Chapter 26
Daed
Even under the blanket of midnight, the golden sails of the Ithranor ships are unmistakable.
They’d caught up so quickly. No sign of them through the day, not even a shadow at dusk.
But of course there wasn’t.
They control the wind, carving through the waves like lightning, unseen until it’s too late.
My glamor dissolves before Amara can see it. She takes a step forward, brushing past me, her eyes locked on the enemy ships drawing closer with every gust.
Before she can take another step, I reach out and wrap my fingers around her wrist, pulling her back firmly.
“Wife,” I say. “Go to the cabin. Lock the door.”
Her head snaps toward me. “No. I will not cower and hide before them. Not after what they did to me.”
“I’m not asking you to cower,” I say, sharper now, impatience threading through my tone as I glance toward the ships again. “I’m asking you to protect our daughter while I hack these bastards to pieces.”
She jerks her wrist from my grip. I exhale through my nose, equal parts ire and desire. Of course she won’t make this easy.
“She has Ashen for that,” Amara bites out. Her eyes flash, green burning bright. “If what I did to Anethesis wasn’t enough of a warning, then I’ll give them all a matching lesson. They won’t touch our child.”
I tilt back my head, squaring my shoulders as I take in the full force of her fury. Proud. Noble.
And a fucking pain in my ass.
“They’re not here for our child, wife,” I say, voice dropping to a growl. “They’re here for you.”
Her eyes widen, but she barely has time to react before I scoop her into my arms in one smooth motion.
She thrashes, hissing and snarling like a wild thing caught in a trap.
“What are you doing?” she screams, kicking at me. “Put me down!”
I don’t respond. Don’t even flinch. Her fists beat at my chest, her skin flushed red with fury, but I don’t feel it. Not really. I’m already moving.
Zyphoro watches silently as I stomp across the deck and kick open the cabin door.
Our daughter stirs in her crib, and Ashen lifts his head from the edge of the bed.
At first, his lip curls back and a low snarl vibrates in his throat. White flashes through his eyes.
But one commanding look and he stills.
“The Ithranor are here,” I say.
He rises.
“Protect my family.”
Without waiting for a reply, I toss Amara onto the bed. She lands with a bounce and an indignant squeak.
“How dare you!” she snaps, shoving herself upright, but then smoke ripples off Ashen’s body. He swells, growing larger, twice his size, then three times. Until the bed groans beneath his weight.
He places one massive paw on Amara’s chest and pins her down.
She gasps. “Ashen! What are you doing? Let me up!”
But he doesn’t move. Instead, he gives me a single, grave nod.
I slam the door shut before Amara can spit another word.
The wind is fiercer now, tearing at the sails, lashing cold and sharp across my face. I step to Zyphoro’s side as we stare out at the enemy almost upon us.
Ithranor Fae rise into the sky on spiraling discs of air. Dozens of them, maybe more.
We are horribly outnumbered.
But we didn’t come this far to die. Not when we’re so close to returning home. With Amara, with my daughter. The Ithranor will not take her from me again. Not while I still draw breath.
I will be the end of their house.
“Got a plan?” Zyphoro asks.
I shrug. “I thought we might kill them all.”
She barks a laugh, her hair whipping in the gale. “Fair enough. But I’m not sure how much help you’ll be, brother. If you reach into the void, you’ll doom us all. We can’t fight the Ithranor and Gygarth.”
“Then I won’t call upon it,” I say simply.
She arches a brow, grin curling at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, now this should be fun. Let’s at least give you a fighting chance.”
She pulls a dagger from the harness strapped to her thigh, flips it once in her hand, and offers it to me handle first.
It’s almost offensive how small it is. I’m used to Death Singer’s weight in my grip. But I can’t summon it, not without stirring the void, and on that, Zyphoro is right.
Still, this little dagger is barely enough to poke out an eye, let alone dismember the traitors flying toward us.
She catches the disdain on my face and frowns. “It kills just fine. Actually, it’s my favorite. And I want it back.”
Reon, Orios, and Solena walk backward towards us, eyes trained on the sky as a wave of Ithranor descends upon The Shattered Edge.
Runes pulse. Wings snap wide into the night. Steel sings from its sheath.
Reon cracks his knuckles, sparks dancing across his fingers as he rolls his shoulders. “Typical Ithranor. Always know how to ruin a good time.”
I glance over just as Orios leans down to kiss Solena’s forehead.
Her eyes are closed, serene, while he presses a sword, embarrassingly larger than my borrowed toothpick, into her hands.
