Chapter Sixty #2
Her bonded made no move to defend himself as the commander lunged.
He remained bent over Severin, pouring every ounce of focus into holding him to this world.
Fortunately, with a few quick plucks of the strings, a knot of fledgling demons flung themselves between the two and bought Yuri precious seconds.
Xadriel swept one demon aside with a single brutal blow, its body crumpling.
Before he could raise his sword to the next, two more leaped at him, clawing for his arms and blade.
He tore one off with a vicious twist, steel flashing.
Blood still half-red sprayed across the floor as the young demon fell, and this time Xadriel’s attention locked onto Aurelie and the lyre in her hands.
Her fingers ached, but still she played faster, every note a lifeline in this storm—warning her people, steering them and speeding the blood in their veins so they moved faster, adrenaline surging. She didn’t stop even when Xadriel’s hand closed around her throat, wrenching her up.
“You think this will save them?” He brought her face close to his, darkness blooming at the edges of her vision as his grip tightened. “You don’t know the first thing about this war, girl. All you’ve done is delay the inevitable.”
Aurelie’s feet kicked uselessly above the floor, but she met his gaze with every shred of defiance she had left. She spat at the angel’s chest, still plucking at the lyre strings with trembling fingers that refused to yield.
“Heathen.” Xadriel’s face twisted in fury. “You can watch as I burn this blighted kingdom to the ground.” He tore the lyre from her grasp and tossed it aside. Steel flashed at the edge of Aurelie’s vision, but suddenly Varen was behind him.
“Get away from my daughter,” he snarled, cleaving straight through the joint of one of the commander’s wings.
Xadriel roared, dropping Aurelie. She crashed to the floor, the impact jolting the air from her lungs as pain shot up her leg. Gasping, she clawed for the lyre, clutching it to her.
Azriel was already moving, loosing an arrow that buried itself deep in the commander’s chest. Xadriel staggered, shock twisting his features as his hand clamped to the wound.
He spun, and in that moment, he seemed to finally take in the wreckage of his army. What he’d likely anticipated to be a simple fight had ended with his angels lying scattered, many with their wings torn and piles of blood and feathers pooling beneath them.
He drew in a breath, the sound shallow.
“Retreat!” he called, voice raw and splintered. He clutched his chest and stumbled backward. In that same heartbeat, Aurelie caught a glimpse of the blood that seeped through his fingertips. It was darker than the typical angel’s gilt, as if somehow tarnished.
Xadriel saw it, too. An angry vein throbbed in his forehead as he covered himself and roared again, “Retreat, now!”
The angels fell back, dragging their wounded across the battered hall and into the open air.
In their wake, only the hush of retreat and the metallic tang of blood lingered.
As swiftly as they’d appeared, the angels vanished, and when the last echo of wings faded, Aurelie’s strength finally crumbled.
She sagged to the floor, the lyre slipping from numb hands.
She stared at her fingers as magic shuddered through her veins, hot enough to burn.
Pain pulsed at her temple, her vision swimming.
Every last inch of her body ached, but she was alive.
She forced her head up. Yuri was still hunched over Severin, desperately pressing at the wound. His magic was enough to keep the demon alive, but only just.
Azriel dropped to his other side.
“Let me,” he said, pressing his palms against Severin’s chest. Golden light spilled from his hands, flooding the thrashing demon’s body until the bleeding slowed, then stopped entirely.
Only then did Severin’s breathing soften, the lines of anguish smoothing from his forehead.
Aurelie took the first full breath she’d been able to since the battle had begun.
He would live. They would live.
Across the hall, Varen’s voice cut through the stunned silence. “Gather the wounded!” he called, but the knights only stared at the floor, then at the smears of gilded blood beneath their claws. Without the pulse of the music spurring them on, everything was beginning to catch up to them.
Marcel sank to his knees, staring at his hands in horror. His wings. “What are we?” he whispered, and the terror in his voice shuddered down Aurelie’s spine.
Varen sighed a long breath before stepping forward and clamping Marcel on the shoulder. “You are knights,” he said, steady and clear as he lifted his attention to the others. “You may look different, but that hasn’t changed. Now gather the wounded.”
Slowly, the knights moved to obey, the first threads of order weaving through the chaos.
The quiet after battle was thin and broken by ragged breaths, the scrape of claws on stone, and the tears of the wounded. Aurelie flinched at each sound, afraid to see who had survived and who they’d lost. She didn’t want to look, but Severin’s words echoed through her mind.
If you’re going to kill someone, you damn well better know whose life you’re taking.
This battle was her doing, and so she forced her eyes up to see every face that stared back at her, whether their eyes were glazed and unblinking, or shining with fear.
Outside these ruined walls, the rest of Rhovar’s people waited, unaware of the horror they’d endured. Aurelie couldn’t let herself imagine what would come next. They had no king. The queen was a demon. Ilaria was missing. Dozens of Rhovarians had turned into their greatest enemy.
Life as they’d known it was about to change.
Smoke drifted along the rafters as Aurelie tipped her head back, eyes burning.
She pressed a hand to her brow, trying to rub away the ache behind her eyes.
Across from her, Yuri’s shoulders shook with exhaustion.
He sat staring, as if watching Severin breathe was the only thing holding the world together.
“You’re alive,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper as he set a hand on the demon’s. “You’ve no idea how glad I am.”
“And I don’t care.” His voice was pure venom. “Get your hands off me.”
Yuri said nothing as he jerked away, though Aurelie felt the aching of his heart. She glanced between him and Severin, noticing then that the latter was staring at her, his expression softening.
“The only reason you’re still breathing,” she said, cutting him off before he could speak, “is because I plan to kill you myself.”
She tried to stand, but her body wouldn’t cooperate.
Heat crawled beneath her skin, prickling along her spine and settling deep in her bones.
Her skin was burning up just like the night she’d performed with Severin at the tavern.
Her heartbeat thudded behind her eyes, the pounding in her head making it impossible to focus on any one thing.
Yuri and Severin might have been well, but Aurelie’s breaths were still coming in shallow bursts.
“Aurelie?” Azriel was suddenly at her side. He pressed his hands against her skin, gasping at the heat that made him flinch. “By the Light, she’s a furnace.”
Yuri was with her immediately, and Severin winced as he slowly pulled himself upright. “She used too much magic.”
Yuri, like Azriel, tried to heal her. He managed to seal the arrow wounds, but this heat wasn’t from any injury; Severin’s magic was burning her from the inside out. She’d turned her body into a conduit, but it couldn’t sustain such a powerful surge of magic.
The world spun, and Aurelie bit back a cry as pain sharpened at her temples. Her hand flew to her forehead, then higher, fingers brushing the spot where she ached. Something new and hard knotted beneath her skin just below her hairline.
She stilled, breath catching.
“Aurelie?”
She continued to trace the spot at her temple, feeling it grow larger by the second. Fear snapped through her as she realized what it was.
A horn.
“Shit” was all Aurelie managed before her body gave out and the transformation took hold.