“You,” Zyphoro snaps, whirling on Ronin. “Keep her safe. If she dies, you better hope I find you already dead.”
He gives a sharp nod and takes off at my heels.
“Wait!” Orios calls, and we all freeze, just for a heartbeat, amidst the howling chaos. Monsters screaming, wings slashing through the air, stone cracking beneath claw and fang.
He pulls Solena to him with both arms, lifting her like she weighs nothing, then kisses her, hard, desperate, like it might be the last time. When they part, breathless, I can’t tell if the wetness on his cheeks is rain or grief.
“You too, my love,” he says, voice raw. “Go with them. Please.”
Solena shakes her head, her hands tangled in his tunic. “My place is with you.”
“And mine with you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. “And when we survive this, I’ll make it my place forever. I’ll make you my wife, Solena. But give me something to fight for. If I know you’re safe, I’ll cut through a thousand armies to reach you again.”
She closes her eyes, her whole body trembling as she kisses him once more, a soft sob caught between their lips. “I love you,” she breathes.
“I love you,” he echoes, his voice breaking.
He lowers her gently to the ground, and with one last glance that embodies all the words they don’t have time to speak, she turns and runs after us.
We flee toward the fortress, toward the shadowed alcove not far beyond, with smoke and teeth and screams chasing at our heels.
I don’t dare look back, not at the battle unraveling behind us, not at the slaughter we’ve barely outrun.
Or have we?
Because as I turn the corner, her laughter follows. Low. Crooked. Crawling like smoke along the walls, seeping into the cracks of the stone, chasing us like a starving dog who can scent its next meal.
“Amara,” Nyraxes calls, voice gliding after us. “Where do you think you're going? I’m not finished with you or that half-breed wretch you clutch so tight.”
She is not alone. A small cluster of warriors falls into step behind her, blades drawn. I remember their stink from the night they attacked me in my chambers, the unmistakable scent of Mor’Thravar Fae: musk and salt and damp.
We run for a while, but Ronin never stops glancing over his shoulder. His jaw clenches tight, brow furrows deep, and then suddenly his steps slow until he eases into a walk and finally turns to face our pursuers.
I stop. “What are you doing? Run!”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m not running. Not from Fae scum.”
Solena scowls at him but holds her tongue.
“We have no choice!” I snap, cradling my daughter closer. “We’re outnumbered.”
“Those are my favorite odds,” he says, the smug grin crawling across his face still sickening even now.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t even have a blade.”
Suddenly, a flash of silver streaks past my face and Ronin snatches the pommel midair.
I turn to Solena, startled.
“If he wants to be a hero, let him,” she says curtly, glancing at her blade in his hand. “We can protect ourselves, Amara.”
Ronin tests the sword’s weight, swings it, twirls it, getting a feel for the balance. A half-smile creeps up his scarred face, as if this meagre weapon will somehow be enough.
“You heard your friend,” he says to me. “You don’t need me. You never did.”
Without hesitation, Ronin charges into the cluster of Fae, sword swinging wildly. All I see is a flash of his blonde hair before they engulf him.
I could stay, fight alongside him, who knows the power my flames could unleash? Maybe I could destroy them all. But with Daed battling demons and Fae in the courtyard, I might be all my daughter has left.
