Chapter 21 Rhianelle
A rider in black armor suddenly turns his wyvern and breathes fire at his own wingman. The flames catch the other wyvern's wing and both beast and rider spiral down shrieking. Another fae pulls a blade mid-flight and drives it into the back of the warrior flying beside him.
It makes no sense. They're turning on each other in the middle of their attack on my kingdom.
"What is going on?" I breathe, unable to comprehend what I'm seeing.
Through the chaos of wings and fire, I see her.
A figure levitates without wyvern or wings, held aloft by pure power. Long golden hair streams behind her like a banner. The witch is laughing as she watches the unfolding chaos.
I watch in confusion as she points at certain riders and immediately their former allies turn on them.
The attacked riders don't see it coming.
One of them takes an arrow to the throat from his companion.
He clutches at the shaft, eyes wide with betrayal, then tumbles from his saddle.
His wyvern circles around confused, looking for its fallen rider.
It doesn't understand why its kind attacked.
The creature's distress cry echoes across the burning city.
Fae warriors who moments ago flew in formation now loose arrows at each other. Wyverns clash in midair, their riders locked in deadly combat not with Svenn, but with their own kind.
The infighting spreads like wildfire through their ranks. Three wyvern riders break away from the main group, diving toward a single fae who flies alone beneath them. There's something different about the lone rider. His armor is finer and marked with Eirik's sigil.
A fae commander.
The three converge on him with vicious precision.
He fights brilliantly, managing to wound one attacker and disable another's wyvern.
I can see him trying to shield his beast with his own body as the attackers close in.
There's something almost noble in the way he prioritizes his mount's safety over his own.
But three against one in the air is impossible odds.
An arrow finds his shoulder, then another his thigh. The wyvern tries to protect its rider, but a blast of fire strikes its wing.
They hit the ground hard in a plume of ash and debris. The impact echoes across the ruined city. I run toward the crash site without thinking.
Coral bounds after me awkwardly, making distressed chirping sounds. The rational part of my mind screams that this is madness. I should be fleeing, not racing toward a fallen enemy commander. But something pulls me forward.
My boots crunch through ash and broken glass.
The heat is worse here, closer to where the wyvern fell.
I can feel it through my soles. I leap over a collapsed beam that's still smoldering.
Coral keeps pace beside me, her size forcing her to scramble over obstacles I can vault.
She knows this is dangerous. But she follows anyway.
I find them in a crater of disturbed earth and ash.
The wyvern lies on her side, breathing heavily.
Her wing is bent with the membrane torn and bleeding.
The rider is tangled beneath her, one leg pinned under her massive flank.
He's murmuring something in the old fae tongue, words of comfort as soft as a lullaby.
My dagger is in my hand before I fully realize I've drawn it.
This is one of them. One of the monsters who burned my kingdom, who slaughtered innocents. The rage that's been building since I stepped through that portal crystallizes into a single, burning desire for vengeance.
The fae commander's armor is dented, cracked in places. Blood seeps through the joints. His helmet has been knocked askew. His wyvern's golden eye locks on me, massive and slitted like a cat's.
He finally registers my presence. "Oh… it's you."
I know this voice.
He reaches up with his free hand and pulls off the helmet. His red hair falls loose and his blue eyes meet mine, sharp even through the pain.
Landon.
The Herald of the Wild Hunt.
This is the face of my kingdom's destruction, the herald who brought such terror to our lands. He led the forces that turned Aelfheim to ash. Thousands of my people are dead because of him.
"Your Highness," he says, and there's no mockery in it. Just exhaustion and pain.
My fingers tighten on the hilt. All I have to do is drive it forward. Into his neck. Between his ribs. Anywhere vital. One thrust and he's dead.
His wyvern makes a soft sound, almost a whimper. Her good wing stretches over Landon, trying to shield him despite her injuries.
Landon's hand moves to comfort Dorcha, stroking the scales between the wyvern's eyes. "If you're planning to kill me, at least release my wyvern first. Some wyverns can survive without their bond to their rider—"
"You did this." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "You burned my kingdom. You killed my people."
"Yes."
The fae gives no excuses or justifications, just simple acknowledgement.