He has trained her near every day, and she has even managed to disarm him once or twice.
Yet Orios is simple, easy to read, his heart worn plainly for all to see.
He is proud of her, yes, proud that she can stand her ground, but he knows what every warrior does.
A sword may give her strength, but it will never shield her from death. If anything, it draws her closer to it.
Then Orios looks at me.
The tension between us, riddled with doubt and anger, burns away like ash in wind.
“Do you need assistance, Rook?” he asks.
I grin, flicking my gaze upward. “Just a boost, if you don’t mind.”
He nods once, grabs a fistful of my shirt, bends his knees, and launches into the air.
The wind howls. His wings snap open as we surge skyward, and when we reach the height, when the cold sinks into my bones and the enemy encircles us like a noose, he hurls me straight into them.
I slice into the sky, arms tight to my sides, dagger ready. The wind screams past my ears, and for a brief heartbeat, I’m weightless, until I crash into the first Ithranor.
I hit hard, knees to chest, blade to throat, and ride the bastard down. His blood fans across my face as I rip the dagger free and use the collapsing body as a launch point. My feet strike his shoulders, and I push.
I vault upward, twisting mid-air as another surges toward me. They see me too late.
The blade sinks into the hollow of his stomach, his cry stolen by the wind. I yank sideways, spilling guts into the open air, then propel myself toward the next.
An Ithranor male slashes at me, but I fold backward, wind curling over my spine, and flip beneath his swing. I kick upward, catching him under the chin, and use the momentum to launch off his chest, again, again, climbing the sky one body at a time.
But my luck breaks. I miss a grab and suddenly there’s nothing but cold air and the looming ocean below.
A hand grabs the back of my collar.
Zyphoro.
Her wings beat hard as she swings me once, twice, then hurls me higher into the fray.
I hit hard, blade first, plunging the dagger into an Ithranor’s neck. Blood spurts across my arm as I wrench it free. Another charges. I catch his wrist mid-strike, twist, and drive my elbow into his throat. Bone cracks. He drops and this time, so do I.
We spiral downward, his body limp in my grip.
I catch flashes as I fall. Orios blurring by, colliding with an enemy mid-air, steel screaming against steel.
Zyphoro tangling with a female above me, throttling her with her bare hands.
Solena crashes into the crow’s nest, pins an Ithranor to the wood, and drives her sword straight through his chest.
No one sees me falling.
They’re too busy trying to stay alive.
The deck rushes up fast. I grit my teeth, wondering how the fuck I got into this mess. Just a boost, I’d said. Just a fucking boost. I squint through half-lidded eyes, bracing for the splintering crack of my bones on timber.
But I don’t hit.
The Ithranor I dragged down with me does, hitting the ground in a wet crack of bone and flesh.
I freeze midair.
Light sparks around me. I glance down.
Reon stands below, arms out, fingers lit up like kindling.
“Maybe try staying on the ground,” he groans, sweat beading on his forehead.
He lowers me gently, and when I’m a few feet off the deck, he snaps his fingers. I drop with a soft thud.
I flip the dagger in my hand, wipe the blood off on my trousers. “Where’s the fun in that when the enemy’s up there?”
Reon stretches his back with a grimace. Copper wings flare out, the edges gleaming gold. He gives me a crooked grin.
“I’ll throw some down for you to finish off.”
With that, Reon soars upward, sword flashing free from its sheath. He crashes into another Ithranor mid-flight, and true to his word, kicks the bastard hard from the sky. He spirals down, heading straight for me.
I don’t flinch. I just wait, blade poised and as he hits the deck with a sickening crunch, I slit his throat in one clean pull. Blood spurts across the boards. Reon nods once before vanishing into the fray, leaving a crimson trail in his wake.
But then I see it. A fresh wave rising from the Ithranor ship like a swarm of insects.
A sharp twist of pain in my chest signals a truth I cannot deny.
There are too many. Even for us.
A heavy thud lands beside me, splintering the deck. I twist around, dagger ready to finish off another of Reon’s airborne gifts. But it’s not an Ithranor.
It’s Zyphoro.
She groans, blood streaking from her lip, feathers torn from her wings and scattered like ash around her.
“Sister,” I say, reaching down.
She grabs my arm, hauling herself to her feet with a grimace.
“You alright?” I ask, eyeing the blood seeping through her leathers.
“It’s not mine,” she mutters, but she’s cradling her left arm like it might not be working properly. “I have to get back up there.”
She’s barely spoken when a loud crack above makes us both look up.
