Chapter 49 #2
But at some point, the atmosphere changes. The screams and the clashing of steel—and even the booming sounds of gunshots—are so much closer.
Guns. Someone brought guns. I wonder how prepared the fae are for that.
Memnon seems to sense it too, for he slows, then halts his steed. “This is where we part, est amage.”
I can’t quite stop myself from frowning.
A gnawing, feverish sadness is rising in me.
I’ve only had mere minutes with Memnon since Eislyn’s control was lifted from him, and now I’m supposed to let him head right back to her?
Through the thick wad of fighting that has broken out around the Flora palace?
“Come here,” Memnon says, his magic coaxing my horse to his.
“I hate this,” I whisper, searching his face.
“I was raised for this,” Memnon responds. “And, little witch, I find no worthier cause of fighting in one last, great battle, than to stop our ancient foe.”
Between us, I can sense his hunger for the battle.
“I still hate it,” I say obstinately.
He tucks a lock of my windblown hair behind my ear. “You will be alright?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I need to let him go, and yet I hesitate. We haven’t talked about the fact that at some point Eislyn gave us both lilac wine. That both our power and our lifespans have changed.
“I know, est amage,” he says quietly. His thumb strokes my lower lip. “And now, I am truly yours forever.”
“Then you know you will not die on me.” That is one order I am fine making.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he breathes. Memnon drinks in my face. “All these years, and I think I was right to worry that you might be a vengeful spirit.”
“You deserve no less,” I say. But in spite of myself, I’m smiling.
“My life’s honor is that you’re mine.”
He pulls me in then, his mouth pressed so tightly to mine that we’re one. His limbs and mine, our minds, all of it is tangled together.
Just as abruptly, however, he releases me. “I love you.”
“Tell me again when this is over.”
His eyes glitter in the dappled moonlight. “As you command it, my queen,” he says in Sarmatian.
He pulls away then, and there’s no goodbye. The moment doesn’t deserve one when he’s already made me his promises. Memnon nudges his horse forward, and then the two are off, phantom shadows in the night.
Seconds, then minutes pass, and they feel like the longest of my life. I cannot fathom what carnage is being wrought on the palace.
I sit there and listen to the terrible sound of battling forces as Nero prowls close to me.
I glance down at him. “Do you want to sit this fight out?”
He blinks at me slowly, the look as enigmatic as ever. And yet I know what he’s essentially saying—my will is yours.
Just like Memnon.
“We can’t be seen by Eislyn,” I say slowly, “but this is still our battle, and we can still help the fae under attack.”
He continues to stare at me in the darkness, his eyes gleaming like coins.
I’m taking that as a yes.
“Alright,” I whisper.
I reach forward and run a hand down my horse’s neck. I have no idea how skittish this creature might be when it comes to battles.
But I guess we’re going to find out.
I nudge my mount’s flanks. The creature moves slowly at first, but with each stride, it picks up speed until its running at a full gallop, weaving between trees that are as large as the giant redwoods back on earth. Maybe even larger.
There is no path to follow, and the only illumination comes either from the floating fairy lights that speckle some parts of the forest, or else it comes from what appear to be dwellings high above us—dwellings that seem to be built both on and into the trees themselves.
There are bridges between them, and it is all so very enchanting, but it also appears deserted. Either the inhabitants are sheltering in place or else they’ve left, either to fight Eislyn’s forces or else to flee the carnage.
I use the soft light and the sounds of battle to guide my way.
And then, quite suddenly, the back of the palace does come into view.
I only catch glimpses of the gray stone in the distance, but much, much closer to me I notice a faint, iridescent shimmer that must be some sort of magical wall or ward.
I follow it around the side of the palace grounds.
And now I can not only hear the sounds of fighting, but I can also see periodic flashes of light.
More of the palace comes into view, and the sight of it takes my breath away. It’s everything fairy tales speak of—soaring spires, moss- and vine-covered stone walls, arched windows. It seems almost grotesque that a place drawn from dreams is witnessing such violence.
It’s not until I round the palace’s perimeter to the front, however, that I truly see the carnage. Here, the magical wall seems to crumble away, leaving the palace wide-open. And beyond it, hell—or the closest thing to it.
