry him. Raphael looks unconscious at this point, and I have a feeling Tristan will never let him forget this moment.
The shouts of mortals draw closer, and I rush into the tower.