Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dread rolls through my stomach as we fly straight towards the wards that now surround the Seelie Court.
My entire soul recoils at the thought of being in this city again.
It’s not the Seelie Court in itself. I don’t hate our realm.
Just this city. It holds too many awful memories that I would rather forget.
I don’t want to see this city where I was treated like crap all my life.
I don’t want to remember how weak and pathetic I used to be when I lived here.
I don’t want to look at the now empty house where my parents used to live or the Golden Palace where they died.
It makes pain claw at my chest, which in turn just makes me want to use my magic even more.
I grit my teeth, trying to block it all out.
Winds wash over us as we speed across the thorn forest and close the final distance to the city.
We had to leave the rest of Draven’s clan in the Unseelie Court so that they could also find fae to bond.
But the Orange, Purple, and Blue Clan are flanking us in full force as we descend on the Seelie Court.
Inside the wards, chaos erupts. People rush through the streets, heading towards the dragon field.
Since they are completely isolated in here, they have no idea what has happened outside the thorn forest this past year.
They just see dragons coming and rush out to greet them like we have been ordered to do our entire lives.
When we reach the edge of the wards, I speak the correct passphrase and we all just fly right through them.
Since there is nowhere to land outside the wards, I told Severin Godblessed to give me a way to shut down the part of the wards that block the shifters from taking dragon form inside them.
That way, we can fly all the way to the open dragon field instead of crashing down into the thorn forest the moment we enter the wards.
Booms echo across the Seelie Court as Draven and the other dragons land one after the other on the open space outside the city walls.
The fae from our court stare up at me, Alistair, Isera, and Orion, who are all seated on Draven’s, Lyra’s, and Galen’s backs.
Shock and fear pulses through the air around them like a living, breathing thing as they gape at us.
After surveying the stunned crowd, we dismount and slide down to the ground.
Black smoke rolls through the air as all the dragons shift into their human forms so that the others behind them can have space to land as well. Once the smoke has blown clear, it reveals an army of people in dragon scale armor. And four fae at the front.
Dead silence falls over the grasslands.
The fae before us just stand there and stare at us while fear and confusion fight like wolves on their features. Behind us, the setting sun casts dark red light over the landscape, painting the grass the color of blood.
For a few more seconds, everything is still and quiet.
Then a man close to the front rips off his cloak and rushes forward.
“Traitor!” he screams as he yanks out a knife and lunges for Draven.
The moment his cloak is no longer covering his face, his non-pointed ears and one-colored eyes become visible, clearly marking him as a dragon shifter. He must be one of the people from the Red Clan who got trapped here when I forced Severin to raise the wards.
Next to me, Draven draws his massive sword while I summon a flame of fear.
I slam it into the dragon shifter’s chest right before he reaches Draven.
Terror explodes across his features as my magic hits.
Pleasure thrums through me while the attacker jerks backwards in fear. But it’s already too late.
With a powerful swing, Draven cuts the man’s head clean off his shoulders.
Cries of shock erupt from the gathered fae.
The shifter’s head tumbles down from his shoulders and hits the ground at the same time as the rest of his body crumples to the grass as well. Blood spreads out around it.
Someone in the crowd throws up. Loudly.
The moment he died, my magic cut off. But I immediately summon another white flame of fear in case there are other attackers. Next to me, Draven just casually rests his massive sword on his shoulder and spreads his black wings wider.
“Anyone else?” he demands.
Whimpers ripple through the crowd of gathered fae as everyone shrinks back.
Alistair rolls his eyes and gives Draven a sidelong glance while muttering under his breath, “Show-off.”
A muscle flickers in Draven’s jaw as he clenches it to stop a laugh that would most certainly ruin his current air of ruthless power.
It thankfully distracts the others enough that they don’t realize that it takes me three tries before I manage to force myself to let my magic fade out instead of using it on someone else. I draw in a deep breath, trying to compose myself.
“Well, go on then,” Alistair prompts, his voice soft enough that only we can hear. “Tell them what’s going on and what we need them to do.”
“I’m the Shadow of Death,” Draven growls back in a low voice. “Everyone here is terrified of me. You’re one of them. You tell them.”
“I’m a bully,” he protests. “Everyone here hates me.”
“I have emotion magic,” I add. “No one here trusts me.”
“I’m the Unseelie King,” Orion says. “No one here has even seen me before.”
Clothes rustle as we all turn to Isera.
She gives us all an incredulous look. Then she lets out something between a sigh and a groan. “Mabona’s tits.”
Turning back to the worried crowd before us, she draws in a deep breath.
“Listen up!” she bellows in a voice that pulses with authority and echoes across the field.
It shocks me enough that I even jerk back a little.
I don’t think I have ever heard Isera raise her voice in this way before.
But Goddess damn it, it’s like she was born to command armies.
I stare at her as she begins explaining what has happened outside the thorn forest this past year and the war that is going on and what we need them to do.
Every word she speaks is filled with such unflinching confidence and authority that I feel myself straightening as if before a commander. There is no hesitation in her words. No question at all that people should just shut up and do what she tells them. I can’t help but be impressed.
Eyes widen as Isera exposes the truth of the Atonement Trials and the dragon steel and who the Icehearts really are and the war that is now being waged.
