48. Chapter Forty-Eight
When the stars expanded across the sky, a blast of wind so fierce, it pushed me from my seat ravished the woods. I rolled, covering my head as trees cracked at their boles and collapsed all around me. The rebels screamed as the storm rolled in—only, the rain had been replaced with starlight, and the thunder had been replaced with the sickest cackle, a whip that cracked through the air—a bone snapping in two. I looked up and saw impossible clouds forming before my eyes, lightning spidering across the fluffy surface. There was something darker than a mere storm within that energy, though—it was evil.
It was ethereal. Otherworldly. Godly, even.
I scrambled back as lightning struck the ground in front of me, dirt imploding into the air and stinging my eyes. I had no armor, no concentration. I was aimless as I rolled out of the way, more bolts zapping into the trees as I passed them by.
“Sapphire!” I hollered loudly and lunged out of the way just when a tree branch fell over me. My face slammed into the dirt, and I hissed out in frustration. There was too much chaos. The trees burned from the lightning, the smoke clouding what had been perfectly clean air. I saw the rebel forces scattering—some running into the Winter Court, others for their dear life.
Any hope for order had been lost.
“Sapphire!” I screamed over the mayhem just as another blast of magic hit the soil behind me. I was blasted forward, twigs stabbing into my skin. I hissed, scrambled onto all fours, and pushed myself forward to run ahead. I got out of the forest where the trees worked against me, but the lightning chased me like a serpent. It was tailing me—sentient, aware.
Each thud into the soil was harder, stronger, and I thought the force would split the world in two as I raced for an escape. The thunder continued clapping like the sick cackle of a woman, and as I saw the Winter Court border inch closer and closer, hail pierced into my skin like arrows.
To my left, my rebels ran, but to my right where the shores touched land?
Those were not my men.
I skidded to a stop with widened eyes.
Docked along the Faetides in warships were fleets and fleets of men, clad in silvery metal that reflected the night sky, racing toward the Winter Court without order, some on horseback, others on foot.
They’d been given a command—and, by their mayhem, it was not a good one. My eyes flitted over to the distant buildings of the nearest Winter Court village. These men were not racing to end me, no.
My brother knew this fight needed to be bloodier.
For Sólkon’s men were not going to just hunt me. They were going to burn the entire court to the ground—starting with the women and children tucked away in their homes.
This was not a fight for the crown.
This was a fight to the death.