Caspian leapt after him—legs elongating, claws extending, his body reshaping mid-jump.
Aelindor locked his fiery gaze on mine. What I saw in those blue eyes was a man who wanted to stay between me and every threat in this world. But he had a battle waiting on the roof. He nodded at Frost—she’s your charge—drew his longsword from the scabbard at his back in one fluid motion, and flew through the hatch.
Graceful. Lethal. Gone.
I stared at the empty square of gray sky. The anxietyin my chest compressed into fear. Not for myself. For them.
I wanted to follow. Every instinct screamed it. But I wasn’t ready. Going up uninvited would make me a liability in a fight that couldn’t afford one.
Before the hatch swung closed, Commander Marco shot through it in a blur of vampire speed.
“I’m a Spartan,” he called. “Fighting on behalf of Prince Nikolai.”
The hatch sealed.
The demons clawing at the windows peeled off and leapt upward. Heavy, multi-legged impacts shook dust from the ceiling as they landed on the roof.
The battle raged above us.
Steel on something harder than steel. The shriek of a blade skating off a surface. Bodies slamming into the roof—rolling, rebounding—each impact rocking the carriage. Caspian’s snarl vibrated through the ceiling, animal and furious. Drakken’s roar shook the walls. The sharp hiss of Aelindor’s magic: wind and earth turned into cutting force.
I mapped the fight through my matrix. The heirs’ signatures blazed, three brilliant points locked in combat with dark masses pressing from every side. On top of the other carriages, less bright yet disciplined signatures moved in formation. Spartans.
But three demon signatures had wedged themselves between the Spartan carriages and ours, blocking reinforcements.
The heirs were isolated. By design.
Something massive hit the roof so hard the ceilingbuckled inward an inch. Caspian howled. A wet crunch followed—claws meeting flesh. A demon screamed, the sound hurting my eardrums. Drakken’s dragon roar was full of violence. More screams came down to our cabin.
Then the wrongness hit. Gut-deep and bleeding. Cold dread fogged my vision, freezing my veins.
I needed to be up there. With them.
But going topside could distract them. Even get them killed.
Murder the Fae. Murder the Fae!
Coldiron.
The sentient metal’s chanting rang in my mind, unmistakable.
One of the demons carried it. And not just any demon. The darkest of the thirteen. The signature that seared deeper than all the others combined.
He could command Coldiron like I did.
Rage burned through me. Coldiron belonged to me. A decade of history—speaking to it in the deepest tunnels of Crimson Ridge, persuading it into Stormglass shipments, weaving it into my escape. It should answer to me alone.
No demon had the right to weaponize it against Aelindor.
Against my people.
I knew what Coldiron could do when commanded. It didn’t miss. Once loosed, it tracked—adjusting, following, relentless. Aelindor wouldn’t know. No one on that roof would know except that demon and me.
Iron was harmful to Fae. Iron infused with Coldiron was fatal.
Fear for Aelindor hit boiling point. The force locked inside me erupted from my core. Its shockwave blasted the hatch open, ripping it from its hinges. The steel door spun into the sky like a coin.
Everyone in the cabin froze for half a second. Then everyone drew their weapons, ready for demons to charge down.
