Chapter 32
While military minds might say this had all gone to shit, Leita thought otherwise. Yes, the border was melting behind her; yes, a spelled chain was wound round her left arm, wing, and waist; and yes, she faced down an army of Savrakae with a crazed king at their head ostensibly by herself.
But what Erastus Princeps didn’t seem to appreciate was that Leita had long survived without an army, the faelands’ magic, and indeed much of her own power. She hadn’t lived in the wilderness for centuries, fighting off bandits and bears, on the brute strength of her magic alone.
Without the pressure of the Queendom pushing on her, Leita could breathe. Inasmuch as the chain allowed.
Really, she’d call this a tactical pivot.
She’d a dagger at her side and a dirk on her thigh; without the chains, she’d have her magic, too. She could work with that.
Using her free arm, Leita got to her knees and then her feet, staring down Erastus on the other end of the chain. Her smile at him would’ve made Attalus proud, all teeth and challenge, making the dragon prince falter.
Leita hadn’t much formal training in combat, but she knew how to fight.
Early lessons in the palace with Lilibet.
Her human brother teaching her to punch and scrabble.
Thalia’s advice on kicking and stabbing and fighting to win.
How to swipe from the bears and badgers, how to tire an enemy from the fox, and how to be patient from the wolf.
And where to aim on a Savrakae from her dragon mate.
Leita stomped on the chain, winding it round her right ankle, and swept her leg. Erastus pitched forward, the warriors behind him having let go once she landed on their side of the border. The dragon sputtered, his fiery glare promising retribution for the humiliation.
Erastus began pulling the chain, hand over hand, reeling her closer.
Rather than fight, Leita ran at him full speed.
Hands full of the chain, he couldn’t fend off her strike, grunting when her foot met the center of his chest. They both went down, Leita landing with full force on his sternum before flipping off.
The prince coughed, momentarily stunned, and Leita grabbed up the other end of the chain.
The manacles used on her before could only be removed by the one who’d put them on—she had to hope that wasn’t the case here.
Dragons roared and grabbed for her, but in the close quarters, none could get enough room to wield their flame or tails effectively. Those at the back either jumped off the edge or were pushed, those at the front trying to clear space to catch Leita.
But she was too quick. Their shifted paws weren’t as dexterous as hands, and Leita dodged and rolled, collecting the chain before sprinting back toward the crumbling border.
Marcades stood just on the other side, beating the border with his fists and Thalia kicking at it beside him.
With her free hand, Leita swung the loose end of the chain round and round, gaining momentum until it was enough to swing round the great horns of the anax.
It made only two loops, but she wouldn’t have another chance.
Taking hold of the chain, she yanked with all her might, jerking Araxos’s head to the side.
His stream of fire ceased, leaving behind a plume of billowing smoke. An outraged roar replaced it, his long head turning to fix her with a malignant glare.
She stared into the eyes of the largest, most powerful dragon and saw only a haze of rage. Whatever afflicted Araxos Anax, it’d utterly clouded his mind.
He howled, the horrible noise shaking the air, and lunged for her.
Leita leapt to the side, yanking the chain as she went. His head bent as he hit the ground, driving his right horns deep into the earth.
“To the Queen!”
Through the gaping hole in the border left by Araxos’s dragonfire leapt Thalia, followed by Marcades and other mounted guards. The dread-mounts screamed a battle cry, horns lowering for a devastating charge.
“Form up!”
“Protect the anax!”
Mouths glowed with flame, but not quickly enough. Unicorns crashed into the disorganized dragons, pushing them further back toward the cliff.
Thalia, Marcades, and his dread-mount wheeled about, charging for Araxos. Despite Leita’s hold on the chain, the anax swung his head, fending off their attack. Their backs turned, his mouth sparked with flame.
“No!”
She threw herself backwards, heaving with all her might—when arms wrapped around her and knocked the chain away. Erastus snarled in her ear, the crook of his elbow cinching round her throat.
Leita scrabbled and scratched at him, sensing his desire to pop her head clean off. Her elbow was her weapon, jabbing at Erastus’s side as he squeezed.
“Yield,” he growled, hot breath at her ear.
She struggled harder.
When her hand went to her belt, Erastus intercepted her as planned. She grabbed the back of his hand, clamping it down on the weighted diamond dangling from the end of the chain. Using their hands together, Leita swung the chain, loosening it by one wind.
