66. Bodin
Chapter 66
Bodin
C haos churns in the arena below, a vortex of fear and violence that twists my gut. The ancient stone walls of the faerie fort seem to pulse with anticipation, every crevice leaning in to witness the spectacle. But I can’t look away. Not when Willow’s down there, fighting for her life.
Her silver hair flashes like moonlight against the shadows, a beacon in the madness. She darts between Nightmares, rallying the other exhibitors. Pride swells in my chest, quickly smothered by dread. She’s exposed. Vulnerable. More Terrors drop from their perches, prowling the arena floor. My lip curls. The scent of their rot and decay wafts up, mixing with the crisp pine and ice from the surrounding forest. They’d be dead instantly if our powers were unlocked, us functioning as a hive. Our impotence drives me to the brink.
“She’s holding her own,” Legion mutters, knuckles white on the ornate railing of our box.
I grunt, not trusting my voice. The air thrums with magic, making my skin prickle. Willow’s sword pulses with strengthening glyphs, but they can’t protect her from everything. A Graftspawn lunges, mismatched limbs blurring. She dodges. Not fast enough. Claws rake her side.
My roar of fury drowns in the din below. I surge forward, every instinct screaming to protect her, to rend anything that dares harm her. Legion’s iron grip holds me back. We’re being watched. Every eye in Avorlorna is here, from the luminous aristocrats in their private boxes to the wild faeries with dormant wings and entwined horns. They come out of the woodwork for a taste of their old world. The druids too.
Peablossom is among them, but her identity is a fragile secret we hold close to our hearts. She has worked quietly in the trappings of her role to assist where she can. But her aid comes with a risk.
“We can’t interfere,” Legion growls, dark eyes flashing. “Not yet.”
Willow stumbles and falls. She presses a hand to her bleeding side. The Graftspawn circles, readying another strike. My heart hammers against my ribs, echoing the distant drums still playing in the fort. She’s mortal. Fragile.
“Come on, Calamity,” I whisper. “Be that force you were born to be.”
For a moment, she looks directly at our box. Determination blazes in her golden eyes, visible even through the mist creeping into the arena. I silently urge her to remember the sword’s upgrades, hating that I can’t reach into her mind and show her. She rises, sword arcing with a blue slipstream. The Graftspawn falls, dissolving into a bloody mist.
My relief evaporates as the arena floor cracks. Fissures spider out, the sound of splitting stone echoing off the fort’s walls. Leaves rustle. Water bubbles up, forming a swirling maelstrom. The scent of damp earth and algae fills the air. Exhibitors scramble for footing as the ground gives way to a churning pool.
“A watergate?” Legion balks. “How?”
Puck’s gravelly cackle draws our gaze toward his loge. The imbecile is more stone than flesh now, his laughter grating like rocks in a tumbler. Larkspur waits nearby, ready to capture the Baleful Hunt when it breaks free. But what good is that to us now?
“The wisps,” Styx mutters. “From the temple. That’s what he used them for.”
“No,” Legion breathes as Willow loses her balance. She tumbles into the water, swallowed by the portal to the Subterranean. The crowd’s gasp is a physical force suffocating against us.
“Willow!” My bellow tears out, raw and agonized. I strain against Legion’s grip, ready to leap after her, rules be damned. The branches of the Hawthorn trees above seem to reach down as if they, too, want to pluck her from danger.
“Stop!” His voice cuts through my panic. “We can’t?—”
“I don’t care!” I snarl, rounding on him. “She could be?—”
The word sticks in my throat. Dead. Our mate, our queen, lost before we ever truly had her. The thought chills me more than the icy wind that’s picking up.
Styx paces behind us, muttering. His agitation fuels mine. The beauty of the botanical balconies and the majesty of the Hawthorn tree columns mock us with their serenity.
“This isn’t right,” I growl, running a hand over my braided head. “We should be down there.”
“We can’t always protect her,” Legion says, his tone calmer now. “She must face this on her own.”
I know he’s right. She needs to prove to these people—to herself—that she can be their queen. She might be our whole world, but we’re not hers. Her light is destined for everyone. We know it. But it doesn’t hurt any less. The memory of our training session flashes through my mind. I told her the watergate would be no deeper than a puddle. I was wrong.
She’ll be terrified.
“I’ve failed her,” I grind out. “I should have known something like this could happen.”
Watergates can open anywhere with the right amount of magic. All that is needed is a single drop to amplify. We never expected Puck to have the power.
