Chapter 55 #2
Another tries to stop us. Desmond dodges her axe and latches onto her iron gauntlets. His jaw clenches as the iron burns him, but he pulls, trying to slide it off her.
I help him with a surge of magic. Both the axe and the gauntlet fly. Desmond grips her bare skin, and it shrivels as the necrotic magic travels up her arm. The fomorian shouts, too horrified to flinch as I bring the axe down atop her head.
Two down.
We fight our way to the stairs, every fallen fomorian rising to defend us. Desmond’s hands shake, and sweat shines on his brow, but his magic is strong. It doesn’t waver, even as Gashil meets us at the bottom step.
Then the fomorian leader in the filigree armor walks down behind him, drawing an iron sword from its sheath upon seeing Desmond.
“Can you bring me a sword?” Desmond says quietly.
“On it.” My magic finds a sword held by a reanimated guard without needing to look. “Will they resist?”
“No. They’re under my command.”
I levitate the sword to Desmond, then grab a dagger for myself. We may both be armed now, but we lack shields and armor. As if that weren’t bad enough, midnight hasn’t struck. I’m still wearing my gown and heels.
“You’re too late.” Gashil’s deep, mocking voice forces itself into my mind. “Avedor has fallen. The Hollowlands will be next, Prince of Death. Or should I say, Prince of Bastards?”
Desmond grits his teeth, but his stance is eerily calm. “Avedor hasn’t fallen until I’m no longer standing. It’s not too late for you to retreat.”
“You would die to protect your own enemy? Your subjugators?” the female leader asks. She smiles as if it amuses her. “I would say it is not too late for you to retreat, but we both know your people will fall just as easily as Avedor’s.”
Lavender eyes. I dare to glance at Maeve where she stands on the balcony, her expression a confusing blend of rage and turmoil.
“You’re her grandmother,” I interrupt, looking back at the fomorian leader. “I thought Maeve despised you.”
“I am General Neiro of the Underearth. My granddaughter is a disappointment to our kind.” She points her iron blade at Desmond. “Just as you are a disappointment to yours.”
A boom shakes the columns, and a disc of dark, purple light opens behind Neiro. A furred hand emerges, followed by a goat’s head and an armored humanoid body with bat-like wings. The creature screeches a shrill raptorial cry, and my blood runs cold.
Neiro is a summoner. She just called a bánánach from the demonic planes of hell. I thought those beasts were only legends.
Desmond charges. Neiro blocks his first blow. The bánánach advances on cloven feet, its hulking great sword drawn to join the fight.
Shit, that leaves me with Gashil.
Gashil smirks as he prowls toward me.
I toss my mask aside and glimpse a revenant guard with a knife sheathed at his hip. I levitate it to me. Two blades. That’s all I have. I can’t throw them and risk Gashil catching both. I’ll have to get close enough to strike, and that won’t be easy.
He draws both of his swords. I spy a serving platter on the ground, then summon it to hover in front of me.
“A mere plate? That’s all you could think of?” Gashil laughs.
He lunges. I block the first strike with the platter, then the second. I halve the distance between us, both blades hovering within my reach.
The next strike cleaves the platter in half. I dodge Gashil’s blades, but his leg spins out, kicking my hip. I trip, my back hitting the floor with a sickening slap.
My poofy skirts fan around me, blocking my sight. Shit! I pull them down, then roll. Gashil’s spiked boot stomps where my head just was. I untether my shoes and throw them at him, then scramble to my feet.
Midnight can’t come fast enough. I need this dress off now. The blades I’m controlling hack through my skirts until they’re severed just below my knees. Better, but not good enough.
Gashil stalks toward me. I could run, but that won’t stop him. No, I need to do something about his weapons.
He strikes in a relentless rush. I block every strike with my blades as I retreat, each blow dulling their edges.
Then Evie screams.
My pulse spikes. I whirl around, searching the crowd. Where is she? Brandur was supposed to watch over her! Where is—
Steel gleams in a merciless arc. Gashil grins.
