Chapter 14
Max
Collapsing onto the floor, blood dripping from my eyes and nose, I wipe with trembling hands as my stomach rolls.
So much death. The fields were covered, destruction open and all-consuming.
My body shakes as I exhale, pushing the need to vomit away, locking my magic down. Giving into it for so long doesn’t happen. I spend every day hiding it, ignoring the call, forcing the drums of hearts to leave my ears.
This, though, was opposite. My magic was ravaging, seeking out enemies and crushing their hearts without mercy. I could barely breathe, let alone think, as it flowed through me.
Nessa told me to be frightened of it. She was right.
Standing on wobbling legs, knees knocking from fear and exhaustion, I grab the wall for support, turning to see the Dark Fae guards at a corner.
Studying them, I pause, confused as the sounds of battle ring through in the air.
I don’t know why they’re there, but I’m thankful for the extra level of protection.
Slamming against my bedroom door, bile rises up my throat. The carnage, the wails of guards dying weighs on my mind, magic hissing at being caged. I feel awful, full of this hunger to take and the fear that I shouldn’t have allowed my magic freedom.
It was sheer luck I was able to pull it back once Tay reached the healer’s tent.
My magic responds too easily to threats, needing to kill all perceived enemies. It’s horrible and terrifying. But even as my body sways, I good with something so fearsome.
Can my magic be so terrible if it can be used for good?
Grabbing the handle, a drum beats into the base of my skull and I react, body dropping as a sword hacks into the wooden door above my head.
Heart pounding, my throat dries as I stare at the blade. My neck was right there.
A man leans over my frame as I hunker low, eyes blurry from tiredness, body drained. I’ve never let my magic take this much— I’m practically dead on my feet.
The raider’s eyes crinkle, a malicious smile under his mask as he scans my body. Blood paints my face, hands, smeared on to my clothing. And that smile grows larger.
He thinks I’ve been injured, which makes me an easy target for him to dispatch. Rage burns in my belly at the insinuation. For the second time, a male has thought to take from me, to think me weak.
The Dark Fae’s words float to me. I am not a defenseless kitten.
Gripping that rage, I let it empower me as I lower my eyes to the man’s chest. He pulls the blade from the door, rising to to swing again but my hands respond, hovering above my face.
Finding his heart, my mind’s eyes sees it thrashing, pumping with excitement for a kill. I snarl— that won’t be me. I refuse to be a victim.
Grasping hard onto my magic, I pull on those invisible threads of life, and call his blood to my command.
It’s difficult—slow. He swings and I duck, shoulder slamming into the floor, unable to brace from impact. I’m too tired—too exhausted, but I have to keep fighting. I cannot die here, like this.
Trying again, I seize his blood just as the sword lowers to my face. His body jerks, halts, eyes wide.
My body aches at the exertion but I hold firm, fingers twisting as digits darken. Pushing him back, his legs move, a puppet on strings and I rise.
The blood thrashes in my ears as my magic preens, happy to be used. It’s limitless but my body cannot handle much more. It’ll kill me if I let it.
Inhaling, I tighten my hands, cupping them together as if close a ball and within my mind, I see the raider’s heart shudder. Under the pressure, it pops, deflates, exploding inside his chest.
I release my magic right away and he falls, a forgotten corpse, hitting the hall floor and my stomach turns.
Not waiting to see if the Dark Fae heard the fight, I run into my room and slam the door behind me, red blood smearing the edges.
My stomach lurches and I barely make it to the washroom, vomiting as my mind spins.
Magic so heavy and thick in my gut rolls, begging for more but I close the lid, pushing it away like Nessa taught me. I cannot let it out again. I cannot keep killing.
The Coven saw me as a monster. Maybe I am.
Turning to the sink, I scrub my hands and face until the blood is gone and my hands are pink and raw. I’ve killed enough—maybe justified, but I cannot keep doing this.
Standing, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, taking in my splotchy cheeks, the hollow blue eyes and trembling bottom lip. The washroom is sparkling white and clean; but I feel too wicked to be here.
My magic kept me alive but at what cost?
I stay there, breathing, fighting the guilt, the crushing need for more from my power, before the battle noises subside and the palace falls quiet.
Tiptoeing back into the chamber, I wait, listening for another rustling. There’s nothing.
Has the battle ended? Are we victorious?
My gut churns. What abut Tay?
Carefully, I unlatch the bedroom door, peeking out into the hall, a few torches out. The entire palace is quiet, silence and somberness heavy in the air. I don’t have to look outside to know this battle took a lot from us—I can feel it.