“Willow has seen our darkest moments,” Legion reminds, eyes scouring the water. “And still, she’s willing to take a chance on us. On you.”
His words hang in the air, and I realize they’re directed not just at me but at Styx, who’s still pacing behind us.
“Where’s Emrys?” Styx interrupts, his voice tight and anxious. “He should be back by now.”
Legion’s eyes narrow. “Go find out what’s taking him so long.”
Styx freezes, guilt flashing across his face. “I . . . I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” I demand, turning to face him fully.
He shrinks back, looking more like a cornered canary than the powerful Sluagh he is. I’ve never seen him like this. It’s too familiar. My jaw hardens. My fist flexes with the need to shake sense into him, but I exhale and force myself to relax. Legion has made a sacrifice for the sake of our trust. I must prove to Styx I am doing the same.
“Losing her should be the only thing you fear,” I tell him. “Our natures have changed.”
When the bees realize the intruders’ true nature, it’s too late. The yellow jackets slaughter them, steal their honey, and leave nothing but destruction in their wake.
I freeze with the memory. I’m not sure what it is about that rant, but it fills me with dread.
“What?” Legion asks, seeing the look on my face. I relay Varen’s panicked rambling.
“Emrys tried to shut Varen up again,” Styx points out, then resumes his pacing, eyes wild. “Is he the yellow jacket?”
“Styx,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, “what do you know?”
He swallows hard. “I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen. He . . . he was talking about making a deal. Not with Puck, but with someone worse.”
A rippling aura of darkness enshrouds Legion. “Titania?”
“No,” I growl, the pieces falling into place. “Someone else.”
An emptiness enters Styx’s voice as he stares at the swirling whirlpool; no soul is left swimming. “He’s the Third. I’m the Sixth. I know my place.”
“Haven’t you learned a single thing?” I growl, gripping his shoulder for attention. “We can’t be a hive again until we start acting like one.”
Legion nods slowly. “Remember what Varen said, Styx. You’re meant to be in the Subterranean for this final trial. We can’t join you down there, but you can stay connected to our minds.”
“Fuck you both.” Styx shakes me off, determination and menace returning to his eyes. “I’m done taking orders.”
The whiff of rot and despair rising from below makes my stomach churn. But beneath it all, I catch the faintest trace of Willow’s scent. She’s alive. She has to be.
“So don’t,” I tell Styx, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Do what you think needs to be done. We trust you.”
He disappears, and I meet Legion’s steady gaze.
“Well handled,” he intones, bracing the railing.
I join him and consider the past twenty-four hours. I was with Willow, seeing to her needs while he walked through the Clock Tower with Varen. Our Fourth is not the kind to waste an opportunity.
“Varen was lucid for hours,” I remark. “He must have warned you about this.”
“Naturally.”
Tension releases from my shoulders. That’s why they were so calm at breakfast.
“You know how this will end. Why haven’t you shared it with me?”
“When did we have time?”
My eyes narrow on him. He had time when he found Willow in my bed. Unless Styx’s wraith form was around, listening in. At breakfast, Emrys was there. Whole. Unpunished. He sees me calculating, and his lips curve briefly in that arrogant way of his.
“I see through your machinations,” I remind him wryly.
“I know.” His lips twitch. “But I trust you, and you trust me.”
“Invariably.”
“Styx and Emrys must learn to do the same . . . without us interfering.”
“And you believe this is the right time to test such loyalties?”
“Believe me, Bodin.” His gaze turns grim on the watergate. “Now is the best time.”
Flickering images appear above the central rock as water drains, sluicing off the central, large resonance stone. The restless crowd cheers as the spectacle continues. Shimmering pictures of exhibitors manifest in the air, broadcasts from the Subterranean.
“I’m with Styx,” I mutter darkly to Legion, searching for a sign of silver hair. “I’m done taking orders.”
I feel his eyes on me, hard and penetrating. But then he sighs, no doubt realizing I don’t refer to him. I trust him. It’s this situation we’ve been trapped in for eternity. Whether it was Titania, other queens, Oberon, or the Morrigan herself. We’ve always taken orders. Willow is our first glimpse of freedom—something bright, chaotic, and uniquely ours.
I know Styx feels the same. Emrys too. He’s just too stubborn to admit it. But we’re a hive. We are one soul in six bodies. And now that we’ve found our queen, reuniting is inevitable. It matters not if Styx is down there being the one to protect Willow. Where there is one, there are six.
“Hold on, Calamity,” I whisper into the void. “We’re coming for you.”