Dante swung and slashed, keeping the air around them open. He didn’t fight out of duty. He fought for her. And he was spectacular.
Kaleb and Josef made a formidable pairing, Alessa discovered when she tried to throw electrified water at the swarm. Dozens of scarabeo fell toward the sea, writhing in agony as electricity raced through bands of water wrapped around them, lightning dancing across their carapace.
“Mama always said to stay out of the water when it’s storming,” Kaleb said. Despite his forced humor, he was white as snow, his grip so tight she wondered if her power would suffer from the lack of blood flow to her hands.
Every few minutes, the Fontes moved in tandem, swapping places whenever someone grew fatigued, coordinating their movements so no one was ever left to bear the full brunt of Alessa’s power.
The army was besieged, but a growing segment of the swarm ignored the ripe pickings of a field littered with casualties, circling the peak instead, closer and closer. Darting in and zipping by, they whizzed past as if taunting her.
The creatures had begun to realize that the small group on the cliff, especially the girl in the middle, was the main source of their problems.
The wind buffeted her from every side. Warm surges from the shore met cold gusts from the sea, churned by wings into torrents. Each breath she took was wet and sharp with salt.
A scarabeo shattered above her. She dodged its frozen wingtip, but it sliced the end of her braid. A few inches of hair seemed a fair sacrifice to battle, but now her hair was loose, whipping around her face, obscuring her vision, and she didn’t have a hand free.
Tossing her head like an irritated horse, she struggled to see past the tangled strands.
Aim. Fire. Breathe.
Something brushed her neck, and she jumped, but it was only Kamaria, gathering the damp tresses, pulling loose tendrils off her face to tie back.
“I always carry extra,” Kamaria shouted over the whine of wings and clatter of weapons.
Alessa laughed. “You don’t even have enough hair to tie back.”
Kamaria nudged Nina aside to take her spot at Alessa’s side. “No, but my friends do.”
As the battle raged on, the Fontes began to falter, their power waning and stuttering, but the scarabeo didn’t stop.
Her mouth went dry, her eyes gritty with sea salt. Only a faded gleam behind the leaden cloud cover told her it hadn’t been days, and for all she knew, it wasn’t the sun but the moon.
Someone—she didn’t see who—gave the Fontes canteens, and Nina poured a bit into Alessa’s mouth so she wouldn’t have to let go of Kaleb and Josef.
Not enough, but it would do. There’d be time for water and food when the war was won.
She switched hands again, gathering the power they gave so freely, and hurled it forth to take down yet another wave of demons.
Breathe. Switch. Adjust to the new source of magic. Gather. Throw.
Over and over. Switch. Again.
The mantra inside her head drowned out the sound of battle.
Gather. Throw. Breathe.
With every passing hour, the cold fear in Alessa’s gut grew.
The scarabeo kept coming, wave after wave.
The army was drowning. Her Fontes were fading.
No more jokes or flashes of bravado to raise their spirits. No one had the strength to do anything but survive.
They couldn’t keep this up forever.
Then, through the demon-choked sky, a flash of white broke through in the distance.
“A ship!” Nina cried.
Hope on the horizon.
Fifty-One
A mali estremi, estremi rimedi.
Desperate evils need desperate remedies.
“Thank the gods,” Kaleb wheezed.
“Will they make it in time?” Nina asked.
“That depends”—Kamaria tried to pry Kaleb’s clenched hand free to take his spot, but he was too out of it to let go—“on how much time we give them.”
Josef waved for her to take his spot and bent, hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
A scarabeo buzzed above them, and Kamaria ducked, throwing her hands over her head reflexively.
Kaleb gasped, momentarily left with the full brunt of Alessa’s strength. She pulled away before it took him down.
Gathering what leftover power she still possessed, she threw it at the sky. Dozens of creatures lit up, bolts of lightning fracturing around them. Twitching, they lost altitude.
Kaleb was on his knees, face ashen.
“Hold on,” Alessa said. “Just hold on.”
Dante stepped in front of Kaleb, sword at the ready. A scarabeo swooped past, taunting, just out of reach, and he planted his feet to wait. The next time it dove, Dante’s sword sliced a wing free. The creature spun, and he slashed again, rendering the other wing useless and lopping off a limb for good measure.