92. THE AETHER
I lifted my eyes to the split-tailed banners that whipped in the wind atop crooked poles.
Court colors and sigils, splattered with red and black blood, looked down at us like vultures waiting to descend upon our corpses.
I’d seen war before. I’d seen its hardened heart and its unforgiving hand, but never had I experienced it to this extent.
Gabbath was brutal, but this . . . this was tragic.
If it had just been Lyceius’s creatures that we were facing, perhaps it would not have been this bad. But with Skadi’s shadows, our odds had dwindled tremendously. They were nearly impossible to eradicate without the witches’ death spell.
Thankfully, I had my cù-sìth dagger. I’d cut down as many shadows as I could with it, trying to tell myself that every one I destroyed was one less threat for someone else. But the effort felt futile when endless swarms of them continued to spill over the horizon.
My arms were beginning to feel limp. I heaved in breaths as I peeled my eyes away from the banners and took in the scene around me once more.
The clamoring of swords, pained grunts and sharp wails, the gnashing of teeth, the clang of iron against armor, all of it bit into my consciousness and muddied into a sorrowful chorus.
I was used to noise—the Aura had conditioned me to it since I was born. Every scream and slice and shuddering last breath fell into a lull, fading from focus as I assessed those around me.
Time slowed.
A Benmoori male fought next to an Elandish female, both of them striking true and taking down one of Lyceius’s multi-legged monsters, but they were no match for the shadows that lurked behind it, waiting to strike.
A Dionach saw what was coming and was fighting his way toward the fae, but the shadow got there first. The fae were not quick enough.
Both bodies fell to the ground as the shadow cut through them with claws as sharp as glass.
The distress and the pain in the Dionach’s face sent an ache through my heart.
His eyes met mine, and I could see the defeat in them just before they widened and he yelled, “Behind you!”
I spun, and sank my dagger into a shadow being’s fleeting form not a moment too late.
The darkness within the creature scattered to the wind, leaving no trace that it ever existed.
When I turned back to thank the Dionach, he was on his knees, and his head was lying next to him in the dirt.
Whatever creature had cut him down had moved on without a second glance.
I fumbled for words, bile rising up my throat—not at the gore, but in disgust that another innocent life had been stripped from the world.
A hand gripped my arm, and I whirled to find Maeson’s vibrant green eyes staring up at me from beneath splatters of ink-like blood. Releasing a breath, I reached out and pulled her into my chest, digging my chin into her hair as I let her presence ground me. She was still here, still safe.
Her skin was burning hot from using too much of her power.
“You need to rest,” I said, “or you’ll burn up.” I pushed my shield out to encompass her so that she could give her power a break.
“It wouldn’t be very efficient if a fire-wielder could burn up from her own fire, now would it?” she replied, panting. “I’ll be fine.”
A sharp yell, followed by a chorus of vicious snarls, had us both turning in place, searching for the source.
Maeson stiffened.
The cry had come from Senna. She was hunched over, frozen in pain as a shadow being stalked toward her.
There was an iron arrow sticking out of her abdomen, embedded deep—too deep to try and pull out without injuring her internal organs.
If her power was already mostly spent, she would struggle to heal if she removed it, but left inside her, the iron would nullify what remained of her power.
A few feet away from her, Laurent was being thrust to his knees by two keres who had wrapped his wrists in iron to stifle his ability to control the elements. He was bleeding from his mouth, yanking at the chains, not daring to take his eyes off his mate.
I broke into a run, desperate to try and help them, but the shadow being sent out a pulse of dark energy that hit me like a stone wall, knocking me backward into the dirt.
Maeson was instantly at my side, helping me to my feet.
Both of us watched as the entity turned its sights back to the Lady of Drastia, twirling a wisp of its own essence around its finger as it approached her.
Senna looked up at the shadow, her lips pulling back from her gritted teeth as she mustered her strength.
She raised her sword, but the shadow being swatted it out of her grasp and seized her by the neck, closing its oversized, clawed fingers around her throat, and squeezing as it lifted her off the ground.
