Swish, step.
His magic builds with every arrow he reads and his voice trembles with the power threatening to burst out of him. “Ellia; not of blood but by the Fate’s command.”
A pulse of pain breaks through the heavy cover of magic. Eyes unerring on Baylor, Oskar takes two steps to the side togently push Davyna out of his way, taking her place at Rooke’s side.
He speaks to her in the old language, a soft sound as though coaxing a startled mare. “It’s almost over, Æfanya, you’re almost finished.”
She shakes her head, her voice as desolate as the state our kingdom has fallen into and soaked with tears. “I though I could this but—I can’t.”
“Youwill. For two hundred years Pem dreamed of this, cousin; I won’t let you falter now. We’ll do it together— for him.”
She lets out a shuddering breath, she finally turns back to me with tears brimming in her eyes. The Reborn surround her at every angle, a protection of blood even I can’t question, and I stare back at her, unflinching and true. Reborn or Ravenswyrd, none of it changes a thing for me; she’s mine above all else.
With a deep breath, she turns back to her blood and her robes shift, melting into the black robes of her blood with the forest green stitching to honor her mother’s coven. Oskar stares at her with adoration and a vicious sort of pride, and the love of blood that he has no qualms in displaying openly.
Wielding the magic of the Reborn and dripping with power, I don’t suppose he’s concerned with the opinions of others and any weakness his family ties could be to him.
A cracking sound catches my attention, the wood of the last arrow splintering under the pressure of Ignis’ grip, and as I turn towards Ignis my skin burns with the intensity of his magic as it blasts out of him. He holds the arrow up to Baylor’s stricken face, etched with horror as the truth of his actions and my Fates-blessed mate’s family are laid bare for all his blood to bear witness.
His voice trembles with magic, with grief, with the rage that spurns his vengeance on. “Daire Reborn, who followed his fate to the forest of the old gods. You’ve spilled the blood of thecoven, a witch born from the line of the womb. This assai will see my brother and his beloved to rest in Elysium.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Rooke
Oskar’s hand wraps tightly around mine as though he can feel the blinding pain in my chest that threatens to rob me of my senses, but true to his word he offers me his strength now to see me through the rites. My father deserves an assai that is whispered about for generations to come, and all of his blood have come to ensure it.
The pain is a familiar one; it’s always torn my heart in half to hear any fae speak my father’s name. Every story of blood-soaked battlefields and violent death ever told about my father are undoubtedly true, the fear his name strikes justified, but no one speaks of the reasons behind his actions. The kingdom has forgotten the conflicts between the covens, the high fae who disrespected the forests, and, worst of all, the Bloodwitches who turned from the ways of old to betray their blood.
Only the Reborn know Daire as the honorable son who hunted the traitorous blood who murdered his parents until he could bring them peace with an assai. The brother who gave up his childhood to raise three younger brothers and a little sister,just a toddler when their parents were murdered, protecting them above all else. The cousin who answered the call to arms without question when any he called kin were threatened. The blood the Bloodwyrd Mother loved dearly; a pillar of strength within her coven and unwaveringly loyal to her, who was honored by the Fates to have a Favored Child as his blessed mate.
The Reborn witch who couldn't bear his children to feel pain, who would argue with my mother any time we required her healing to ensure he could take that burden from us. Happiest surrounded by his children, he died in the forest trying to reach my mother and my infant brother, Estri. A dozen arrows tipped in witcheswane buried in his back, his blood magic gone by the forest's command, and still he crawled to them both until his last breath.
Baylor lies contorted before Ignis as my uncle wields the power of sacrifice in honor of the brother he lost. The forest gave my father's bloodline the gift of blood magic to ensure the safety of our forests and to answer the call of the old gods and there's no escaping the vengeance of the Reborn. Thousands of lesions carve Baylor’s body as Ignis draws out the pain of his death, nothing will ever heal the loss we’ve endured. When his screams finally abate and his blood flows freely into the earth, Ignis turns back to me with eyes brimming with our shared grief.
I take a long breath to steady myself.
The magic that settles over the valley to hold the soldiers entranced isn't woven by a witch, that much is obvious to all the Reborn staring at the frozen battalions curiously. At first, I assume it's wild magic; no matter how depleted the kingdom is, it welcomes the Bloodwyrd Coven home with such exuberance that it seems the most likely choice.
It's only when I hear the tremble of power in Soren's voice that I know it's him, his warning vicious even though he addresses our closest friends and allies.
"If any fae speak or interrupt the assai, the Reborn won't get the chance to kill you for the act; I’ll offer your blood to the land in sacrifice for daring to disrespect the bloodline of my Fates-blessed mate."
I swallow roughly, then again when Soren presses against our mind connection, offering me his strength os though he can see how close I was to breaking.
I've sung the reverent prayers of the assai far too many times in the two centuries of war I've endured, every note of it engraved in my heart so deeply I should’ve never worried about faltering but I still clutch at Oskar’s hand desperately. I led the song for his mother's assai, stepping in to honor my Aunt Isya when he couldn't, and the pain of his grief still eats at his soul so keenly that he understands my hesitance well. They all do.
When I begin the prayer, calling for those who bear witness to the sacrifice in my father’s name, the Reborn answer me.
I feel the surge of power from the Mother and the Maiden, though I can’t see either of them now, surrounded as I am. At just eleven years old, Iryna is surrounded by her own protective circle of Reborn where the Betrayer’s gazes could never hope to land on her.
She already knows the prayers of the assai with a heart-wrenching precision, and as I stand with her brother’s unwavering protection beside me, her magic weaves into mine to honor my family's lives, taken from us long before she was born.
I almost falter at the sharp pain that lances my chest, and my cousin Rask hears the slip, taking up my other side to sling an arm over my shoulder as he joins Oskar in offering me their strength.
The magic at our feet builds into an earth-shattering crescendo, the wells of power buried deep within the earth opening in preparation for the sacrifice. Movement catches my attention and I turn to find my aunt being escorted down the orderly lines of the battalions by a lone high fae prince in a sea of witches.
The moment the Bloodwyrd Mother crosses the boundary into the valley, the ground trembles in awe as the fabled Bloodwyrd Mother returns to stand within her forest once more. The Unseelie high fae have no idea of the power returning to the kingdom, nor the true malevolence she’s capable of, but they’ll soon learn.
