Chapter 48
One More Light
MAX
Ethan absently strokes Iris’s hair. “Tut-tut,” he chides. “We’ve gone down that road before.”
He pulls a greenish dagger from his sleeve and holds it up to the light. All the Fae around me crouch and hiss, their feet digging into the ground.
“Either you all stand down and leave, or I kill Lori.”
He drags the blade slowly across Iris’s throat, but she doesn’t recoil from it. Instead, she extends her neck toward the flat edge of the weapon with a smirk.
I swallow against the roil in my stomach.
“One more dead queen,” Ethan sighs dramatically. “What a waste. Will that be fifty dead wives now, son? Or fifty-one?”
Goosebumps tighten the skin at the back of my skull, but Willow braces her hands on her hips with a provocative grin.
“That lame threat might have worked on Elio, but I don’t buy it. Without Iris by your side, it’s seven to one. You can’t afford to kill her,” she says.
Ethan’s face darkens to reveal the monster underneath. The hollows in his cheeks deepen, his brow furrows, and the cruel curve of his mouth twists into something ugly and vicious.
“You might be right about that,” he says.
He releases Iris and passes her the end-all blade, then starts down the stairs with one hand trailing along the golden banister. With his other hand, he reaches beneath the collar of his shirt, fumbling with something hidden there.
A smirk tugs at his mouth.
“But as you can imagine, I expected you to come. In fact, I planned on it.” Ethan’s eyes gleam as he stares at Willow, and Willow alone. “You think I haven’t done my homework since we last met, my sweet?”
His smile widens.
“Don’t you notice anything different about your silly little jewels? Let’s see how they behave now, shall we?” he adds.
The beautiful gems adorning her knuckles suddenly begin to pulse with light. The long sleeve of her jacket starts to melt, revealing a hundred more, and she grabs her elbow, crouching forward as though the weight of them is suddenly threatening to tear her arm right out of its socket.
Sweat gathers on her forehead, her limbs shaking, and her lips curled in a rictus of immense pain.
“What did you do?” she seethes, falling to her knees next to the throne.
Then, the jewels fall to the ground, one by one.
Ploc. Ploc. Ploc. Ploc.
The smugness on Ethan’s face boils my blood.
“You’re playing with technology you don’t truly understand, my dear. Or own. You’re no Mist Fae, and Kahlee doesn’t stand for usurpers,” he says.
Damian’s bow sings. Arrows and bolts tear toward the twisted staircase, forcing Ethan to shield himself with an orb of light.
One second, Devi is standing beside Willow.
The next, she’s airborne.
Her black wings carry her straight toward Ethan, light gathering around her fists until they blaze brighter than the sunlight streaming through the skylight. She slams her balled fist into Ethan’s shield, and the orb wavers slightly.
Three more arrows streak through the air in rapid succession, but they ricochet off Ethan’s shield.
Damian and his queen never so much as glance at Iris. Every shot is aimed at the King of Light.
They don’t want to hurt her, I realize.
Ethan’s wings carry him off the staircase and back onto the mezzanine, a second end-all blade tight in his grip.
Elio, still shaking with fatigue, climbs the stairs one step at a time, ice entombing the gilded banister and spreading across the floors. Power crackles in the air, louder than rolling thunder.
Devi lands in front of Ethan, but Iris attacks her from behind, moving so fast I can’t follow, shadows cradling her feral form. My godmother sidesteps the first strike, but Iris’s second hand—the one holding the blue and black blade—manages to skewer her side.
The two women stand at odds for a heartbeat.
Devi’s lips part in shock. “Little Flower?” she breathes.
Unmoved, Iris draws back to deliver the coup de grace.
“Lori! Fight her, Lori! Please!” the Shadow Queen yells.
Iris freezes for half a second, giving Devi just enough time to react. Her hand snaps up and catches Iris’s wrist, stopping the second blade an inch from her skin.
Devi grunts. She flaps her wings as the dagger lodged in her side breaks apart into dark snowflakes, then presses her weight forward and slams Iris back several feet.
Iris is hurled against the ramp and topples over the railing. She plummets to the marble below, hitting the ground hard mere feet from me.
A loud crack echoes through the throne room, and blood begins to pool behind her head, matting her hair.
“Lori!”
The Shadow Queen abandons her crossbow and falls to her knees next to her friend, reaching for her with both hands and closing her eyes in concentration.
My gaze flicks back to Elio and Ethan facing each other.
Elio grips the hilt of an icy-blue sword, the balls of his feet finding purchase on the floor as he settles into a predatory stance. His father stands tall in the face of the imminent attack, wearing the same detached expression one might reserve for a child waving around a troublesome toy.
