21. Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EMERIC
T he blizzard tears at us, wind whipping with a viciousness that stings every inch of my exposed skin and blotting out any trace of the night sky or horizon. We’re in the woods just off the peak, hidden and out of sight. Silver trees tower over us, providing cover from the encampment below. Frigid air sears my lungs, my throat raw with every breath I drag in, and still I stand over Wilder, dagger poised. His expression remains unshaken—utterly calm in the face of what he’s asking me to do.
“Now, Em,” he warns, his certain words cutting clean through the gale. “We’re out of time.”
My grip shifts on the blade, the metal slick with melting snow. Every instinct in me screams against this—taking the life of someone I now consider a friend, perhaps even family—but it’s what we’ve all agreed to. Kill Wilder, have the reapers take us back to the underworld so we can re-group and come up with a way to track where Az has taken Morte.
I glance at Aggonid, noticing his clenched jaw and tense posture as his red eyes stare intently at the tree line ahead of us.
Caius snarls low, pacing like a caged predator, his steps kicking up snow as he scans for threats. His tail whips in agitation. Without magic, we’re relying on dampened instincts, and it’s left us feeling exposed, even though we’re tucked into the trees.
Aggonid barks an order. “Do it. Before?—”
Movement .
The shapes come into focus, hundreds of them, spilling from the ridge like a flood. Soldiers. Too many to count, their weapons flashing even through the trees, snow, and darkness. I scan line after line of them, searching for Morte, but know better. She won’t be with them.
Their commander strides to the front, his armor rattling with every movement. The faint ring of blades being drawn reaches us even through the howl of the storm.
Caius spits. “They’re already here.”
Wilder rises, his calm shattering into urgency. “If we don’t finish this now?—”
“Don’t waste your breath.” I cut him off, yanking him upright by the collar and thrusting him back toward Caius and Aggonid. “Too late for that plan.” Besides, I have a better one now.
But we can’t make it too easy on them. It’s best to cut down some of their ranks now, so my alternative plan will work better.
I meet each of their stares. “Kill as many as you can. Then let them capture us.”
Aggonid’s eyes snap to mine, narrowing like I’ve just lost my mind—or worse, suggested we just hand over his realm to the tyrant king. His composure cracks for the briefest moment, a rare slip that speaks volumes. “This isn’t the time to fucking joke.” His words are edged with disbelief and something dangerously close to insult.
Before I can respond, Wilder steps forward, a grin splitting his face like this is the best idea he’s ever heard. “Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.” He cuts off Aggonid before the devil can argue further. He claps me on the shoulder, his grip firm, grin wild. “This just might work.”
I see it the moment it registers on the rest of their faces. Aggonid steps in front of us, his posture brimming with power even without his magic. His presence alone does it. “Wilder, stay behind me, we can’t have them killing you. Em, Caius—no mistakes.”
The soldiers charge, boots pounding through the snow. I drop into a crouch, claws itching to burst from my fingertips, but the magic sputters like a flame starved of oil. Helpless to shift, I rely on sheer strength, swinging the hilt of my dagger to meet the first soldier’s face. Bone crunches under the impact, and the body falls, but it’s not enough. More pour in, wave after wave, overwhelming us.
I hear Caius roar, his laughter wild as he tears through the front line, his movements too fast to track, his barbed tail eliminating any soldier at his rear.
I duck under a swinging sword, driving my dagger up into the attacker's throat. Hot blood sprays across my face as I wrench the blade free. The coppery scent fills my nostrils, awakening something primal within me. I bare my teeth in a feral grin, embracing the surge of wild joy that comes with the fight.
Aggonid stands like a mountain, unmovable as he protects Wilder. His fists connect with sickening thuds, sending soldiers flying back into their comrades, their armor cracking under the force of his attacks. But for every one we fell, three more take their place.
Wilder banks left when a soldier charges through Aggonid’s defense, narrowly avoiding the swing of a broadsword. He spins, grabbing the soldier’s wrist and twisting hard. The crack of bone meets my ears as he disarms the soldier with brutal efficiency. He snatches the fallen sword and plunges it between the fae’s ribs in one fluid motion. He whirls, facing the next wave. His fingers find weak points in armor with uncanny precision, delivering swift, debilitating strikes.
My muscles burn with exertion, sweat freezing on my skin even as I move. I duck under a sword swing, ramming my shoulder into the soldier's gut and using his momentum to throw him into others. The snow beneath our feet turns to crimson slush, steam rising from spilled blood.
Time becomes fluid, marked only by the fall of bodies and the sting of new wounds. I lose myself to the rhythm of the fight, my world narrowing to the next opponent, the next threat. I push through, knowing we need to thin their numbers as much as possible before we allow ourselves to be taken .
“Focus!” I snarl, elbowing another soldier in the throat. My arms burn with the effort, the cold seeping through every layer until my muscles scream with exhaustion. “Stay alive long enough for her to have something to come back to!”
Aggonid bellows, his words nearly lost amongst the clamor of the dying. “Hold your ground! No one dies unless I say so!”
“Whoever kills the most gets to play with my tail!” Caius laughs, yanking the barb out of a soldier’s neck.
But even as we decimate their front lines, more fighters pour in to replace the fallen. It's clear we can't keep this up indefinitely. We all know the truth. We’re too far outnumbered. Without magic, without my being able to shift, this fight is already lost. Fatigue is setting in.
My stomach drops when I see Caius falter, a sword slicing across his arm. Aggonid grunts as a mace connects with his side.
Catching the devil’s eye over the melee, he gives a nearly imperceptible nod. It's time.
I let my guard drop just enough, leaving an opening. A soldier's blade finds purchase, slicing along my ribs. I stumble, feigning more weakness than I feel, and allow myself to be overwhelmed. From the corner of my eye, I watch as a soldier plunges a sword into Wilder’s shoulder, eliciting a genuine cry of pain. Aggonid roars in fury, but it's too late. We're surrounded, weapons pressed against our throats.
The commander strides forward, his boots crunching in the bloodied snow.
"Enough!" the fae’s voice booms, silencing the army. "Bind them. King Valtorious wants them alive."
Rough hands seize me, wrenching my arms behind my back. I don't resist as they cinch rope around my wrists, biting into my skin. The soldiers are none too gentle, clearly eager for revenge after the losses we've inflicted. We had to have killed at least fifty, maybe even sixty of them. I grunt as one of them lands a vicious kick to my ribs, but I force myself to stay silent.
I catch Wilder's eye as they bind him. His normally tanned face is pale from blood loss, but defiance flares in his expression. He gives me the barest tilt of his head .
The soldiers drag us through the snow, our feet leaving trails of blood in our wake. The storm has lessened, but the biting cold remains, seeping into our bones. I can feel my wounds trying to knit themselves closed, but with no magic, the healing is slow and incomplete.
As we're marched through the blizzard, the wind dies down enough for me to catch snippets of conversation from the soldiers around us. Their words are hushed but laced with excitement.
"... mate her …”
"... never seen the king so giddy ..."
“… siphon their magic …”
“... take over everything ..."
The fragments of conversation send a chill through me colder than the arctic air. My mind races, piecing together the implications. All of the pieces slot into place, and the picture they form is nothing short of my worst nightmare.