Several of those towering evergreen trees are on fire. Fairies are screaming, a few of them running across the bridges that connect them, more still taking off into the air.
The flames seem like a portent for what Eislyn has let in, because everywhere I look, demons fight fae, their fangs out. There are even a few fighting in the air. And though I’ve never seen a winged demon before, above me is literal proof.
There are other supernaturals here are well.
Some that must be mages or sorcerers due to the colored hue of their magic.
There’s even a shifter, the wolf lunging at a fairy that’s taken to the sky.
My one small relief is that I don’t see any witches in the fight.
Memnon must’ve done a good job of releasing my coven sisters from their forced bonds.
Altogether, however, there are dozens upon dozens of Eislyn’s soldiers—maybe hundreds considering there seems to be more screaming coming from inside the palace itself.
Some of these supernaturals are undoubtedly bonded against their will into this situation, and it’s them my heart aches for.
Others must’ve chosen this. Regardless, they’re all here now, slaughtering any fae who stand against them.
My attention moves to the fae. Many look exactly how I would expect a fairy to look: pointed ears, graceful limbs, and sharp, almost painful beauty.
But alongside them are creatures that look closer to gnarled trees and wispy flowers than they do humans, their skin green and their hair made of petals.
And then there are beings that are frightening to look at, with rows of long, pointed teeth and moist skin like that of frogs.
And yet for all their fearsome appearance, it’s clear they’re the ones being overwhelmed.
And then there’s the people who so very clearly aren’t out here—the Bargainer, Eislyn, Memnon. I can only assume they’re somewhere deeper in the palace.
I hop off my horse and crouch behind one of the towering trees, Nero at my side.
On the palace grounds, just like at Henbane, demons are ripping out throats and drinking their victims’ blood straight from the veins.
In one gruesome case, a male demon has moved on to the fairy’s stomach, feasting on the individual’s flesh though the fairy himself seems to still be alive.
I have to fight back my rising sickness and the urge to race into the action.
Luckily, this is like Henbane. And like the massacre in Slain Maiden’s Meadow, I can do something about this without hand-to-hand combat.
I close my eyes, focusing my attention deep beneath me. It’s a shock to discover that here in the Otherworld, the earth is teeming with magic and life. I should’ve figured as much, but I wasn’t prepared for the sensation of all of it.
I focus my own power on the thick web of fungi all connected together through mycelium. And I force it to grow up, up.
Now I open my eyes, coaxing the fungi to grow right behind the demon feasting on that poor fairy.
I’m fortunate that this particular battle happened right next to the wide stone entryway, where the earth is exposed.
I release another burst of my magic, this one purely meant to push the demon where I want him to go.
My orange power shoves against the creature, throwing it back. The action causes blood to spray, and the demon has no sooner fallen into the mushroom ring than the blood of his prey hits the circle and activates it.
The fiendish creature looks around for the foe that knocked him back.
When he sees no one, he lunges for the fairy once more, only to bang into the invisible walls of his new prison.
I watch the demon for another second, just long enough to see his frustration, before I turn my attention to the rest of the fights.
There’s so much power beneath my feet it doesn’t take much effort to coax all of the fungi to rise.
Up, up the interconnected webs of it go.
It’s hard to aim them and harder still to force mushrooms to push through the thick stone walkway.
My shoulders and arms begin to tremble from the effort, and I can feel the first stirrings of fatigue.
I keep at it anyway, and I swear I see a few stones dislodged by my efforts when more muffled screams rent the air.
I pause, my gaze moving to the grand double doors of the castle in the distance, where the noise is coming from.
I only have to wait a few moments before I see the smoky cascade of indigo magic pour down the castle’s front steps.
Hell’s spells.
It rushes over the stone walkway, the deep blue hue of it gleaming an iridescent orange when the light hits it just right.
I suck in a breath at the sight. I hadn’t noticed that back in the House of Scrolls, but now it’s clear the lilac wine altered its hue, just as it has mine. It’s as lovely as it is terrifying.
As it pours out of the palace, neither fae nor demons nor mortal supernaturals have the time to escape it before it wraps around them like a vise.
Shit.
I hadn’t thought about what would happen if Memnon’s magic took him over. But I should’ve because clearly it’s happening at this very moment.