No dodge will save me. Desperation claws through my ribs, squeezing my heart, heating my blood. I can’t fail. I can’t let Evie die. I can’t let that sword cut through me.
My magic thrums in answer, and the blade crumples just before it strikes my chest.
The twisted metal knocks the wind out of me. I stumble back, staring at Gashil’s ruined steel sword. I did that?
I did that.
Gashil’s eyes glint with a scowl as he throws the sword aside. Anger radiates from every step as he approaches, a promise that I won’t get away so easily again.
Retreating, I risk a quick look at my surroundings. Blades clash, people cry, and others bark out orders in a deafening cacophony. The stench of blood is overpowering. Evie is nowhere in sight.
Of course she’s not. Gashil was messing with my head.
He pulls his arm back. I prepare to untether his second sword. Then his body pivots, and his fist lashes out instead. His iron gauntlet slams into my collarbone. The pain is instant, cracking through me like shattering porcelain.
I gasp, sinking onto one knee.
He kicks my ribs. He jabs up my jaw, snapping my head back. Blood coats my tongue as I fall to the ground, curling in on myself.
I fling my blades at him, but he deflects them with his bracer. As he stands over me, I know I can’t lift a hand to stop him. This is it. This is how I die.
Gashil grabs me and lifts me up. My bare feet swing helplessly as his armored fingers dig into my neck, cutting off my air. I stare up at the painted ceiling, darkness edging my vision. My pulse throbs in my throat as my consciousness fades.
Gods, help me—if they’re even real.
Then his voice fills my mind, clear as daylight.
Not Gashil’s.
Desmond’s.
“Your Gift moves inanimate objects. Yet I suspect it’s far more nuanced. You may have the potential to move not just objects, but the material within them as separate entities. Power isn’t born. It’s made.”
As my vision glazes over, I stare at the marble columns that support the vaulted ceiling. One of them ends right behind Gashil and me. A crack already runs through it, courtesy of that earth-wielder during the first throes of the fight.
That’s it. I have to throw my magic at it and pray.
I give up on struggling, falling limp even as my lungs scream for air. My magic surrounds the column, whispering through it, searching for where it’s structurally weakest.
There.
“Untether,” I gasp out, and I force all of my magic into the epicenter of the column’s flaw.
A second goes by. Dread drums within me, the buzzing in my ears so loud that I can barely think. Why didn’t it work? What did I do wrong? I’ve failed to stop Gashil again, and this time, it’ll cost my life.
Then a dull rumble echoes through the ballroom. Fractures branch off the main crevice, then the column shifts ever so marginally. Cracks web across the ceiling.
The marble splits, and a shadow falls over us as the column’s top half barrels down.
Gashil looks up. He drops me. My knees hit the floor, pain reverberating through my bones. He sprints out of the way as I raise my shaking hands.
The hunk of marble freezes in midair. I tremble, and my skin feels hot enough to catch flame. I scream as I thrust it away, aiming for Gashil. The room shudders when the marble lands, but I don’t hear a scream. Everything is so blurry. I must’ve missed him.
He’ll come for me again, and I’ll be too weak to do a damn thing. I’m expending too much magic, just like when we faced the lindwyrm. But this time, no one has my back. I’m alone and—
“Oi! Gashil!” someone hollers.
I flinch, staring at the source of the voice as the haze slowly clears. Male. Dark hair. It can’t be Desmond. He’s fighting Neiro, and he’d never talk like that—
“Oi!” the male shouts again, frantically waving his hand. He’s without blades or armor, and his other arm ends in a bandaged stub.
Gashil pushes free of the rubble. His irate growl throbs through my head as he clenches his iron sword.
“You killed my brother. Remember that? His name was Nikolai!” Finnian yells. “I won’t let you kill Cyn, too!”
A dark laugh echoes through me. “You fae are always so foolish, aren’t you? I’ll just have to tear you limb from limb first.”