Elio snarls and raises his blade toward his father. “This ends now.”
“Who are you kidding, son? If you had enough courage to kill me, you would have done it a long time ago,” Ethan taunts him.
Damian jumps up one story, quick as a cat, but the King of Light blinks out of view, becoming invisible.
Next thing I know, the skylight explodes, broken glass raining down on us.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Willow croaks.
The brown-haired Fae peels herself off the floor, finally gathering enough strength to stand, her injured arm hanging limply at her side. Her wings stretch behind her, and she flies after Ethan.
Ezra follows in a blur of white wings.
Devi is right behind him, the three of them disappearing into the dawn.
Elio grips the banister and peers down, breathless. “Is she alive?”
He asks the question as though the answer will determine whether he keeps living.
Nell bites her bottom lip. “Barely. I need more time.”
Damian squeezes his queen’s shoulder. “Be careful, kitten. You’re not back to full strength yet.”
“Go,” she says, tilting her head to the main entrance. “Help them.”
Damian nods and breaks into a run, and I follow behind him. I feel incredibly useless, but I can’t just wait inside to see who wins.
By the time we burst onto the terrace overlooking the Solar Cliffs, four winged figures clash against the sunrise.
From this distance, they look smaller—two white angels, one black, against the devil. The rising sun favors Ethan, flaring whenever our side is about to land a strike.
Near the cliff’s edge, the hawthorn tree sways violently. Its branches whip and creak as though the spell or enchantment keeping the royal gardens quiet and calm is unraveling.
Damian sprints to the patch of smooth rock beside the waterfall, draws his bow, and releases. The arrow buries itself deep in Ethan’s shoulder.
The King of Light lets out a pained grunt and plunges downward with incredible speed. A burst of light detonates against Damian’s chest, blasting him straight over the edge.
Devi veers off course, her black wings flapping furiously in the wind. Then she folds them and dives toward the misty abyss after the falling king.
Which leaves Ethan facing three opponents.
Willow. Ezra. And me, the Flame of Fate or whatever—who can't do shit.
Willow grips the sword in her good hand. The men are clearly in better shape than she is, yet her rage is mesmerizing.
The air brightens.
Brighter.
Brighter.
Until the entire world becomes light.
I throw my arm over my eyes to not go blind.
The sound of a body hitting the ground hard shudders through me, and a scream rips from Willow’s chest.
“You monster! He’s your son!” she shrieks.
“He’s weak,” Ethan hisses.
I blink through my watery eyes and see Ezra lying on his back a few feet to my right, his chest heaving.
Blood follows.
A lot of blood.
I can’t think.
My hands pat frantically over him in search of a blade. Instead, I find a flaring red bruise across his chest and, just beneath it, a stab wound.
Bile rises to my mouth as I clamp both hands over the gash.
Above us, Willow and Ethan are locked in combat, their swords crossing again and again. But it’s clear Ethan is gaining the advantage. Willow’s injured arm drags her down with every strike, her fury not enough to sustain her forever.
After a few fruitless exchanges, she breaks away and flies higher, putting distance between them.
“You won’t win this time!” she shouts. “You won’t, do you hear me?”
Ethan’s wings flap as he opens his arms to her.
“My sweet Willow. Don’t you remember? Have you learned nothing from your years at my side?
I always win. My cock still sings when I think of your tight little ass.
You were always so vocal about your dislike of it, too.
I would have preferred to take you alive, but your dead body will be a nice consolation prize,” Ethan boasts, his voice brimming with greed.
He makes a beeline for Willow, and panic and adrenaline turn my blood to sludge.
I have no wings.
No bow.
No way to reach them.
Hells, I can’t even keep my eyes open long enough to see where they are or what they’re doing.
I have only fire.
Only me.
I tear my gaze away from the fight, and it lands on the hawthorn. The ancient tree stands alone beside the cliff, its branches dancing wildly in the wind.
The Sun Court’s sacred tree.
The root of Ethan’s power.
I look down at my bloodstained hands, applying pressure to Ezra’s wounds, and he tilts my chin up to meet my gaze.
“Do it. Burn it,” he croaks. “I’ll be fine.”
Without giving myself enough time to doubt, I run toward the hawthorn and reach the trunk in three strides, then press my palm against the bark.
Everything stops.
The wind.
The battle.
The world.
Fire engulfs wood.
But it’s not like burning Riley did.
No, Riley went quickly, whereas this tree is a pillar of Faerie. Water rises from that geyser inside the mountain, fighting back, protecting it.
Overheated sap pulses beneath the bark.
It boils. Splits the wood.