Orios slides down the mast, one wing limp and dragging. He doesn’t get a chance to breathe. Two Ithranor dive after him, blades flashing. He snarls and parries, but they come hard, fast.
Solena appears just in time, intercepting one of Orios’ attackers, but a third closes in immediately.
“They’re coming faster than we can slay them!” Reon shouts.
My hands twitch at my sides. Smoke curls from my fingers. The air turns cold.
The void hums.
It would be so easy to call it. So easy to give in, to let the darkness rise and devour them all. One breath, one whisper, and the Ithranor would fall screaming into nothing. Meat for the beast.
It is not only a want, but a need. A need to let go, to lose myself in the forsaken gift that is my birthright.
But before I can take the step over that edge, a hand finds mine.
I flinch, thinking it’s Zyphoro, dragging me back.
But no, there’s a softness in the touch. Gentle. Grounding.
Amara.
She’s beside me, calm in the chaos, her smile lighting something in my chest.
“What…” I murmur. “You’re supposed to…”
I glance toward the cabin.
Ashen is on the deck.
Far from where he should be.
I shoot him a glare, and he wilts slightly, shoulders slumping.
“He is mine, remember?” Amara says. She lifts her chin toward the sky.
Without hesitation, Ashen leaps into the air. With his teeth bared, he tears through the Ithranor like he’s at a banquet, limbs and blood flying in every direction.
Zyphoro watches, jaw tight. “Who knows how many more are on those ships. Even with the demon kitty, we can’t keep them back.”
“You’re right,” Amara says softly. “We’ll need something bigger.”
She turns to the railing and places her hand against the wood.
I move to stop her, whatever madness she’s considering, I know that look, but Zyphoro shakes her head.
I freeze, watching.
Amara closes her eyes.
A faint glow leaks from her skin, threading through the veins in her arms, green and pulsing like the roots of something ancient. Her hair lifts in the air, as though caught in a storm only she can feel. When she opens her eyes, they blaze a fierce green.
And on her brow… a mark carves itself in light.
This is power.
Real, old, wild and it’s about to be unleashed.
From the depths, the ocean splits with a roar.
A massive shape rises, long as a warship, scales black as oil-slicked stone. Its jaws open wide, revealing rows upon rows of serrated teeth, and those eyes, massive, yellow, slitted, lock onto the Ithranor vessel.
Screams rise as the stormwyrm dives.
It rushes the ship like a harpoon loosed from the gods themselves.
Wood shatters. The hull splinters. Ithranor Fae scatter in a frenzy, but not fast enough.
The wyrm punches straight through the side of their ship, a wet, grinding crunch of bone and timber echoing across the sea before it disappears beneath the surface, leaving only chaos in its wake.
But it isn’t alone.
Another stormwyrm bursts from the waves, scales glinting green-blue in the dim light, a hiss like steam escaping its throat.
It coils mid-air before slamming down across the enemy deck, snapping its massive head down to pluck a screaming Ithranor clean from the ship.
Then silence, save for the gulp as the wyrm swallows him whole.
Then another rises and another.
The sea becomes teeth and scales and screaming.
Stormwyrms tear through the enemy like vessels of vengeance, dragging Ithranor Fae from the skies, crashing onto the deck with impossible force.
One leans over the railing and drags its fangs along the wood, shoveling soldiers into its mouth like meat swept from a cutting board.
“They answered her call,” Zyphoro breathes, her voice both reverent and terrified.
The Ithranor ship groans.
“They’re sinking,” Reon says as he touches down beside me, blood dripping from his blade, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
Amara turns toward us, toward me, and for a moment, there’s nothing human in her face. Just raw, unrelenting power. Old as the deep. Cold as the grave.
The last of the Ithranor retreat, vanishing into the night, but I wonder how far their wind will carry them before their strength fails and they’re swallowed by the black sea in the middle of nowhere.
Orios and Solena land nearby as we watch the enemy ship split clean down the middle, its hull groaning before it’s slowly devoured by the waves. The stormwyrms circle once, then slip back beneath the surface, the ocean closing over them as if they were never there at all.
Amara watches a moment longer, then smiles, the glow of her power receding.
“Now,” she says, voice calm and final, “to Baev’kalath.”
None of us speak.
Ashen glides down in her wake, landing with a soundless thud. She doesn’t look back as she walks toward the cabin. Just reaches out, fingers slipping through his shadowy mane as he shrinks beneath her touch, small enough to follow her inside.
I feel it again, the cold. But this time, it’s not the void.
It’s her.
And I don’t know if I should fall to my knees… or run.