82. Rosalina
82
Rosalina
C aspian is gone, and it’s just me and the briars. Shouts and cries sound through the battlefield. Blood and frost coat the ground. Gritting my teeth, I feel for my mate bond with Farron.
It snaps taut, and I see a flash of gold running up the crest of the hill. He’s heading toward Perth Quellos. I need to hurry.
Pushing down the fear shaking my heart, I run across the battlefield. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me Billy and Dom are still engaged with the giant wraith. I’m on my own.
A wraith charges me from the side. Instinctively, I raise my hands. The thorns writhe around my wrists and one shoots out, diving into the earth before sprouting larger. The sharp point strikes the wraith through the chest.
I feel the blow as if the thorn were my own hand. A bargain well-struck, I think.
As I run, two more briars sink into the earth, racing alongside me like twin sea snakes, their backs arching in and out of the ground. A couple wraiths step in front of my path. I skid to a stop, flowing my consciousness into my briar companions. They leap up, jagged edges like spears.
One strikes straight through a wraith’s eye socket, shattering the skull. But the other wraith is quicker, slicing my vine in half. A cold shiver passes through me. Physically, I’m not hurt; it’s only a phantom pain.
My lip curls back, and I whip my hands down then up, sprouting a terrible, twisting fury of thorns that consume the wraith. It falls to the ground in a tangle of briars.
I’m left face-to-face with a young fae soldier, his sword shaking in his hands. “T-the… the Below,” he stammers. More soldiers look my way.
My thorns have twisted all the way up my arms. Crap. I guess wielding the same magic as the Prince of Thorns isn’t the best look.
Come on, Rosalina. If there was ever a time for me to find my voice, this is it.
“I am not your enemy,” I call, emulating the same air of command Farron had earlier. “I am the mate of the High Prince of Autumn, and I’m here to aid him.”
I don’t retract the thorns; instead, more rise around me, and I hold each of the soldiers’ attention.
“Please,” I say. “Help me get to him.”
The first soldier steadies her shaking sword. “I stand with you, Lady of Castletree.”
The others eye her warily, then nod. I tighten my fists. “Then let’s go.”
I take off across the field, flanked by my thorns and the members of the Autumn Guard. My briars shoot out at every passing wraith, plunging through their skulls or chests. My movements are instinctual. There’s so much more to this magic. Too bad the only person who could teach me is a lying jerk from the Below.
A sudden sharp pain courses through my body, as if I’m struck by lightning. I clutch at my chest, expecting to find a wound, a spear from one of the wraiths. But there’s nothing.
Pain continues through me, and I fall to my knees in the mud. The Autumn Guard make a circle around me, and my briars rise to form a protective barrier.
The pain is so intense, I dig my fingers into the mud for purchase. What’s happening? My heart pounds so hard, it feels like it might burst.
A cry radiates through my mind. Mother!
This pain… It’s not my own. It’s his. Farron’s.
I blink through my tears. There I see him, a glimmer on the horizon, clutching Princess Niamh’s body. Dayton is a blur of gold blocking Perth Quellos.
Grief—my own, Farron’s—threatens to consume me. I’m too late.
The soldiers grunt, crying out as a wave of wraiths surround them. I dig my fingers into Autumn’s soil. The thorns around my arms shiver and thrash, new vines breaking off and spilling into the earth, burrowing deeper, growing.
“It’s not too late,” I whisper to myself. Not for Ezryn. Not for Dayton. Not for Farron. Not for Billy and Dom, and every Autumn soldier fighting to defend their home.
With a deep growl I rise, bringing my briars with me. They burst from the earth, consuming each of the wraiths surrounding us.
The Autumn Guard murmurs a collective thanks, but my gaze is set ahead. To Perth Quellos. To my mate.
“Farron,” I whisper, “I’m coming.”