Chapter 21 Rhianelle #2
The riders rise in unison. Steel slides back into sheaths. One of them casts a lingering look at me, hungry and resentful, but none dare disobey.
With sharp whistles and curt gestures, they mount. The Night Herons peel away from their circling pattern and fall back into formation around her.
In seconds, they are airborne.
The downdraft of their wings kicks ash into the air and drives me back a step. Smoke swallows them as they climb, returning to the larger battle where Svenn still carves through their ranks.
Now it's just her and me.
And Coral, trembling behind me with two arrows still in her flesh.
I keep the broken shield up even though we both know it's meaningless. My arms shake from holding it. Blood runs hot down my thigh from the arrow graze.
"Put that down," the witch says. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Stay back."
She laughs, melodious and sweet.
Above us, Svenn continues his rampage. The sky is more shadow than light now and wyvern bodies fall like rain. The remaining riders are in full retreat. But Svenn follows them into the distance, lost in the hunt.
"Your monster is magnificent," the witch says, watching him leap impossible distances to catch fleeing prey. "I've never seen anything like that."
"He's not a monster."
"No?" She tilts her head, genuinely curious. "Then what lives in his blood that allows such transformations?"
There's no way she should know about Svenn's true nature and origin. "How do you know that?"
The witch turns her attention back to me and the weight of her gaze makes my skin crawl. She takes a step closer. I try to step back but my legs won't listen.
"I know many things, little queen," she says with a knowing smile. "I know you're exhausted and every thread of power you pull tears something inside you."
She's right. My hands won't stop shaking and my vision swims at the edges. I've used too many strings today.
"Leave," I tell her. "Your forces are retreating. The attack failed."
"Failed?" She smiles and gestures at the devastation around us. "Aelfheim is ash. Thousands dead. Your western frontiers erased from existence. I'd hardly call that failure."
"Svenn is killing your riders," I tell her.
"Yes, he is." She doesn't sound concerned. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Another wyvern falls in the distance, torn nearly in half. The witch watches with appreciation.
"Tell me something," she says, turning back to me. "Are you ever afraid of him? Your monster husband?"
"Never."
"Do you ever wonder what happens when he forgets to come back?"
"No."
"Liar." Her smile sharpens. "I can smell the fear on you sometimes. There have been moments, haven't there? When you wondered if the beast would recognize you. If the hunger would care that you're his wife."
I don't answer.
"That's what I thought. Your people are already dead, girl. Nothing you do here will save them," she says it gently, almost kindly.
Coral whimpers behind me. One of her legs is giving out. She's losing too much blood.
"She is a fae creature. Let me heal her," the witch offers. "As a gesture of goodwill."
Coral snarls, baring her teeth at the witch.
I drop to my knees beside my wyvern, ignoring the witch. My hands find the arrows still embedded in her shoulder and wing.
"I don't want your goodwill," I mutter, reaching for what little power I have left. The threads are thin and fraying but the blessing flows slowly.
The witch watches without interfering. That alone tells me something is wrong.
She should attack while I'm vulnerable and distracted.
But she stands perfectly still and her expression shifts.
It's almost like she's fighting herself.
The enchantress I was talking to moments ago seems ready to strike but there's another part deep inside her that watches Coral with something that looks almost like reverence.
"Then what do you want?" Her tone shifts, becoming almost sincere. "Allow me, Morgaine, to fulfill your wish."
"I want you to leave my kingdom. Stop attacking my people. Take your riders and go home," I tell her firmly.
She laughs again. "Is that all? And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll make you."
She spreads her arms. "You can barely stand. Your pet wyvern is bleeding out. What exactly is your plan here?"
I don't have one. But I can't let her see that. I drop the shield and draw my dagger. It's pathetic compared to her power, but it's what I have.
"Brave," she acknowledges.
She moves.
One moment she's ten feet away, the next she's inside my guard. Her hand catches my wrist, stopping the dagger mid-thrust. Her grip is iron-strong.
"You're fast," she says, impressed. "But not fast enough."
She twists. My wrist screams in pain and the dagger falls. I try to pull away but she's too strong. She jerks me close, her other hand coming up to grip my throat.
"Here's what's going to happen," she whispers. "You're going to yield to Eirik. Bend the knee. Give him Aelfheim—"
She stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly. Her mouth opens as if to continue, then closes. The words that come next are different, urgent. "No. I don't want the kingdom. Give me the vampire. Give me him."
I stare at her in shock. "What? No."
Her expression flickers rapidly, shifting between two distinct presences. She speaks again, voice strained. "Yield to Eirik. Swear fealty—" Then cuts herself off with a sharp intake of breath. "The vampire. I need the creature. Promise him to me."
It's like watching someone try to appease two different masters. One demanding Aelfheim for Eirik. The other fixated on Svenn.
There's something familiar about this. Not the witch's face, but something underneath. Something in the way she moves, the way that second voice sounds.
Her grip tightens around my throat. I gasp, struggling for air.
Coral roars and lunges despite her injuries. The witch doesn't even look. She gestures with her free hand and invisible force slams into Coral. The wyvern hits the ground hard and doesn't move.
"No!" I choke out.
"She's alive," the witch assures me. "For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you."
I claw at the hand on my throat.
"Give me the vampire," she says again.
I manage one word: "Never."
"I was hoping you'd say that," she says and her free hand begins tracing symbols in the air.
The runes glow and the air around them seems to rot. The smell makes my eyes water. It touches my skin and pain lances through me. It feels like she's unraveling me from the inside out, pulling apart the threads that hold me together.
