77. Rosalina
77
Rosalina
G olden sun gleams off the hills, and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. Red, orange, and copper trees sway in the gentle breeze while dusty mist curls around their roots. It feels wrong to have a battle on such a beautiful morning.
It’s silly to have such a thought. I have to be strong for my friends and family. I clasp my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking.
I’ve been given permission to watch from the gate’s battlements, high above the fighting. I’m surrounded by soldiers. Farron’s father is here, making use of the height to observe the entire battle and communicate orders as necessary. They only allowed me to get this close because Ezryn’s scouting parties didn’t report any signs of artillery or long-distance weapons.
Most of the citizens have moved to the inner city or the castle’s barracks. Autumn soldiers line the outer walls with arrows, oil, and burning basins beside them. But it’s the sight before the gates that is the most stunning.
Five hundred Autumn soldiers glisten in golden armor. Footmen with swords or long spears, cavalry, and magefighting units all stand at attention to the fae man atop a great elk at their head. Farron, the High Prince of Autumn.
My mate.
He’s finally fighting for his realm. Farron has found his bravery. He looks so different from the person I first saw in the dungeon cell, the man who hid away in the library. He’s not hiding now.
Beside him on her own great elk is Princess Niamh, fitted in gold armor, her helmet pointed with antlers. Dayton and Ez are on horses. Dayton’s daggers shine as he twirls them, unable to keep still. Ezryn might as well be a statue on Dayton’s opposite side.
My princes were loath to leave me, especially when I refused to stay in the castle barracks. But being close to Farron gives us both strength. I clutch the moonstone rose necklace; I promised them if things look bad, I’d use it to go back to Castletree. But how could I ever leave them?
And Keldarion… He has still not returned.
Nervousness etches the troops’ faces. Some fidget with their armor, adjusting straps and buckles, while others pace in place. Danger lies ahead for all of them. For all of us.
Despite their unease, the fae soldiers remain disciplined and focused, each one determined to defend their home and their people. I turn my attention toward the hill, steeling myself for the coming battle. All I can do now is watch and wait.
“Coppershire’s not built for war,” Padraig says, following my gaze. “Got stone walls, but they’re not that tall and not that strong. Best to meet the enemy on the open field.”
“Don’t let them breach the city,” I say, repeating what I’ve heard all morning.
The passing months have kindled within me a deep affection for Coppershire, Keep Oakheart, and the Autumn realmlands. I realize that like Castletree, the Autumn Realm is my home.
Despite the fact I’m only an observer for this battle, the High Prince has seen fit to dress me in armor—a combination of leather and metal that allows for ease of movement. The golden breastplate bears the ram horn emblem of Farron’s house, while the bright copper bracers taper like the points of floating leaves. My leggings are tight, and my boots sturdy. It makes me feel like part of this story, a warrior defending her home.
Though a warrior probably wouldn’t have packed an emotional support book in her battle satchel. I don’t suspect I’ll get much reading in, but I wanted to be prepared in case Perth decides not to show up.
“I wish there was more I could do to help,” I say softly. “I’m not a fighter or a mage. I’m just a human.”
Padraig’s massive hand rests on my shoulder. “A human who is mated to the High Prince. You brought my boy back.”
“Brought him back?” I say, surprised.
“Never thought I’d see Farron leading an army,” Padraig says. “Not all battles are won with the strike of a sword. Sometimes all it takes is an inspiring word, a little spark. You, Rosalina, are that spark.”
I flush, unsure of what to say. A battle horn bellows, and a deep chill passes over me. A warning.
The enemy has arrived.
Winter wraiths crest the golden hill, Perth Quellos at the helm. The eerie green light around his crown is visible even from here.
“Steady.” Farron’s voice rings out clear. “Hold!”
Perth points his hand. Thunder rumbles through the earth as his colossal force descends the rolling hill toward the city. Three thousand wraiths, that’s what they estimated. Three thousand to Coppershire’s five hundred.
But we have the High Princes.
The wraiths charge with an otherworldly grace, their movements almost liquid. Some still look like fae, with a sheen of frost over their armor. But the others—the long-dead fae and goblins who Perth rose from the grave—are nothing but skeletons strung together with ice.
Farron yells another command. The Autumn Guard stands steady.
I rush to the edge of the battlements, clutching the stone, as the wraiths draw close—
In a whoosh, the first line of wraiths fall, disappearing into a trench dug last night and hidden by leaves. Hundreds careen into the hole. The wraiths behind them try to stop, but there’s too many. They bump into each other, toppling down.
Farron spurs his elk forward, hooves thundering to the crevasse. With a sweep of his hand, fire bursts forth from the trench, igniting the tinder and oil placed at the bottom. Sizzling shrieks and pops reverberate in the air. A wall of fire now stands between Coppershire and the hill.
Magic burns tight in my chest as I feel Farron’s power through the bond. He raises his chin, glare shooting out to Perth Quellos, who awaits at the top of the hill with the rest of his host.
“The Autumn Realm will not stand for your betrayal.” Farron’s voice is formidable, booming across the field. “Nor will we fall prey to your twisted magic. Surrender and I may consider mercy.” He looks beautiful and deadly, his ram’s crown glittering like melting gold in the flaming light.
Silence. Silence except for the wraiths burning and sizzling.
