28. Aniah
Aniah
Aiden was nowhere to be seen, having taken to the skies as soon as he realized Evanee wasn’t there, leaving me with Malachai and the Werewolves.
The rain stopped quickly, but the dampness left the air chillier than before.
However, that could be the uncomfortable silence that had settled between us.
Malachai didn’t act as if he recognized me in the slightest as he ordered the Shadow Stalkers back to wherever they came from, then bound my wrists and scooped me into his arms, flying fast and hard for Castle Lawryn.
My heart shattered at the coldness leaking off of him.
Not one word as he flew us in his gargantuan red form.
The last time I saw him in his Gargoyle form had been our last night together, three years ago, when everything had gone so terribly wrong.
They struck right before sunrise, catching the entire Gargoyle kingdom unawares. Screams had woken me. I’d fallen asleep in Malachai’s rooms again after an endless night of festivities celebrating the upcoming wedding and matching ceremony of Evanee and Aiden.
I hurried to the window, the moonlight shining through and lighting up my naked body. My stomach twisted as hell spilled beyond the gates, bile burning my throat.
Homes burned in the outer towns, and an army of skurs raced toward the castle, feasting on anything in their paths. Horror sank its claws into me as the bloodthirsty monsters—Cressida’s abominations—tore through women, children, and the elderly without pause.
“Malachai! We’re under attack!” I yelled. His golden eyes lit up the dark as he rolled out of bed, immediately alert, and started to pull his black battle leathers on. With shaking fingers, I dressed, unable to leave the window.
“How many?” he demanded, his warrior taking over.
“At least a thousand skurs on the horizon. Maybe more. There’s an armada approaching in the far distance, but I can’t tell who or what,” I breathed, heart racing as I braided my long hair.
In my long lifespan, I’d seen battles. I’d helped in them.
But I'd never seen war. It was my sisters’ and my purpose to keep wars from breaking out between the realms. So how was this happening right now?
Malachai buckled the last piece in place.
Gargoyle battle leathers were built for the shift—if they wore them at all.
Their pants allowed enough room for their growth in height and muscle, and rode low enough for their tail.
The breast plate buckled in the front, leaving enough room for their wings, yet still easy to shed if needed.
Strange in their human form, but breathtaking when they changed.
Under normal circumstances, I liked seeing Malachai in his leathers. Now, it turned my blood cold.
More screams filled the air, and battle horns blared in the distance, followed by the beating of drums.
Malachai looked out the window.
“The Fae,” he growled.
“What? That’s not possible. It—it can’t be.
Why would Cressida allow this? And the skurs?
” My mind was working in overdrive as I tried to understand how any of this could be happening.
Cressida, no matter how evil her heart may be, wouldn’t do this.
She wouldn’t risk the wrath of the Coven Council, would she?
The penalty for such a crime would be death.
The Coven Council had spies everywhere. Surely they knew.
“The skurs were never supposed to leave the dead isles.” My voice cracked as I slipped on my cloak, fire lighting in the distance.
“It doesn’t matter, they’re here.” He walked over, gently tilting my chin up. “Aniah, if things go badly, you must leave here. Promise me.” His expression was hard, but his eyes soft. Worried.
“I can’t just run-away Mal. I have obligations to this kingdom.”
“I can’t be the warrior my King needs me to be if I’m worried about you.” His eyes looked at me pleadingly. “I love you.” He leaned his head against mine.
I gritted my teeth. "I love you too, Malachai. But that doesn’t change the fact that I, too, have a job to do.
” I pulled back, meeting his searing gaze.
“I may not be the big, bad warrior you are.
But I am by no means helpless. I'm one of the Four Sisters. I can hold my own.” I crossed my arms. “Besides. Maybe I need you to run away so I can be the Witch I need to be.”
He playfully scoffed, then smiled, fangs grazing his lips. One of his very rare, genuine smiles that I lived for. “Very well.”
I wrapped my arms around him, and he rested his chin on my head. Both of us were rigid as bloodshed happened right outside. But this could be our last moment. The thought made my chest squeeze, but I couldn’t focus on that right now.
“Can I ask that you be as safe as possible then?”