The gathered fae cast uncertain glances at the army of dragon shifters before them when she tells them about the union bond and how it works.
And large parts of the crowd outright gasp when she tells them that she has killed Emperor Bane.
“Now, it’s time to finish this war!” Isera bellows across the stunned crowd. “Once and for all. All of you who possess a magical skill, step forward so that we can start pairing you with dragon shifters to form union bonds.”
No one moves.
I sweep my gaze over the crowd, looking for familiar faces.
Like Fenriel, the cheerful guy I got to know during the Atonement Trials, and his magical hawk Talon.
Or even Trevor, the guy with stone magic who would have likely won the Atonement Trials instead of me if Isera hadn’t almost cracked his skull with a block of ice.
But people are still streaming out through Golden Gate, making their way towards us, so they might not even be here yet.
Shit. We need someone who will step forward and take the lead. But they all just stare back at Isera with terrified eyes.
“Selena,” she says under her breath.
“Yeah,” I simply reply, since I know exactly what she is asking.
Summoning my magic, I sweep my gaze over the crowd until I find someone who I know people look up to. A jolt shoots through me when I spot the master of the Fishing Guild. My old boss. He has water magic, and he is over five hundred years old, so people have a lot of respect for him.
It will have to do.
I visualize a large burgundy flame of courage before me.
Then I shove it right into his chest.
Pleasure flows through me the moment it makes contact.
I draw in a discreet breath of relief as those incessant cravings inside me at last fall silent now that the comforting warmth is flowing through me again.
My eyes glow as I continue increasing the courage in his chest. I watch the hesitation fade from his features as determination instead takes its place.
Old insecurities try to rise up inside me.
I spent more than a century of my life trying to make this man like me so that I could finally move up in the guild instead of staying at the lowest position of fish cutter all my life.
It never worked. Because of my magic type, he never trusted me enough to promote me to a different position.
I spent years trying to prove to him that I would never use my magic against anyone in the guild. That I was not that kind of person.
And now, here I am, doing exactly that.
“I will fight!” my old guild master calls, his voice ringing out across the crowd.
Several people turn towards him.
I quickly pull back my magic, but this time I leave that final thread on purpose so that the large flame of courage will continue to burn in his chest. Then I immediately move on to another person.
Shoving a burgundy flame of courage into that guy as well, I increase it until he also volunteers.
Then I do the same to another person. And another.
Every time, I leave that final thread behind so that the courage remains. That way, they won’t realize that they’re only feeling brave because I am forcing them to be brave.
As if she can read my mind, Isera whispers gently, “They will hate you for this.”
Her words seem to clang through my soul.
Because it’s true. Once this war is over and I cut those final threads that I have left behind on purpose this time, these people will go back to normal and feel the stark contrast between their real feelings and what I forced them to feel.
They will know that I manipulated their emotions. And then, they will hate me.
A few months ago, that would have broken me.
Now, it doesn’t bother me at all.
I don’t care if the entire Seelie Court hates me.
As long as we win, as long as Jessina dies, it’s all worth it.
Even if it makes me a villain.
So instead of feeling dread and pain, I simply reply, “I know.”
And then I continue using my magic.
Eventually, the rest of the crowd gets swept up in the show of bravery that I’m forcing the others to display, so they start volunteering on their own. The only problem is that I don’t know how to stop.
More, more, more, my mind keeps chanting every time I pull my magic back.
I almost scream out loud in frustration as I yet again fail to block it out. Pleasure surges through me as I use my magic again.
Just one more time, my mind insists.
While Isera starts directing people to different locations and organize how this bonding ritual is going to play out, I try to force myself to break the connection to my magic yet again.
But the moment I do, my soul screams in panic at the crushing regret that rushes in to replace that comforting warmth.
I summon another flame. But right before I can shove it into another chest, Alistair sucks in a sharp hiss.
The sound sends a flare of panic through me, and I’m suddenly terrified that he has figured out what I’m doing. That fear is enough to snap me out of the destructive spiral, and I just barely manage to release the grip on my magic fully.
My heart pounds as I turn to Alistair. But he isn’t looking at me.
“Draven,” he says instead, his eyes locked on a group of people a little to our right. “Tell the other shifters not to bond those people.”
Draven slides his gaze towards the group Alistair is indicating before meeting his eyes again and raising an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Those are a few of the people who held me down and burned me.” Rage flares up in his eyes. “They’re turncoats. Don’t trust them with anything.”
After memorizing their faces, Draven dips his chin in a nod. “Understood.”
Alistair drags in a shuddering breath and rakes his fingers through his curly blond hair, as if trying to compose himself. But I think it’s more to hide the fact that his hands are shaking.
The sight of it makes fury surge through my soul. Turning towards the group, I mark their faces as well.
Do it, do it, do it, my mind urges.
And I want to. Goddess above, I want to.
I want to shove emotion after emotion into each of their chests and torment them until their minds break.
Both because of what they did to Alistair, and because it would let me use my magic on someone without feeling guilty about it.
I flex my fingers as that addictive need sears through my every vein, infusing the rage I already feel.
Dragging in a highly controlled breath, I tear my gaze from them and force myself to turn away. With enormous effort, I manage to convince myself not to follow my impulses and torture them.
This time.