Snatching the torch closest to me, I exit, keeping my ears tuned for movement. I should stay inside, wait for Tay but I need to know if he survived. I need to know if the palace is still ours.
The magic in my body moves, trying to locate a heart to control but I squash it, throwing up my battered mental shields. I cannot risk it.
The raider’s corpse is still where I left it, crumpled in the corner, forgotten. I try not to feel guilt for the kill—it was either him or me. But I can still mourn what I’ve done. The shame I feel.
Turning left, my toe trips over a sack, body falling to the opposing wall, torch clattering to the ground. Groaning, I look back, expecting to see forgotten clothing from a lady in the melee but instead, it’s another body.
Stepping close, I inspect its face, eyes widening. It’s the lord from earlier—who tried to assault me. His throat is ripped out, body sunken as if drained. Nothing but leathery skin and broken bones is left of him.
Under him, there’s only a small puddle of blood.
How did he get here?
He’s posed, a peace offering outside my door, left like a cat giving it’s master a mouse. Who—
I gasp, looking around. Only one person knew who this man was—what he did.
And he’s just given me peace of mind by slaying my attacker.
But why?
Running feet pull my attention left as I see Tay’s sweat soaked face skid to a halt before me. He sighs, smile wide before he crushes me into a tight hug.
“You’re alright!” He shouts, pulling back to scan me. “Are you injured?”
Lips quivering, I shake my head. “I stayed out of sight,” I say, voice cracking. Relief so strong sweeps over me as I take in the cuts along his shoulders and brow, fighting the urge to cry. “Are you okay?”
Gods, he’s alive.
He shrugs. “I’ll heal. C’mon.” He grabs my hand, glancing to the corpses with a furrowed brow. “Griffin is asking everyone to the throne room. To assess damages.”
I can barely respond before we’re rushing through the passages, into the crowded space.
The throne room is packed with those of us who survived. Taking in the charred faces, the soiled slippers and the once beautiful dresses, it doesn’t look like many innocent people were lost.
The thinned-out ranks of the guards stations around the walls though, proves we lost heavily.
“We live,” King Griffin begins, standing before us.
He’s wearing a thick metal breastplate, untarnished from battle.
Clearly he wasn’t on the front lines. “We were ruthlessly attacked by the Crimson Army when we least expected. When I least expected it.” The sky-blue orbs are weathered, tired.
“That is my mistake. But we stood strong. Allies held firm.”
Holding open an arm, he gestures to the Dark Fae behind everyone. Covered in soot, grim and blood, the siblings look out, faces unreadable.
Except for the heir. He looks annoyed.
Arms crossed, eyes glaring at the king, he’s holding back the urge to snap. It’s simple to understand. Whereas the king was inside, hiding, the Dark Fae were outside, fighting for people who would surely not help them.
I was always taught the Dark Fae were selfish, deceitful beasts, but after watching them fight on the field—how I saw Serafina save a child who had been taken to be sold, Reid who cut down a line of raiders and the heir, who decimated their forces, I’m not sure that theory is true.
Maybe there is more to their kind than we’ve been led to believe.
“With the Dark Fae, our lords and the strong men in armor, we fought back the Crimson Army. We stood up to their tyranny.”
The crowd cheers, but I don’t, exchanging a tired look with Tay. The boasting grates on my frazzled nerves and the thumping hearts threaten to break my control.
“We lost a lot of brave souls. Many guards laid down their lives for us to survive. To carry on. To fight back. They will not be forgotten. Please, hold up a glass.” He does so, the crowd following quietly.
“And drink in their honor. We will also drink in the memory of Lord Ashton. A man who died defending the palace.” The king’s face is remorseful, sad.
Irritation hardens like a ball of lead in my chest. It’s all an act and it’s painting the king into something grotesque.
“We honor them. In Ger’s name.”
The urge to gulp down four wineglasses is strong, just to rid the taste of bitterness and blood from my tongue. Real heroes died outside, my friend almost among them, the king’s guards, and yet he’s using this as a moment to better his image.
Cutting to the left, my gaze locks with the heir’s. He knows my secret, killed a man for me.
Why? Was it a threat? A warning?
What does he get for appearing to help me—like me?
My body shudders as he scans my face, as if he can see the blood I cried, down to my hands that are still blemished red.
The heir knows too much and I feel exposed. Leaving the hall during the king’s next impassioned speech, I ignore his burning eyes and say a prayer to the Gods above to keep the heir away from me.
No matter how good he was earlier, nothing positive can come from his involvement.