But I can’t hold on. The breath is being squeezed out of me, and my mate will find my body here, and this fae woman who hates me for a reason I don’t understand will kill Ezryn and he’ll never know I forgive him for what he did in his past.
How I want to move forward with him into a new future.
My vision blackens at the edges. The Nightingale squeezes tighter, and she’s sobbing now, full-on sobbing, but she keeps her hands wrapped around my throat. And I’m so sad. Because I never told each of them how much I love them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of something. An eruption of thorns.
But these are different.
These are thorns frosted with ice.
53
Keldarion
“So, you still snore.” A voice cuts through my haze of sleep. “I suppose you don’t realize, as you spend most nights as that mangy beast.”
The Prince of Thorns leans in the doorway, his black cloak covered in snow, moonlight glinting off his pink nose and cheeks.
I leap up, grabbing his collar and slamming him against the wall. “How are you here?”
“Oh, just thought I’d take a quick jaunt to the most miserable and cold place in all the Vale.”
I snarl, drawing him closer. He must have traveled here from the thorns in the chasm. “I should rip you apart for what you did to Autumn. What you did to Farron.”
Caspian slinks out of my grip. “Unfortunately, there isn’t time for your empty threats today.” He tosses me my warm jerkin and boots.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I lace the shirt and tug on the supple leather shoes.
A sharp pain cuts through my bond.
Rosalina.
“Damn, she’s fast,” he murmurs. “You’re going to need this.”
From the folds of his cloak, Caspian reveals the Sword of the Protector. How did he get that? I snatch the sheathed blade. But Caspian leaves his hand outstretched. “And you’re going to need me.”
“Rosalina is in trouble,” I growl.
Thorns and shadows curl around his feet. Rosalina’s terror grows through our mate bond. There’s no time to question Caspian’s game, to guess at his motives. There is no other choice. I take the Prince of Thorns’ hand.
His smile is maddening. The familiar sensation of thorns whips me under the earth. I shut my eyes as my body ripples with power, ice crackling out in every direction.
We burst through the surface like breaking through water, an explosion of shadows and ice. Dreadknights, goblins, and Ezryn. My brother is lying on the ground, clutching his helm and screaming. But my focus narrows on my mate, pinned by another woman.
Rage like a winter storm, born from the depths of my magic, courses through my veins. I swing the Sword of the Protector, and a beam of ice explodes from it. It strikes the woman in the chest and sends her flying into her knights.
In a blur of shadow, Caspian brandishes a long purple sword made of briars and dispatches a goblin charging at me.
“Are you with me?” I ask.
A strand of dark hair falls across his face. “Don’t see who else is going to watch your back when you go into a single-minded murder streak.”
Dreadknights and goblins from the Below face us. Yet, he fights at my side. There’s no time to question, not if I want a chance of rescuing Ezryn and Rosalina.
“Together,” I say.
His eyes flash like stars. “Together.”
54
Rosalina
The Nightingale sails off me in a blast of ice, and I heave in great gulps of air, grabbing at my raw throat. My muscles ache. Through the haze of goblins, I see him. Keldarion. But even if I hadn’t seen him, I’d know he was here. My mate bond blooms bright in my chest.
But strangest of all, he’s not alone.
He’s with the Prince of Thorns.
They stand back-to-back in the middle of the grove as a host of Dreadknights and goblins charge. I can’t see the Nightingale through the throng. I wonder if Kel’s blast killed her.
With gritted teeth, I force myself to get up. I need to get to Kel, and at the moment, he and Cas are the legion’s entire focus. The two of them move with knife-edge precision. Though surrounded, not a single goblin makes it past their flanks. Magic—ice and thorns—flows perfectly with the strikes of their blades. It almost has the fluidity of a dance. A dance, I realize, they must have done many times before.
This isn’t the first time they’ve fought on the same side. It’s evident in the duality of their blows, the thorns covered in a dreadful frost as they penetrate the enemy, their feet moving in unison with each other.