Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thyra
The threat ahead of us becomes all too clear once we approach the Constellation.
A row of five majestic eagles coast in the air between us and the white towers we’re headed toward.
They may currently look like large specks in the distance, but it’s clear they’re blocking our path.
Antony’s low voice sounds in my ear, the revulsion in his tone audible over the rushing wind.
“Those men riding the eagles up ahead are lords in Mother’s Court.
You can tell by the color of their saddles: all ivory.
She chooses them for their physical beauty as well as their appetite for cruelty.
They’re also highly skilled in a fight, and right now, they’re in an attack formation. ”
I take in all of this information, the ivory saddles, the nature of his Mother’s lords, and even the formation the eagles have taken up, committing all of it to memory.
At the same time, I seek my Oracle power. Not that I can call it or control it, but it’s been unsettlingly absent ever since the assassin attacked me last night.
From what Father told me of his first week as the Oracle, his visions were relentless, coming thick and fast for days.
That had certainly been true for me yesterday.
Flying through the bloodlands, I had vision after vision.
Some, their meanings were immediately clear to me.
Others, like the vision of the pearly hallway I had at the forge, were unclear.
But still, they felt unrelenting. What’s more, blade visions had struck me multiple times.
But since last night…
Nothing.
I fight the chill settling at the base of my spine. I try to tell myself my journey will be different than my father’s. After all, he didn’t have to contend with blade visions.
Focusing on the eagles ahead of us, I begin looping the ruby circlet around and around my arm, removing any extra slack between me and Antony.
“In other words,” I mutter, referring to Antony’s description of the men, “I shouldn’t assume they’re just pretty to look at.”
His soft snort puffs across my ear. “Mother chooses her lovers with chilling precision. Can you see the man riding the central eagle?”
I squint into the distance. We’re now close enough that I’m able to make out the nonchalant poses of all five men, although details of their features are still difficult to see. “Does he have yellow hair?”
“He does. He’s Mother’s favorite. His name is Quintus. He’s the same man whose unwanted attentions caused her to slaughter one of her ladies. Don’t underestimate the other four. They’re as bloodthirsty as Quintus is.”
I voice my fears. “She’s sent out her worst.”
Antony’s arm clamps more tightly around me, confirming my assessment.
“It’s important that you know that I may challenge them verbally, but I can’t strike the first blow.
They have to start the fight. But if they threaten you, Thyra, it will be the end of them.
Remember my promise: I’ll kill any man who lays a hand on you. ”
No brutes.
Just a monstrous king whose touch sent my senses into a spiral last night.
The friction between us tightens my chest, while Antony’s promise heightens my awareness of the threat ahead of us.
I may not have welcomed the idea of combat training with his sister, but I’m going to need more than basic self-defense skills if I’m going to survive this kingdom. Any kingdom, for that matter.
I finish wrapping the circlet around my blade wrist, taking out all unnecessary slack. My right forearm now rests against the back of his left arm. It will ensure I stay close to Antony for as long as possible while also leaving his right arm free so he can draw his axe.
Which he now does, bringing with it the ghastly scent of iron that has tasted too much fae blood.
“Be ready, Thyra,” he says. “You’ll need to move with me. Stand when I stand and jump when I jump.”
Jump?
My heart skips a beat before he continues with a new promise. “On this, you can trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
I tip my head back, needing to see his eyes. Glittering, savage, wild. Framed in black metal. I can only picture the ferocious smile that must now be growing on his lips, as if the possibility of battle with these men has brought him alive.
My cheeks flush as I remember the heat in his eyes last night, a heat that had banished my shock, washed away my fears, obliterated my horror, and replaced all my dread with searing pleasure.
Even if it was followed by an agonizingly unattainable release.
I woke up with an ache I’ve been pushing away ever since.
Now, I can’t stop myself from pressing my free hand against Antony’s metal-covered cheek, the same way I protected him yesterday when the Frost King would have ended his life.
I want him to remember that I may not have his combat skills, but I will fight in any way I can.
My hands may be smaller than his, but they can make a difference.
I catch his sharply indrawn breath even though he’s raised his head far enough away from mine that the rushing wind quickly snatches the sound away.
My hair flies around my face, battering his chest. My callused palm presses to his steel-covered jaw.
For a breathless moment, I have his full attention, and the savage light in his eyes transforms, filling again with undeniable heat.
An answering desire spills through my own body with an anticipation I can’t deny, a need to live even if the threats around me only grow worse.
He gives me a single, firm nod.
I force myself to once again face the danger directly ahead of us, engaging each of my sore muscles, increasing my awareness of every part of my body. Readying myself for the fight that these men clearly want to have when they draw bright swords from the scabbards at their backs.
Each sword gleams silver, not crimson with iron, but the damage they could do is no less lethal.
As we fly straight at them, Blue shakes his head, a menacing gesture, as if he, too, welcomes this fight.