I smiled, breathing in his scent of pine and leather. “As long as I can ask the same?” I looked up at him, batting my eyes.
“I'd do anything you ask of me, Aniah.” My smile fell.
I never planned to fall in love. It wasn't the way of Witches. Especially one of the Four. If I lost him—
War horns sounded, and shouting echoed in the halls.
Malachai kissed me, barely a brush of his lips against mine. A kiss I hadn’t realized at the time would be our last. Then we swiftly made our way to our own battles outside and I waited until he shifted and joined the ranks, before setting off on my own path.
Blood was everywhere, black and red mixing as they ran together in the streets.
The moon shone down brightly, highlighting the gore that lay around the grounds.
Body parts scattered throughout, both Gargoyle and Skur alike.
Bile rose in my throat from the atrocity of what had already happened in such a short time.
Distraction would get me killed. I had to confront the Fae. I needed to know if Cressida was here and why this was happening.
It took a long time to get out of the city.
Every corner had bloodthirsty skurs looking for another victim.
The Gargoyle army had gathered in the skies, blotting out some of the moon’s light, giving me some cover in the dark until they rained down like hail to pick off the skurs both with arrows and swords.
I made it through the myriad of buildings to the open fields beyond, leaving the horrible shrieking and screaming behind.
The front line of the Fae army pushed a line of six catapults, aimed right at the legion of Gargoyles in the sky.
I thought of Malachai and my other friends out there.
The only way to ensure the complete destruction of the gigantic, wooden war machines would be to set an eternal flame to the wood—a fire curse.
But even now, as I looked at that melting rose exposed on my arm, I couldn’t bring myself to utter the dark words.
Not after the vow I’d made never to cast a curse again.
Instead, I cast a simple fire spell.
“Och bram fiera incendia!” A white-hot fire shot from my hands, coiling through the air, forming the head of a dragon with jaws wide open as it made its way over the field and clashed with the first catapult.
Fire splashed like lava upon rock, catching the next catapult and then the next until all six burned.
The Fae soldiers surrounding it cursed and yelled, forced to retreat far back to the tree line with the rest of their company.
I didn't sense Cressida among the ranks of the Fae. But I did feel magic. Dark magic. We were tainted with dark magic—it’s how we were able to create curses. This magic, however, felt wrong. Unnatural. My own magic recoiled in its presence.
With the flick of my wrist, I cast a cloaking spell over myself and pressed on.
My heart beat faster and faster as I moved closer.
Fae ran around, bringing buckets of water from a nearby pond to throw onto the catapults to no avail, utterly unaware of my hidden presence.
The battle raged on in the city between Gargoyles and skurs.
Too many—there were too many of the monstrous creatures and the sun was about to rise which would force the Gargoyles from the skies. I had to hurry.
The Fae ran frantically back and forth from the river, and I wove through with ease, following that tug of dark magic to the back of the lines where the King of the Fae sat tall on his horse beside his generals.
He held something in his outstretched palm—an orb.
Black and blue smoke whirled violently within.
Magic.
That was the source of the dark magic I followed.
But as bad as it was to see the Fae King holding perverted power like that in his hands, he didn’t make my step falter.
It was the Coven Council standing beside him that made me blanche—all four of them.
They stood behind the King, heads high, cracked, weathered smiles exposing yellowed teeth.
My feet moved forward until the king raised that object.
Laverna moved closer to him, speaking lowly. Malice twisted his face into something dark as he shouted a spell from the forbidden texts hidden deep within the libraries of the Dead Isles, the sound guttural and harsh.
A knife twisted in my gut as a blinding white light streaked with black shot straight for the Gargoyle legion at the western point of the castle.
One minute, they were there, fighting from the skies.
Next, they were turned to stone, the small legion falling one by one, shattering among the battlefield below.
I fell to my hands and knees, shaking, tears burning my eyes. I clamped both hands over my mouth, choking on my scream. We were supposed to prevent this. As the Coven Council smiled in satisfaction, the sickening truth settled in me heavier than lead.
They sanctioned this. They created that foul object for the Fae King to channel dark magic. Vomit clawed up my throat, my body breaking into a cold sweat.
“Sire, we put out the fires, but the catapults are of no use,” A young soldier shouted, covered in soot and ash.