"People lived here." I'm nearly shouting now, my control breaking. "Children. Families. People who never hurt anyone, who just wanted to live their lives. And you burned them."
He meets my gaze without flinching. Anger surges through my chest, hot and vicious. I want to drive this blade between his ribs and watch the light fade from those too-bright eyes.
The three riders who attacked him are circling back. I can hear their wyverns' wings beating against the smoky air. They'll be here in seconds. I could step aside, let them finish what they started.
But then I remember the moment in Avalon when he could have killed me and didn't. I drop to my knees and start cutting through the ropes tangling Landon and his wyvern. My hands shake with rage and confusion, but the blade is sharp. They are free from their bindings instantly.
"Go, Dorcha," Landon commands.
The wyvern staggers upright, injured wing trailing. She takes off unsteadily and vanishes into the smoke.
Landon looks at me. "Why let us go?"
The sound of wings grows louder. The three riders are almost here. Dorcha's escape must have given us away. I grab the edge of a fallen market tarp. It's huge, meant to cover entire stalls. "Get under this. Now."
"What—"
"Now!"
I throw the tarp over him and pull Coral close. There's barely room for all of us in the tight space. My shoulder presses against his.
"Shh," I breathe.
Landon stares at me in the dim light filtering through the canvas, questions in his eyes.
The Night Herons pass overhead, searching. In the smoke and shadow and chaos, they miss the tarp-covered lumps that could be rubble. One rider circles back, suspicious. He's descending, coming lower for a better look.
"Damn it," Landon curses. "It's Ronan."
I don't care who that is. I need to keep my wyvern safe.
"Stay hidden with Coral," I hiss at the fae commander. "Don't make me regret this."
"What are you going to do?" he whispers.
I slip out from under the tarp and run.
"There! Silver hair!" The rider spots me. "The Queen!"
The riders see me and forget about Landon entirely. They have a better prize now.
Coral bounds out from under the tarp to follow me. I wanted her safe where the riders wouldn't find her. But she's here, vulnerable and exposed. We need to move. I keep running, leading them away from Landon.
I weave through skeletal remains of market stalls. Coral traces my exact path, trusting me completely. But we're not fast enough. The riders are gaining. I turn to face my pursuers.
There are more than three now. They're converging on my position from multiple directions. Two of them have landed, approaching on foot with weapons drawn. Their wyverns circle above, ready to breathe fire if I try to escape.
"Coral, run!" I shout at her. But my brave, stupid wyvern steps forward instead.
She plants herself in front of me and spreads her useless wings.
She's so young and not even fully grown.
Against two adult wyverns and armed fae riders, she doesn't stand a chance.
But she spreads her wings and roars her defiance.
The first arrow takes her in the shoulder. Coral snarls from the pain. The second arrow hits her wing, punching through the membrane. She staggers but doesn't fall, still trying to protect me.
More riders land in a semicircle around us, cutting off escape. Their wyverns are larger than Coral, battle-scarred and vicious. One of them snaps at her. She flinches but holds her ground.
"The Queen herself," one rider says in accented Elven tongue. "Eirik will reward us well for this."
"Take her alive," another says. "But the wyvern is worthless. Kill it."
"No!" I step forward, putting myself between them and Coral. "You want me? Fine. But let her go."
They laugh.
"You're in no position to bargain, Your Highness." The first rider draws his sword. "But I'll make it quick for the beast. More mercy than you showed our kin."
Arrows fly toward us. The Night Herons loose volley after volley. I grab a broken shield from the ground and hold it up. The arrows punch through the wood, one grazing my arm. But I keep the shield up and Coral behind me.
A rider calls out something in the fae tongue. The others answer with laughter, cold and merciless.
This is how I'm going to die. Not in glorious battle but cowering behind a broken shield while my enemies laugh. The fae riders are taking their time. One nocks another arrow, aims for my leg to cripple me. They want me alive but broken. Just when I think it's the end for both of us—
A woman appears.
The fae riders immediately drop to one knee, heads bowed.
It's the witch from the sky. Eirik Bloodhound's mistress. Crimson drapes her form, red cloak over scarlet dress. The rich color is stark against her long golden hair. Her skin is flawless like porcelain untouched by sun or imperfection.
"Leave us," she says to the riders without looking at them.
No one questions her.