A small sound squeaked out of her.
“NO!” Laurent yelled, jerking against the keres.
Senna’s feet kicked at the air relentlessly, and she scratched at the shadow’s grip as her face turned purple. And then, the entity snapped the Lady of Drastia’s neck.
Laurent roared.
“SENNA!!”
He thrashed at his captors like a wild animal, eyes wide with feral rage. Pure adrenaline and fury were now fueling his body, and he ripped his restraints from the keres’ grasp, taking the chains with him as he struggled on an injured leg to get to his mate.
The shadow released Senna’s limp body, and it collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud.
Laurent staggered forward, and the sound that was coming from his throat . . . I’d never heard a sound like that before. It was pain and anguish and heartbreak all unraveling in the bleating groan of someone who had just lost everything. He paid no mind to the entity. All he wanted was Senna.
The shadow dispersed, leaving the High Lord to languish.
Laurent collapsed at Senna’s side and gathered her into his arms, pushing the golden hair away from her face with one hand, and supporting her head in his other. His whole body shook as he wept.
I was so caught up in watching the way he held her, that when an arrow pierced his chest, I jolted.
I lifted my eyes to where the shadow being had re-materialized further away, next to another sinister creature that held a black bow, its string still quivering from the arrow it had just shot.
When it reached for another arrow, I started forward again, ready to launch to Laurent’s defense, but Maeson held me in place, planting her feet as she shook her head.
“There’s nothing we can do,” she said, her voice breaking with sorrow.
A second arrow struck Laurent’s chest, but he hardly even flinched.
He didn’t even lower his eyes to it. His focus remained on Senna, who stared up at the sky.
He was smiling through his tears, knowing he would be reunited with her soon.
He slumped forward until his forehead rested upon hers, and he drew his last breath.
My Aura pulsed on my skin as my emotions began rising inside me like a flood. What I had just witnessed was more than tragic. It was every mate’s worst fear.
Anxiety tightened in my chest, and my heart rate sped up. My vision tunneled. The sky became dark. The voices, the noise, the pounding in my head, all of it bubbled up and threatened to drown me.
I began shaking.
No . . . I was being shaken. By Maeson.
“Aremis? Aremis?!” she repeated my name, trying to bring me out of the Aether’s grasp.
I found my way back to reality, past the rush of my power, but I didn’t want to look at her. If I did, I would just be hurting myself even more because I would see the very thing that I could not bear to lose.
All of a sudden, I felt numb to the world, as if I’d fallen into a trance, and I was just another body amidst a sea of death and destruction. A spectator, or rather, a specter, watching as the world I no longer felt a part of fell to ruin around me.
The fighting seemed to have spread to the west, leaving us standing in a small clearing, bereft of immediate threats—aside from stray arrows. If it weren’t for the mutilated bodies that blanketed the earth, I would have been a little more at ease.
As I dragged my eyes over the scene, two familiar faces broke through the wall of warriors that were still engaging in the fight.
“I’ve been looking all over for you two!” Roirdan yelled. Nivelle was at his side, rubbing the palms of her hands as if she’d just put them under significant strain by emulating someone’s power. They closed the distance between us in a hurry. “You have to unleash the Aether now!”
“I know,” I said, still partially desensitized to the words I was speaking.
Maeson reached for Nivelle, pulling her into an embrace and checking to see if she was injured. Nivelle did the same, scanning over both of us.
“Are you ready?” the witch asked Maeson and me.
Maeson nodded, but I didn’t respond. I was ready, but at the same time, I wasn’t. My head wasn’t quite right.
Roirdan’s jaw tightened. “What’s wrong?”
Grimly, I inclined my head to where the High Lord and Lady of Drastia lay.
This was the first time I had ever seen Roirdan at a loss for words. He stared, and stared some more, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thoughts that had gone through my mind, about the possibility of losing the female that he cared for, and just how devastating it would be.