“Fucking fae cunt!”
“Incoming!”
“Shit—!”
A percussion of displaced air sent everyone near Araxos tumbling backwards. The flame meant for Thalia and Marcades caught on the grass uselessly, his mouth clamped shut by a red-scaled paw.
Attalus slammed into his brother, their impact sending them skidding through the dirt.
Erastus lurched to the left, trying to avoid getting caught up in the tangle of thrashing tails and snapping jaws. He brought Leita with him, and she threw herself to the ground, rolling away—and leaving the chain behind.
Her magic and strength rushed back in a dizzying surge, her head suddenly light with the restoration as she stood. A manic laugh in her throat, Leita turned to face a glowering Erastus.
“What now, lizard?” she taunted.
His gold lips peeled back in a sneer, and the shift began to ripple over him.
Leita didn’t give him the satisfaction—or time.
Her magic slammed into his flank, sending the dragon prince toppling to the side.
Taking dagger and dirk in hand, she caught the chain by the links with a blade and tossed both high.
They sailed through the air on her magic’s wing, embedding into the ground beside the downed dragon.
Erastus rolled to his knees, but it was too late. Leita swung the chain over him again and again, across his back and wings, over his nape and between his legs. Catching her dirk by the blade, she tossed it too, sinking it into the last link of the chain.
Pinned beneath his own weapon, Erastus thrashed, unable to break free or shift.
Planting her boot on his head, Leita forced his face into the dirt. “Think before you fuck with me again, lizard.”
The princeling raged impotently, coughing up smoke when he meant to immolate her.
Hopefully that would hold.
She turned to take stock of the rest of the battle.
Her guards with their dread-mounts outnumbered the dragons, but with more room to maneuver, the Savrakae were beating back the horns and spears with flame and claw. If they weren’t careful, the whole meadow would burn.
Nearby, in their own melee, Attalus and Araxos fought.
Watching two shifted Savrakae fight was harrowing, and she nearly couldn’t look knowing one of them was her azai.
Vicious claws and teeth scraped over scales as the two scrabbled like battling snakes, twisting round each other to gain the upper hand.
How Attalus had come to be there was a mystery for later.
Her instinct was to run and aid him. A shifted Araxos was far larger, but Leita stopped a moment and made herself observe. Although smaller, Attalus was faster, and he fought with a ferociousness that made her blood sing.
She’d known he could fight, had listened intently as he told her of his time with his mother and brother confined to Highhome with nothing to do but spar. Hearing and seeing were different experiences, however.
Her dragon was, in a word, brilliant. Tenacious and effective, his every strike was precise. He didn’t waste energy or effort, leaping away when Araxos regained his feet only to get in close again and deliver another targeted blow.
For now, at least, he didn’t need Leita’s help. She…had to trust he could handle himself.
Fuck, she’d been wrong about so much.
But there’d be time for that.
Right now, Leita had to win that time.
Jumping into the air, she flew for the border.
Just inside, the faelands greeted her as an old friend, ethereal hands running over her face and shoulders as though to assure itself she was well.
The pressure in her chest returned, and while Leita didn’t welcome it, there was a reassurance to feel the magic again.
“Will you trust me?” she asked it. Landing right inside the faelands, she crouched to dig her hands into the earth. “Will you help us?”
The grass curled around her fingers. Yes.
Sucking in a hopeful breath, Leita told the faelands in her mind what she wished. She envisioned threads of magic reaching across the meadow to find each of her fae, imbuing them with a sliver of strength from the faelands itself.
Share your power, she pleaded. I can’t do this alone.
The earth trembled beneath her fingers, and white threads appeared in the grass.
Leita watched in amazement as the threads pierced the border, slithering across the meadow to every fae.
One by one, the magic found them, twining round their fingers.
She didn’t know if they realized or felt the change, but it was there when they needed it.
Already her warriors fought valiantly, the training they’d done with Attalus clear. The triads worked together to isolate a single dragon or pin two together, crowding them to negate their long necks and spitting flames.
But more than a few lay wounded or unmoving across the meadow, and dozens of dragons hovered above, waiting for space to swoop down and join the fray.
Can you reach that far? Leita asked, nodding at the cliff.
The grove of cypresses behind her rattled their limbs.
She smiled wildly. Meet me on the other side.