I scream.
She smiles and traces another rune.
The pain doubles and my vision goes white. Every nerve is on fire. I can't breathe or do anything but scream.
"You can make this stop," she says over my screaming. "Return the vampire to me."
Return?
I see Coral lying broken in the rubble and the ruins of Aelfheim around us.
"No," I manage to say.
A shadow falls over us.
He's covered in blood, most of it not his. His monstrous form towers over us both. The witch's eyes widen in genuine fear for the first time. She releases me. I crumple to the ground, still shaking from the pain.
"Well," the witch says, and for the first time there's uncertainty in her voice. "The husband arrives."
Svenn doesn't speak. The Wendigo form doesn't do words. It does violence.
He takes one step toward her and the witch scrambles back.
"Now, now," she says quickly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Let's not be hasty. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement—"
Svenn lunges.
She throws up a barrier of that wrong shadow-magic, but his claws tear through it like cobwebs. She stumbles back, real fear on her face now.
"You don't understand what you're dealing with," she tries. "I'm not some common rider you can—"
His claws rake across her barrier again and this time it shatters completely.
The witch's composure cracks. She starts speaking in an ancient fae language, her hands moving in complex patterns. Symbols appear in the air around her, different from the ones she used on me. Svenn doesn't care. He tears them apart like they're nothing.
But then the witch's fear transforms into something else. My heart drops at the calculation in her eyes.
"I see it now," she breathes, her eyes widening. "The hunger in you. The beast that wants to slip the leash."
She speaks words while her hands trace runes of decay.
Those aren't spells meant to harm, the Un whispers.
I know. They are curses meant to corrupt. One by one they sink into Svenn, burrowing deep. He roars, but it's different from before. There's pain in it.
"What are you doing?" I scream, trying to stand. My legs won't hold me.
"I'm helping him," the witch says, and she's smiling again. "Helping him shed that tedious control. He will become what he truly is."
"Stop!"
"Why would I stop?" She traces another symbol and it sinks into Svenn's chest. "This is beautiful. Look at him."
Svenn's roar becomes more animal. The intelligence in his eyes is dimming, replaced by pure instinct and hunger.
"Svenn!" I call to him. "Fight it! Come back!"
But the witch traces another rune and another. Each one sinks deeper, pulling more of him away.
"No more holding back and pretending to be civilized," she croons. "This is who you are."
Svenn's roar becomes something else. Something without words or thought. Massive wings tear through his shoulders, unfurling wide. He turns toward me.
The ochre is gone from his eyes, replaced by solid black. There's no recognition in them or awareness of who I am.
It’s just pure hunger.
The witch laughs in delight. "Oh yes. This is better than I hoped. The little elf queen, devoured by her own monster husband. Eirik will be so pleased."
Svenn takes a step toward me. Then another.
I try to crawl away but I can barely move. The pain from the witch's curse is still tearing through me.
"Svenn, it's me," I whisper. "It's Rhianelle. Please."
He doesn't hear me. Or if he does, it doesn't matter. The beast no longer knows my name. It only cares about the hunt.
He lunges.
I close my eyes, waiting for claws that will tear me apart.
Instead, I'm lifted.
My eyes snap open. Svenn has me in his massive hands but he's not crushing me. He's lifting me toward the sky. I still have my knife in my belt. My hand moves toward it on instinct.
The witch's laughter echoes below. "I knew you would pull the knife on him!"
But I'm not aiming for Svenn. I'm not trying to kill him. Even with his black eyes and no recognition, I trust him. I touch his face with my free hand. My fingers find the bone-mask that was once his features.
"I love you," I tell him. "In this form. In any form. You're mine and I'm yours."
I place my hand against his chest. "Come back to me."
For just a moment, something flickers in those black eyes.
I understand now.
My husband is not mindless. He's not lost.
Svenn's lifting me for a better angle.
The witch is still laughing below, confident in her victory. I pull the knife and throw. The blade flies true. It's not a perfect throw, my hands are still shaking from the pain. But it's close enough.
It strikes the witch across the face, cutting from her forehead across her nose to her cheek.
She screams.
"You bitch!" She claps a hand to her face. Blood runs between her fingers. "You scarred me!"
She's already trying to heal it, magic flowing from her hands. But the wound doesn't close or even slow its bleeding.
"What—" She stares at the blood in disbelief.
Svenn lands and sets me down gently. He's halfway between forms now. His torso and face are his again, but his lower half remains the creature's.
"My blade is dwarven made and cursed," I rasp out. "You can't heal what it cuts."
It's a lie. The dwarven blade is just steel and it's already cleansed. The wound isn't healing because of her shock. But she doesn't know that.
The witch's face contorts with fury. "I'll kill you for this—"
Svenn sets me down gently. Then he steps between us.
The witch looks at him, at me, and her expression shifts. "This isn't over. He is mine."
She raises her hands, speaking more of those horrible words. The ground beneath her begins to crack and split.
The earth buckles and heaves. Cracks spread across the melted cobblestones. Steam hisses up from the gaps, carrying the smell of sulfur and rot. Something is coming up from below.
I try to stand but my legs still won't hold me. Svenn reaches for me and even with those massive claws, his touch is gentle as he helps me up. He positions himself between me and the crack. His shoulders are tense, ready.
Whatever she's summoning, it's big. The ground shakes with its approach.
My breath stutters in my lungs. I know this feeling. I’ve felt it before in Balthazar’s castle.
The witch has opened a portal to the seventh gates of Hel.