“They should not have drawn their swords,” Antony snarls. “They aren’t even feigning good intentions. Drawing their swords is as good as striking a blow.”
In the next breath, he raises his voice to a roar that echoes across the air. “Do you want to die today?”
One by one, the men stand up on their birds, balancing perfectly, their swords held ready.
“I guess so,” Antony mutters.
Blue picks up speed.
As he streaks directly toward them, the men’s features become clearer.
Quintus, the golden-haired fae riding the central eagle, has sharply angular features, his slicked-back hair accentuating his high cheekbones and narrow jaw.
Like the other four, he’s wearing leather armor, but I doubt it will protect him from Antony’s axe.
Quintus’s eagle edges out in front of the others as they pick up speed, no longer coasting through the air as they shoot toward us.
Blue continues straight ahead, picking up even more speed, and my heart hammers in my throat at the impending collision.
“Steady, Thyra,” Antony whispers in my ear. “Be ready…”
Where he stands on his eagle, Quintus is eye to eye with me, his sword held ready, his knees bunching as if he’s preparing to leap out into space to cut off my head.
The two eagles on either side of him also veer inward, one much higher than the other, as if they’ll crisscross, one over the top of us and one beneath.
Their intentions are easy to read. The one underneath will strike upward and gut Blue’s belly.
The one crossing overhead will block Blue from escaping in that direction.
Both while Quintus relieves me of my head.
Meanwhile, the remaining two fae will have quickly circled behind us to attack Antony’s back, keeping him busy.
Just as all five oncoming eagles cut a path exactly as I envisaged, Blue abandons his path.
With a powerful sweep of his wings, he spears downward, but not through any of the still-available gaps.
My stomach lurches into my throat a second before Blue rams straight into the rider attempting to fly beneath us.
I can’t see past Blue’s wings to know what he’s doing with his talons, but blood sprays across the air, a man’s scream sounds, and I don’t have to imagine the damage because in the next instant, the attacker’s eagle careens across the air, visible at the corner of my eye.
While the bird itself appears unharmed, its rider is slumped over its back, one arm dangling.
Quintus’s angry shout sounds as his eagle streaks across the air above us, now too high to cause any damage.
Antony’s axe is raised, gleaming. He could easily chop off the eagle’s legs, slice its wing, or gut it from beneath, but he lets it sail past.
It’s clear to me in that instant that neither he nor Blue will harm the birds if they can avoid it.
Blue is already banking, cutting a sharp right turn, spearing back toward Quintus and the other four men while they hurry to face us again, each of their birds cutting the air in front of us, narrowly missing each other.
Quintus is the first to succeed, his eagle only a hundred feet away and closing in again. If he was unhappy before, it’s clear he’s furious now, his face red and hair out of place.
Antony shifts behind me, and I’m so prepared to move that I rise to my feet with his barest upward tug, trusting him to keep me balanced, his arm around my waist.
“Remember, Thyra,” he says, “jump when I jump.”
It should probably alarm me that he’s reminding me of that right now.
As Blue crashes toward Quintus, his big wings beating the air like drums, Antony pulls me into a slight crouch, my legs bunching with his.
His axe is steady, gleaming at the corner of my eye. Quintus is only twenty paces away, also visibly preparing to jump.
At the last possible moment before the two eagles’ wings are about to collide, Blue tips to the right—toward Quintus.
At the same moment, Quintus leaps off his bird, his sword cleaving the air straight at me.
But in that very same heartbeat, Antony leaps from Blue’s back, taking me with him, and then we’re sailing out into thin air.
My heart stops as Quintus’s silver sword cuts toward my throat, his snarling face filling my view.
Before his weapon can reach me, a blur of iron descends in front of me.
Antony’s axe slices clean through Quintus’s sword, and at the same time, Antony turns his shoulder mid-air.
I catch Quintus’s shout of rage as the pieces of his weapon fly out of his hold a second before Antony’s armor-clad body smashes into him.
Through the rushing wind, I hear the awful cracking of Quintus’s bones, probably his ribs, maybe his collarbone, and I catch the sweep of Antony’s axe before Quintus’s scream tells me he was cut. Badly.
A moment later, the golden-haired man spirals away from us, plummeting through the air, one arm clutched to his chest, the other stretching out for his bird, but it’s long past him.
We aren’t in a better position.
I can’t locate Blue. He must be somewhere below us—please be somewhere below us—but I don’t know where.
Antony’s other arm closes around my chest, and he must have deposited his blade back into its scabbard, because he isn’t holding it anymore.
His entire body hunches around me, forcing me to curl up in his arms.
For a hopeful second, I think he’s going to land us on one of the other birds, or that Blue is, indeed, about to catch us, but the wind snatches away my hope.
We’re falling.
Free-falling through a rain of blood and screams.