The acrid smoke fills the air and pollutes our line of sight, so it's only after another wave of witches arrives that Tauron calls out from the left side of the wall, “The stone is breaking around the iron! There are too many of them, too much force and magic pressing against it. The wall cannot hold!”
Roan hears his warning and calls the ground soldiers to attention once more, lining them up and commanding them to draw their swords and lift their shields, preparing for the wave to hit them next. That crushing wave that has destroyed everything in its path, unstoppable as the witches keep streaming through.
Spikes have been erected around the castle, giant structures of iron jutting out to impale as many of the raving creatures as they can. Every wall and door inside Yregar and out has been soaked with witcheswane by now, Firna and the maids having been ordered to shower the castle with it as a final act of protection before they take up guard over Airlie and the baby and barricade themselves in the Snowsong wing.
If the gate breaks and the witches make it through, Yregar is lost. The witcheswane will only slow them down.
Tauron curses, and I glance at him, but his eyes are on the courtyard and not the raving battle below. The archers are still firing streams of arrows into the air as they try to stem the flow bracing against the iron, moving at our orders and never faltering.
Following Tauron’s gaze, I see Reed standing on the steps in front of the courtyard with his sword drawn as he prepares to defend the castle, no shield but his steel held confidently in hand.
I look around him, but the witch is nowhere in sight. If the Fates are kind to me, she's still locked downstairs in the cell, fuming and leaving us to the fight, but I fear the Fates took a look at me long ago and found me wanting.
A thud sounds on the wall to my right, standing out against the melee around me, and I turn back to find Tyton unconscious on the stone, the witch now standing on the wall and looking out from the battlement. Her eyes glow silver and her skin shines with power, her magic pulsating out of her as she glows like the beacon her people followed here. The soldiers around her are still firing their arrows obediently, unaware that their death stands with them now as the witch returns to her people.
Tauron takes up one of the bows and nocks an arrow, then shoots without thought of the Fates’ punishment, but the witch sidesteps it without so much as a glance in his direction, magic falling from her in waves that beckon and call out for all who surround her to take notice of the power she holds.
I glance down at Tyton. His chest is still moving; he’s alive but unconscious at her whim once more. I draw my sword and work my way across the wall, screaming orders at the soldiers to continue firing and ignoring Tauron’s screams of retribution, his fury at her appearance, as I prepare to stop the witch before she strikes. The tug of the Fates in my chest is like a fist, so much pressure I have to fight against it too, but my people are depending on me, and I can’t forget that.
The witch turns to stare at me as I reach the iron partition, erected for our protection but now holding me back from stopping her.
The old power that whispered to Tyton shines through her face, settling once and for all who was speaking to him. The evils of her magic are boundless, but she barely gives me more than a once over before turning back to the battle before us, watching as the archers continue to pick off dozens and dozens of witches. Stream after stream of the arrows fall, and the fires still burn as the masses press against the door, the rumbling beneath our feet growing louder as the sheer mass of the witch army begins to move the iron structure as though it hasn’t been anchored within the stone and standing safe for millennia.
The witch raises a dagger, and the stones in the handle of it glint at me. Sapphires set in silver—a Celestial dagger that she's found somewhere or pulled from someone. Fates above, if she's killed Airlie on her way out here, it's all been for nothing. Every sacrifice will be worthless if my cousin is lost.
The witch draws the blade across her hand, the blood pooling there for a moment before she reaches out to let the drops fall in a long and tumultuous journey down the wall until they hit the land below.
Yregar is hit with a second wave of power, this one so strong it blows us all off our feet, chaos consuming the ranks, and I’m consumed by white light.
* * *
The world is far too bright. I blink rapidly to clear my vision only to realize that my senses weren’t knocked out of me by the burst of power from the witch's spell—we’re surrounded by that white light. A shimmering shield now follows along the inner wall of Yregar, a magic blanket covering us as far as the eye can see.
I lean over the battlement to find it reaches the grass below, and when I stare up into the sky, it domes over the castle to protect us from aerial attacks, a complete blanketing of power that pulses with life.
There's a small gap between the shield and the stone wall. A handful of witches are still alive within that space, and they stare up at it, aghast, awe and terror wiping away some of their madness for a moment. One of them reaches out to the shield, but the moment it touches the magic there, it screams and clutches its head before falling dead on the ground, black liquid oozing from its open mouth.
One of the archers, thinking fast on his feet, pulls arrows from the oil barrels and picks off the rest of the live witches on our side of the magical barrier, their bodies falling to the ground as the writhing mass presses into the shield now instead of the failing gate. The shield doesn't move; it stands firm as the enemy pushes themselves to their deaths.
Pillars of light that line the shield shine brighter where they dig into the earth, their spacing perfectly aligned to where the witch buried the talismans with Airlie. Her magic is anchored to the small pouches, digging the shield into the earth below as it holds us all safely within.
My Fates-cursed mate stares into the distance, her eyes still shining bright with power, and a hush falls over the raving crowd below. The screams quieten down, and the long stream of troops finally eases as they all stare in wonder at the display, fear creeping into their eyes at the scale of such magic.
I’m stepping forward to lean against the stone of the battlement, a plan to breach the shield myself to face the witches and fend them off already starting to form in my mind, when Kharl’s voice reverberates around the village, booming with power.
“We have come to free you, good sister! We heard a rumor of one of our own held captive by the Savage Prince, and we’ve returned to bring you into the fold. Such power does not belong with the high fae, chained at their feet as we have been for too long. Join us now so we may take you home.”
There’s cheering below from the mindless masses who agree with his every word, but the witch looks at Kharl without flinching, her chin never dropping and her shoulders perfectly straight. A breath catches in my throat as I stare at her, humbled at the power she wields.
She answers him, her own voice strengthened by the magic within her, no need to raise her pitch to be heard over masses. “I’m no sister to you, no sister to any of these creatures. You should never have come here, Kharl Balzog. You should never have come to the Southern Lands to begin with. Your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into our kingdom and met the Seer.”
The cheering continues underneath us, and Kharl chuckles lowly under his breath, a farce of humor in a joyless man.
“The high fae and their stories. They've twisted the truth to you. They locked our kind in their castles, away from the forests, and forced us to work in servitude. They forgot how to give to the land. They do nothing but take and destroy. Why should we give to them what should be given only to each other and ourselves?”
A ripple of unease works its way down my shoulders, my sword gripped tightly in my hand as I inch toward the witch. It’s an echo of the words she said to us, only twisted and vicious.
In her tales, she didn't want any of the power for herself.
