Dressed in fighting robes and leather boots, the red witch markings that fan across their skin and glow with their magic stand stark against the consuming black of their uniform. The entrance of the valley before us quickly fills, the soldiers breaking off into neat battalions. No matter my unwavering faith in Rooke, fingers of icy dread clutch at my gut as the battalions grow in number; six, seven, eight, more.
The wall of power forming before us is unquestionable, not at all what I was expecting. They don’t move like the raving witches we’ve fought off nor with Rooke’s fluidity, a skill she’s honed to perfection. They march in the perfect lines of elite soldiers, only each of them moves with the assurance of a commander, as if held to their own command and by chance their purposes are the same.
There isn’t a single weapon to be found on any of them, a sobering sight that stands out against the shining black armor of the Briarfrost and the silver of my uncle’s guards. They’re notstony-faced like the goblins are either, cold but assured as they form into orderly battalions by the thousands. There’s only one word that can describe them all succinctly; ravenous.
Another gasp draws my attention back to the arriving Reborn, this one from Gideon as he dives in front of Rhosh, bumping into Gage as he does the same to protect his brother’s beloved wife as though she were his own. No bloodwitch has moved to attack them, no reason for their panic that I can see, not until the witch standing only arm’s reach away from them turns back and the force of her magic hits me.
No doubt a Reborn, the waves of power that roll from her are an endless assault, though not an act of wielding. Far too much power to be contained, the overflow spills forth with every heartbeat.
“I am Davyna Reborn, born of the line, and I answer the Favored Child’s call.”
Ice runs down my spine as I recognize her name from Gideon’s fervent warnings. The Reborn around her all incline their head respectfully, only Rooke standing at the center of them all with her head high and her shoulders rolled back.
Obviously feeling the magic but not grasping the gravity, Vyrain snarls, “Am I going to have to stand here and listen to them all pander after that bitch?”
Baylor’s face grays instantly, his knees buckling underneath himself as though his life drains with his color, and when Vyrain opens his mouth to no doubt insult all the witches arriving, Baylor dives at the male, taking him by surprise and to the ground.
“No fae speaks to a Reborn of the line like that and lives,youmiserablefuck;Davynawields enough blood magic toend all our bloodlines!”
Another of the bloodwitches steps up to address the fabled Reborn, bowing his head and speaking to the ground rather thanlooking directly at her. ”We had no idea of your history with the Ravenswyrd Mother; we would never act against the Reborn. Our agreement with the Celestial King hinges on the Savage cunts death, not hers.”
With her back to us, I can only see the firm line of Davyna's shoulders and not her expression but after another heartbeat of silence, she turns on her heel and strides away from the male, leaving him frozen in terror.
Her path cuts directly to Rooke, her gaze moving over the Briarfrost battalions as she walks, then each member of my household, before finally it lands on me.
Though her assessment lasts only a second, my skin feels as though it’s been scoured to the bone but her demeanor gives nothing away.
When she stops at Rooke’s side she turns to face my Fates-blessed wife, her face unchanging as she reaches out a hand towards her and I turn to stone. Every instinct within me is screaming, demanding I dive between them, because no matter the experience or training of the soldiers around us, there’s no question Davyna is not only the greatest threat, but a true-born predator just waiting for her next fill of blood.
Her fingers grasp Rooke’s wrist, slipping between the slits of the fabric, and when she lifts her arm, the fabric falls away to reveal my namesake ribbon bound firmly around my croi’s arm.
Ashes curse me, but with the struggle to hold myself back, I can't contain the snarl from tearing out of my chest at the eyes the land on that sacred symbol of our binding. Roan and Tauron both freeze at my side, preparing themselves for the retribution such a disrespectful sound will afford me, but Davyna doesn't spare me a glance.
Her gaze moves between the disgraced bloodwitches and the high fae soldiers they stand amongst, before finally she addresses the male who dared approach her. “It appears you’veall forgotten the way of old; by Fates command, Celestial is a Reborn now, too.”
My chest constricts as though squeezed by a vise, the air wrung out of me until my head lightens. The confusion blanketing over all the fae watching quickly devolves into panic at her words, but Davyna continues, her voice as merciless and violent as the Fates themselves. “Say it again, Betrayer, only this time without the quaking voice. If you're going to declare war against my blood, do it with your head held high. It'll only make the assaisweeter.”
The male blanches, his mouth gaping as he sputters, “An assai? But— who?—“
The forest’s song is a screaming ecstasy, the sound of more witches arriving cutting his panic off, only this time a dozen appear together. All wear the same fighting robes, the stitching blood-red to match their witch marks. They all face Rooke, their focus on her unwavering, and my skin threatens to split open under the force of their magic, just as Rooke’s palm had to begin the blood call.
Davyna’s hand slips away from Rooke’s arm, her voice carrying over the stupefied horror arresting the valley with ease. “The Bloodwyrd Coven returns to our kingdom to answer the Favored Child’s call. Our blood has called us home.”
The tension buildinggrows fraught until finally one of the Reborn witches snaps something in the Seelie common tongue, moving around the others until he steps to the front and I get a good look at him. His features are similar to Davyna’s, sharpened cheekbones and jawline. His hair is dark and withsome length to it, but the sides are shaved close to his scalp to reveal the sigils carved there.
The blood-red glow of his witch marks cover every inch of his skin, the designs hatch intricately across his face and down his neck to declare the acts of war he's waged for his coven. His eyes are almost black in color, a ring of blood-red glows around his silver irises framed by hooded lids and dark lashes, and a scar runs through his bottom lip and down his chin.
The Reborn male’s eyes move around the crowd watching on, assessing the number of goblin soldiers and the positions we have them stationed in. He barely glances at Vyrain, utterly dismissing the male as he does all the regent’s guards.
When his gaze finally meet Rooke’s, the red glow of magic flares, power igniting within him at the mere sight of my wife that has my magic writhing in response.
Temper alight, Vyrain calls out to me with a smirk, “Who would’ve thought you’d claim your throne by taking a witch to bed? It appears the slit the Fates bound you to is rather popular."
Rage; red, hot, and writhing as it consumes me.
It's only the splash of heat across my face that slams awareness back into me and the horror before me sharpens into complete clarity. The red haze over my vision isn't my temper taking hold once more nor is the spiraling swirl of magic around me, my own come free of its restraints.
Vyrain and his battalion are gone.