Perth raises his hands high into the air, and his voice carries unnaturally, as if on the wind itself. “You have much to learn, young Prince, on magic beyond the Vale.”
Terrible, keening death cries fill the air. Then a flaming skeletal hand claws from the trench. Farron’s elk bucks, and he grips the reins. More hands, arms, and legs grasp the lip of the trench. Then full skeletons emerge, writhed in fire, the twisted magic turning the flames an unnatural green.
“He’s raising the dead again,” I gasp.
“Now that’s just unfair,” Padraig grumbles, then rushes along the battlement. “Archers, ready!”
Farron kicks his elk and retreats to the line. “Brace yourselves!”
Dayton and Ezryn raise their swords. Princess Niamh thrusts her lance to the heavens, letting out a wild cry, echoed by the soldiers.
The burning skeletons charge, clashing with the Autumn soldiers. Screams mix with the ringing of metal on metal. Ice shards fly, and the smell of burning flesh fills the air. The wraiths’ frosted swords slice clean through armor.
“FIRE!” Padraig calls.
A wave of flame-tipped arrows arc through the air like golden ribbons before colliding with a row of skeletons on the opposite side of the trench. Those struck in the head do not move again. So, they can be killed… until Perth raises them once more.
More and more of the fallen monsters crawl out of the trench, the dead unyielding. A hooded shadow emerges from a cluster of wraiths still trapped on the other side of the burning trench. A green glow lights the underside of his dark hood. Another one of those crowns… It’s the same cloaked figure I saw before at Perth’s camp.
The shadowed entity waves a hand, and that strange frost grows across the trench, cracking and smothering the flame. He’s creating a bridge.
A horrible cheer rises from the dead, and they swarm over the trench, overtaking the Autumn soldiers like a wave.
Desperately, I search the battlefield for the princes. I catch sight of Ezryn. Still on horseback, he swings his great sword, covered in brilliant pink flames, and cleaves the heads from four wraiths at once in a wide arc.
Padraig has lost all humor, running up and down the rampart, commanding the archers, who unleash wave after wave of flaming arrows. He orders the use of ballistas, catapulting huge fireballs down into the wraiths.
The whole keep shudders as another line of winter wraiths marches down the hill.
My heart beats painfully. The Autumn soldiers are scattered dots amid a sea of frost. I lose sight of the princes amid the chaos. Where are you?
A familiar burn ignites in my chest, the faintest glimmer of a golden string. Then I see him, my mate. Farron’s lost his mount and fights back-to-back with Dayton. The Autumn Prince casts out his hand, loosing a torrent of flames in the shape of leaves. Dayton pushes back a row of wraiths with a gust of wind before diving at them with flame-coated swords.
Keep fighting. I try to push my thoughts toward Farron, unsure if he’ll be able to hear me. I love you. Don’t give up.
Both look up at the same time. The flash of a quick smile from Farron and a wink from Dayton is all I get before they are swallowed from my sight in the chaos.
This enemy isn’t like regular men. The arrows and ballistae have little effect on them. A fire arrow to the skull will take one down, and a fireball can flatten a whole section. But I would guess a real soldier would hesitate at least for a second after watching his allies fall.
These frost monsters have no such compulsion. They press on as their comrades drop around them.
It’s like they don’t remember being alive.
Watching them, I notice patterns. The fae who sacrificed themselves for Perth appear as commanders. They seem to remember pieces of their old lives, shouting orders to the battalions. But most of them, the skeletons, are nothing more than raging monsters.
“Rosalina! Rosalina!” My father’s voice.
I turn to see him, Billy, and Dom running up the ramparts.
“We found something,” Dominic heaves, pulling a weathered scroll from his coat.
“In the alder tree?”
My father nods, breath heavy in his throat. “It was a bloody mess over there, but this is something.”
Dominic places the scroll in my hands. It’s been carefully glued back together, shredded pieces stitched. “What is it?”
“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” Billy says, his smile turning into a grimace.
“Weren’t you supposed to find something useful?”
“This is useful,” Papa says. “Trust me, when you’ve worked with as many artifacts as I have, you get a feeling for this sort of thing. This will turn the tide.”
“Great deal about death and destruction in this little spell.” Dominic nods. “No wonder it was banished to the alder tree. It’s written in a way the ancient fae used to love, all cryptic and whatnot. But you know who loves to decipher texts like that.”
“Our dear brother,” Billy finishes.
“The lads will get this to your prince, Rosalina,” my father says, “and he’ll know what to do with it.”
I look out at the raging battle. The last thing we need is more death… but I trust Farron’s brothers. I trust my father. “Okay.”
“Only one wee problem.” Billy leans over the battlement. “Where is he?”
My heart stutters rabbit-fast, but I can’t hear it over the clangs and cries of the battle below. “I can find him; my mating bond will lead us.”
“Rosalina,” Papa says, “it’s too dangerous. You could be hurt or worse.”
I set my jaw, fighting back the fear. “Farron needs this, and I’m the only one who can locate him quickly.”
“We’ll protect you.” Billy raises a short sword from his waist.
“We’ve been training for this our whole lives!” Dominic nods.
Steeling my gaze, I stare out over the battlefield and clutch the scroll. “All right then, let’s go find the High Prince of Autumn.”