We broke free of the trees, sunshine piercing my eyes.
“Shit.” Bastian wheeled his stag around.
My stomach dropped as I pulled to a sharp stop.
Ahead rose a craggy cliff face. To our left, another. And to our right, another.
A dead end.
61
Kat
“Think we can climb?” I eyed the rocks—they seemed craggy enough for footholds.
“That, or fight.” Bastian dismounted, shooting a glare back the way we’d come. “Your choice.”
The thunder of hooves shook from the forest, thrumming into my feet as I landed.
Not long to decide.
Climbing would leave us as easy targets against the grey cliff face. No cover whatsoever. They’d pick us off in an instant.
Not much of a choice.
Swallowing, I unclipped my bow and quiver from the saddle. Not a matter of bravery. Just desperation.
He drew his shadowy sword and sent the stags back into the forest.
“Tennacht,” I commanded, and my bowstring pulled taut, the magic humming in my blood. My pulse leapt at every point as we took cover behind some boulders at the foot of the cliff. For half my life I’d carried a pistol, but I could count on one hand the number of times I’d fired it at someone. And only once had I killed.
“You stay under cover,” Bastian gritted out, shadows unspooling around his feet in a dense clump as he watched the forest’s edge. “If… if you find yourself alone, surrender. Then, the first chance you get, poison your guards and run. Understood?”
“But—”
“Understood?”
If you find yourself alone—he meant, if he was dead. I swallowed and strapped the quiver to my back. I wasn’t going to let that happen, so his plan was purely hypothetical and I felt no guilt in replying, “I understand.”
He blurred and I had to blink away the uncomfortable sensation of seeing double as he split in two. Cloaked in shadows, one part of Bastian crept into the trees.
I nocked an arrow and waited.
Blood roared in my ears like the fight had already begun. My palms sweated into my gloves.
“You can do this, ember.”
I jolted at his use of that name here and now.
“Your fire isn’t just for me.” His teeth bared in a vicious smile. “I look forward to seeing it destroy them all.”
A muffled cry came from the forest to the right where his double had gone. I had no time to peer over and wonder what had happened, because an instant later, a wave of arrows flew from the trees.
We hugged the rock as they clattered against it. Bastian held my gaze, a determined frown in place. “Wait for it,” he whispered.
I squeezed my bow, watching arrows skewer the ground just beyond our cover. If my supply ran out, I might be able to use some of them.
The moment the clattering eased, Bastian nodded and broke for the trees to the left.
Drawing, I stood. It took a second to spot a fae amongst the trees.
Aim, exhale, release.
A cry said I’d hit.
I was already nocking my next arrow, searching for my next target.
I fired and fired in that pattern, ducking back as stray arrows clipped the boulder and flew inches from my face.
It didn’t seem real that a lucky shot from one of these could kill me. And yet…
I tried to swallow down my fear, but it had already clawed its way into my throat and latched on. I could only work around the thick mass.
Bastian was a dark shape on the edge of the forest, void-black blade sweeping through our enemy. Darker today than at Innesol—odd, but I had no time to wonder about that.
Thank every god I’d practiced so hard with Faolán, even when I’d hated him for adding to my hangover headaches. Readying a fresh arrow was easy, something ingrained in my muscles, and it let me convince myself that this was just a training exercise.
Almost.
Because there were never screams when we practised.
They rose from left and right. Bastian’s first kills must’ve been caught by surprise, but now our enemies knew he was amongst them.
Near one of my early shots someone groaned in pain.
The arrows clacking against rock slowed. How many had we killed? Enough to make them retreat?
I used the lull to gather a handful of arrows from the floor, but when I looked up, that fear in my throat seized me entirely.
On silent feet, fae slipped from the trees.
It was worse than if I heard the pound of their footsteps—that would’ve been a warning.
For long and stupid seconds, all I could do was stare.
Move. Fucking move.
I had no idea if Bastian shouted it or some part of me thought it or if I said it out loud. But the words reached me, a slap around the face.
I scrambled for cover.
We’re going to die.
I grabbed my bow.
Maybe, but let’s try not to, eh?
I fired faster than I ever had before. I had a wealth of targets, after all.
My arms should’ve been aching by now, even with my bow’s lightness, but if anything I felt stronger.
Shadows spilled from the forest, tugging on ankles, as two Bastians broke from the trees. He sliced and parried, rolled under someone’s guard, clipping the back of their knees so they dropped with a shriek before he rose, sword thrusting through another fae’s gut.
Blood. Shadows. Screams. The thrum of my bowstring.
But it wasn’t enough.
Breaths heaving, I fired and fired, trying to keep them back from me, back from both Bastians.
But we were only three and they were still dozens and dozens.
I didn’t want to die today. This wasn’t a day when I had to weigh the safety of thousands against my own life. I didn’t choose this.
But sometimes it didn’t matter what you chose. Sometimes death chose you.
I reached for the next arrow. And found nothing.
Before I could break cover and gather more, a louder, harsher cry rose above all others.
Bastian.
62
Kat
I took too long to find Bastian in the melee. When I finally did, I understood why. He wasn’t at his normal height but down on one knee, blood spilling from his thigh. Too much blood.
Pulse pounding not just at my temples and throat, but in my face, I felt as though it was taking over my entire body.
Still, he blocked one blow and another.
Unable to look away, I stumbled from behind the boulder and groped on the ground for one of the enemy’s arrows. Every strike upon his sword shook my bones.
My fingers closed on an arrow shaft and I nocked it, drew, aimed.
I didn’t get to exhale, calm and ready to fire.
A sword erupted from Bastian’s stomach as he parried the warrior before him.
Crimson. Glinting metal. His face dropping.
I let out a cry, went to shoot, realised the arrow I’d picked up was broken.
But not as broken as Bastian.
The blade wrenched from his stomach.
The shadows of his sword vanished, leaving only steel. The glow in his eyes went out.
He fell.
“No. No.” The bow fell from my trembling fingers as panic buzzed against my face harder and harder with each frantic heartbeat.
Not this. Not this.
Not Bastian.
A terrible heat engulfed me, like pressure that needed release, and when I yanked off my gloves, my hands were black. Not purple—black. And something dark spilled from them.
That trembling… it wasn’t fear but rage.