Page 163 of She Who Holds My Wrath

DAISY

Iknow something is seriously wrong before I reach the war room.

Fear has a scent. I hadn’t realised it until I was dragged into this world of gods and monsters. But it does. And tonight, it clings to the air like smoke, suffocating everybody in its presence.

Aran is standing at the door, waiting for me with a serious look on his face.

“Come,” he beckons, pushing the heavy doors open before the guards even get the chance.

I step through, Ezra and Cassyr at my back, and stop.

Virena stands at the centre of the war room. For a moment, I don’t recognise her. The Mother of Mists is always composed. Ethereal. Untouchable. But now? She looks carved from ruin. Her silver-grey hair hangs in tangled strands, no longer floating on the phantom winds that usually surround her. One side is darkened with dried blood—not all of it hers, if the colour is anything to judge by. Her pale skin is fractured with thin lines of ice that spiderweb across her throat and collarbones, melting slowly, dripping into the erratic mists that swirl at her feet, darker than I have ever seen.

Her hands are shaking. Virena does not shake.

Korithax is already there, standing at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. But the smoke coiling from his shoulders tells me everything I need to know about the violence simmering beneath his control.

Ezra stands quietly behind me, his throat still bruised, with Cassyr as a silent wall at his shoulder. I realise now, it probably wasn’t a good idea to let Ezra and Cassyr come along with me. This isn’t just a meeting with Virena. Something catastrophic has happened.

No one speaks, so I step forwards slowly, my voice low in a way you’d speak to a wounded animal you’re trying not to frighten. “Virena.”

Her eyes snap to mine. Gods. I have never seen terror look so alive inside another being.

“They came at dawn,” she says.

No greeting. No preamble. Her voice is raw, scraped hollow, like she has been screaming for hours on end with no reprieve.

“The sky split open.”

A cold ripple slides down my spine, my skin erupting in goosebumps.

“They didn’t march,” she continues, her words slightly unfocused as if she’s still seeing it all unfold. “They descended.”

Korithax’s voice is lethal calm. “How many?”

Virena lets out something that might be a laugh, but it’s edged with a darkness that only comes with grief. “Enough.”

The torches flicker as Korithax’s growls under his breath.

“They were not soldiers as we know them,” she says. “Some wore armour I did not recognise. Others…” Her throat bobs. “Others were beasts stitched together from magic I cannot begin to understand.”

Ezra shifts behind me, the sound of his heart erratically beating filling my ears. Yep. I shouldn’t have brought him.

“They burned everything,” she whispers. “The mystic forests. The citadels. The rivers turned black with ash.”

No one interrupts her as she relays the horrors she witnessed. Instinctively, I realise she’s speaking in fragments because if she stops, she may never start again.

“I rallied what forever remained. We fought.” Her lips tremble. “We lasted less than an hour.”

Silence detonates the room and my entire body trembles slightly. Less than an hour, with five thousand soldiers…

“The only reason I stand here,” she says, her gaze locking onto mine. “Is because they allowed it.”

“Why?” I ask quietly, though I’m not sure I want to know.

Virena’s mouth curls into a sad smile as she looks at me. “So I could bring you a message.”

The room shrinks as she takes a step towards me. I hear Korithax shift, his presence instantly at my back as a low warning snarl sounds in his throat.