He worked his jaw, remaining silent, which gave me all the confirmation I needed.
“How much power do you have left, Roir?” I asked, stepping up to his side, my voice raspy.
It took him a moment to gather a response. “Enough. What do you need me to do?”
“The creatures are going to be on us within seconds once Nivelle begins the spell. They’re drawn to power. We could use your sword and your protection.”
“I’ll hold them off,” he said. “Just do it as quickly as possible, all right? Auren and Niall are with Lyceius as we speak.”
That statement put everything into perspective and snapped me into focus.
“When it’s done,” I said, low enough for only him to hear, “get them out of here.”
He turned, his brows drawing together, searching my eyes for the meaning of my words. The moment he realized I was talking about Maeson and Nivelle, and had not included myself in that statement, his expression shifted to panic. “What about you?”
I had no reply for that.
He shook his head. “Aremis, you can’t—”
“Promise me that you will protect them. Promise me that you will make sure Maeson makes it out of here.”
He shook his head. “I won’t lose another brother today. I won’t, Aremis!”
“Roirdan, please—”
He grabbed the leather strap across my chest and yanked. “You will put up a fight and win, or gods be damned, I will find that Aether myself and rip it from existence!”
I clutched onto his shoulder. “You would descend into chaos for me?”
“You’re fucking right I would!” he snarled.
This time I smiled, a mix of emotions working their way up my throat and breaking free in a laugh. “You’re insane, do you know that?”
“I don’t give a fuck! You’re not dying today; I won’t let you. You will get Maeson out of here yourself.”
I wanted so badly to agree with him. I would give anything to walk away unscathed and be able to live the life I longed for. But nothing was guaranteed. Even if I didn’t die, there was still a chance that I would be changed, that my mind wouldn’t be whole after the Aether vacated it.
I offered him another smile, but it wasn’t convincing, and I didn’t know how to make it be.
Seeming to understand my thoughts, he released his hold of me and beat his fist against my chest twice, as if to say, I will do as you asked. The pointed look he gave me right after that threatened to say, But if you die, I’m going to kill you.
I paused for a moment, holding his stare and taking a breath, before nodding and returning to Maeson’s side.
Nivelle dropped to her knees and ripped open the fitted vest she wore atop her fighting leathers.
She wasted no time pulling three small pouches from the interior pockets, each bag no bigger than her palm.
From one, she removed a baby bird. It was featherless—fresh from the nest. Its eyes, still shrouded with a milky-white film, hadn’t even opened yet.
She had collected it yesterday morning, broken its neck, and kept it under cold stones so that it didn’t begin to rot before we needed it.
The fresher the better, she’d told me.
Out of the second pouch, she pulled the magenta stone, the centerpiece of Torin’s diadem. The “stone of the hearth.”
The third pouch, she set to the side, untouched.
She plunged two fingers into the dirt and drew a circle around the bird and the stone, then pulled a dagger from her hip. Her eyes met mine, beckoning for the other required elements of the spell.
Before I offered them, I reached into my own pocket, between my armor, and retrieved Amarna’s Alatyr. Niall had somehow convinced the Elder to part with it for this specific task in the hope that it would offer some sort of protection for me.
The smoky quartz was warm against my palm, offering me a strange sense of comfort. Niall believed it would help, so I could only hope that he was right. I slipped the chain around my neck and looked up to find Roirdan staring at me with a hint of uncertainty.
“And you’re sure this won’t put our armies in danger?” he asked.
“The Aether knows good from evil,” I said.
Roirdan didn’t seem completely convinced, but I didn’t have time to explain.
The Aether operated on an entirely different level than everything else, but it was still sentient.
And as much as I disliked our forced coexistence, it was not a malevolent entity.
I didn’t expect Roirdan, or anyone else, to understand.
I just needed them to trust me, and trust that I knew how to handle it.
He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t have time to. Because I took Nivelle’s dagger, knelt in front of a jagged rock that jutted from the ground, and severed the top half of my fourth finger clean off.