Chapter 25 #2
I tightened my hold on the Crown, trapped beneath my armpit, almost hidden by my coat. I could barely even raise my weapon, the thing could have weighed a thousand pounds, my arm shaking as I pointed it at the guard bearing red fire, hot enough to scar.
“What the fuck are these soldiers?” Varian studied their blank faces, black eyes.
“No earthly idea, but let’s not stick around to find out?” I slid my feet sideways, like I was back out on that ice, and the three mirrored my movements, gazes pinned to the treasure I bore, the long, slender bit of gold clutched in Varian’s hand.
Not even close to mortal, these soldiers appeared to be half Fae, half monster, because something evil had corrupted their flesh, the light that burned in their whiteless eyes. They were bigger, stronger, and lacking any sort of humanity—or hesitation—a normal soldier might possess.
These three wouldn’t make mistakes.
I was weighed down by two ancient relics, fighting one handed, so weak I could barely lift my blade.
But Varian—perhaps because he only carried one of these fucking things—brandished the Thorn in both hands, a twisted golden needle that didn’t look especially dangerous, except for the sheer power drifting off the tip, bending the air around us.
With a decidedly wicked look on his face, Var stepped forward and two of the guards paused, as if finally registering what we held in our arms.
Weapons.
“That’s right, you fuckers, surprise. I have to admit, I’m curious,” Varian hissed, tracking the third, undeterred guard out of the corner of his eye.
“What this ancient relic can do. I once heard the Thorn can bind an opponent’s will, render them powerless.
Or corrupt them from the inside out, though it looks like you three are way ahead of us on that front. ”
“I’ll take my chances, thief,” the third Fae crooned in the ancient language, wreathing himself in red, spectral fire before he lunged, faster than a snake. All Varian did was tip the point of the Thorn in his direction, the point barely brushing the edges of those flickering flames.
Instantly, the soldier’s magic guttered, red fire turning black, then he was writhing inside a shadow of darkness, devouring him from the inside out.
High-boned, haughty cheeks melted off his face, one eyeball dripping from the socket, the flesh on his hands sloughing off as he clawed for Varian, reeking worse than a two-week-old, putrefying body.
The other two used the distraction to lunge for the Crown.
I swung my sword—an awkward, one-handed strike—and still managed to lop off a few fingers, carving through solid flesh with a mist of foul-smelling blood, our swords sparking against each other as I clumsily parried their blows, holding them off as I managed another step towards freedom.
Heavy.
Everything was so fucking heavy.
I was moving too slow to be much help, but Varian was threatening enough they both kept their distance from the Thorn, eyes darting to the rotting, gelatinous pile of their friend, and I was half tempted to put the Crown on my head and see what happened.
Probably shouldn’t.
My brains would melt out of my head, most likely.
We herded them backwards, one painfully slow step at a time, a few inches at a time, but at least we were moving in the right direction. Toward the section of the temple where Varian could disappear us back to the island. One touch of his fingers and we’d be in the wind.
Because as bad as our situation was right now, there were at least twenty of these fuckers on the island.
And Lyrae was there alone, with Rooke, who I doubted was much use in a fight.
“We have to move faster,” I muttered. “How much further before you can get us the fuck out of here?”
“Don’t you think I’m trying?” Varian hissed. “I know where the rest of these guards are. She’ll fight them, you know she will.”
Yes, Lyrae would take on an army of these things.
Gladly. With a fucking smile on her face.
Gods, I’d be holding my own right now if I weren’t bogged down by a pair of cursed magical objects that were heavier than a horse. But we were only fighting two guards.
Lyrae was facing at least twenty.
And the Butcher himself.
Alone.
Varian and I kept up our united front, herding them ever so slowly backwards, but like us, they worked in tandem, hurling spells that cracked the stone walls and sent bursts of fire and shadow exploding around us, until we were suffocating.
I’d managed to get in a few shallow blows; one of the guards was missing most of his fingers, but our adversaries were relentless, incapable of feeling pain, taking on impossible amounts of damage and still on their feet.
And they’d decided Varian was the real threat, and were focusing their efforts on him.
But we were nearly free from the cursed part of the temple, away from the screaming faces and angry runes. Even the Triune felt lighter here, and with one final step, I could move again, every swing of my sword faster, deadlier, more accurate.
My next blow cleaved into a shoulder, cutting through thick armor into flesh, and the Fae’s shadows choked off, black blood flowing down the front of his spotless silver breastplate before I managed to yank my weapon free.
“We’re nearly there,” Varian panted, stabbing at them both with that thin sliver of metal, no thicker than my pinkie.
Something they were far more afraid of than my broadsword, not that I blamed them.
The reek of their rotting friend stank up the hall, there was nothing left of him but a slick spot on the floor, and none of us wanted to end up right beside him.
A plume of blue, devouring fire engulfed us, choking off my air.
“Varian!” I shouted, my friend collapsing behind me, the Thorn clattering to the ground, the magic in the hallway pulsing madly.
The other two guards dodged away from the weapon, the tip spinning wildly like some deadly spin-the-bottle game.
Comical, almost, the way they danced away, fear gleaming in their eyes.
Varian pushed lithely up from the floor, scooped the Thorn off the ground, our eyes meeting as he covered the five feet between us, his hand clamping down over my shoulder. Chill air gathered around us like a storm, the edges of the world blurring together.
We were actually getting away with the Triune and I wasn’t even dead.
A godsdamned fucking miracle.
Darkness was rushing in when one of the soldiers lunged, grasped the Crown with both hands and yanked. I raised my sword, slicing a streak of black across his throat, seconds before he ripped the Crown from my grasp, him and the relic vanishing in a burst of shimmering light.
Nothing left behind except a splatter of black, reeking blood on the dusty floor.
“Godsdamn it!” I ripped myself away from Varian and threw myself at that empty spot, the Mirror still tucked beneath my coat, the remaining soldier coming at me with shadowy magic coating his hands, blood coating his armor, a mad glint in his eyes.
Varian yanked me backwards and the world twisted, dark and light smearing into a nauseating gray. Cold stole the air from my lungs, my thought vanished in a rush of motion, then we were back on the island, sprawled on the rocky shore under a storm-tossed sky.
I groaned, clutching my side, discovering a deep gash I didn’t even remember getting. “I lost the Crown,” I groaned, the words swept away by the wind.
“At least we have the Mirror, and this.” A flushed Varian wildly brandished the Thorn like a harmless branch of wood and I reared out of the way of that deadly tip, my heart thundering.
“We have to get inside. Help Lyrae.” I swallowed and faced the castle, silent as the grave. “She’s alone, Var, and…”
I clamped my mouth together, both of us already racing for those still-open doors, following the muddy tracks of more soldiers than I could count.
The female I loved was inside, with a host of deadly Fae guards and the Butcher of Evernight and I couldn’t get inside that fucking castle fast enough.