Page 102 of Facade

Blood was everywhere, black and red mixing as they ran together in the streets. The moon shone down brightly, highlighting the gore that lay around the grounds. Body parts scattered throughout, both Gargoyle and Skur alike. Bile rose in my throat from the atrocity of what had already happened in such a short time.

Distraction would get me killed. I had to confront the Fae. I needed to know if Cressida was here and why this was happening.

It took a long time to get out of the city. Every corner had bloodthirsty skurs looking for another victim. The Gargoyle army had gathered in the skies, blotting out some of the moon’s light, giving me some cover in the dark until they rained down like hail to pick off the skurs both with arrows and swords.

I made it through the myriad of buildings to the open fields beyond, leaving the horrible shrieking and screaming behind. The front line of the Fae army pushed a line of six catapults, aimed right at the legion of Gargoyles in the sky. I thought of Malachai and my other friends out there. The only way to ensure the complete destruction of the gigantic, wooden war machines would be to set an eternal flame to the wood—a fire curse. But even now, as I looked at that melting rose exposed on my arm, I couldn’t bring myself to utter the dark words. Not after the vow I’d made never to cast a curse again.

Instead, I cast a simple fire spell.

“Och bram fiera incendia!” A white-hot fire shot from my hands, coiling through the air, forming the head of a dragon with jaws wide open as it made its way over the field and clashed with the first catapult. Fire splashed like lava upon rock, catching the next catapult and then the next until all six burned. The Fae soldiers surrounding it cursed and yelled, forced to retreat far back to the tree line with the rest of their company.

I didn't sense Cressida among the ranks of the Fae. But I did feel magic. Dark magic. We were tainted with dark magic—it’s how we were able to create curses. This magic, however, felt wrong. Unnatural. My own magic recoiled in its presence.

With the flick of my wrist, I cast a cloaking spell over myself and pressed on.

My heart beat faster and faster as I moved closer.

Fae ran around, bringing buckets of water from a nearby pond to throw onto the catapults to no avail, utterly unaware of my hidden presence. The battle raged on in the city between Gargoyles and skurs. Too many—there were too many of the monstrous creatures and the sun was about to rise which would force the Gargoyles from the skies. I had to hurry.

The Fae ran frantically back and forth from the river, and I wove through with ease, following that tug of dark magic to the back of the lines where the King of the Fae sat tall on his horse beside his generals. He held something in his outstretched palm—an orb. Black and blue smoke whirled violently within.

Magic.

That was the source of the dark magic I followed. But as bad as it was to see the Fae King holding perverted power like that in his hands, he didn’t make my step falter. It was the Coven Council standing beside him that made me blanche—all four of them. They stood behind the King, heads high, cracked, weathered smiles exposing yellowed teeth. My feet moved forward until the king raised that object.

Laverna moved closer to him, speaking lowly. Malice twisted his face into something dark as he shouted a spell from the forbidden texts hidden deep within the libraries of the Dead Isles, the sound guttural and harsh.

A knife twisted in my gut as a blinding white light streaked with black shot straight for the Gargoyle legion at the western point of the castle. One minute, they were there, fighting from the skies. Next, they were turned to stone, the small legion falling one by one, shattering among the battlefield below.

I fell to my hands and knees, shaking, tears burning my eyes. I clamped both hands over my mouth, choking on my scream. We were supposed to prevent this. As the Coven Council smiled in satisfaction, the sickening truth settled in me heavier than lead.

They sanctioned this. They created that foul object for the Fae King to channel dark magic. Vomit clawed up my throat, my body breaking into a cold sweat.

“Sire, we put out the fires, but the catapults are of no use,” A young soldier shouted, covered in soot and ash.

“No matter,” King Raul sneered as he hungrily eyed the orb, now emptied, but rapidly refilling. “The Council held up their end. Unless this can only be used once,” he said through gritted teeth at the Witches.

“Patience, King, it will refill,” one of the council members, Breena, responded. Her red gaze scoured over him hungrily, making a grimace cross his face at her apparent lust. “Dark magic takes time to regenerate, sire.” She ran a cracked fingernail up his boot.

“It does me no good in conquering lands if I have to wait for it to refill,” he snapped, jerking his foot back.

“Once we get the Gargoyle female, you won’t have to wait. You’ll have unlimited access to power,”Breena purred.

What Gargoyle female? Though my body shook, I stood, drawing on my own raw power as rage filled me. The same rage I’d felt when my mother had died, and my village had burned to nothing. I worked my hands—

Laverna turned her shriveled sneer upon me, the fire in her eyes bright as she pointed her gnarled finger in my direction. A wicked smile grew.

“Hello, dear,” she crowed. In an instant, I felt my cloaking spell melt as invisible ropes bound me, pulling me to her.

All four of them cut their gazes to me. The King and his generals looked with disdain.

“How typical,” Laverna, the oldest of the council, spat. “To find you here, using a pitiful fire spell on the catapults when you hold the knowledge of the eternal flame.”

“Yes,” Nerissa, the youngest of the four, with her fiery red hair and wrinkle-free ebony skin, hissed. “What a waste it was to pass along our knowledge to the likes of you.” With only my arms bound by invisible bindings, I retreated a step as they moved toward me in unison, their black dresses and robes trailing in their wake like shadows.

“Nothing like your sisters,” droned Ondine, the cruelest of them. She narrowed her beady eyes at me, making her features sharpen. Her soul was blackened from the number of curses she’d cast in her centuries. Ondine’s skin was shrouded in so much ink, it was a wonder any of her withered skin showed beneath.

“They all have done marvelous works for the greater good. Cressida’s work was especially exquisite. Creatures that feel nothing. Think nothing. Nearly impossible to kill—perfection,” she cackled, stepping away from the others. Breathing became difficult as the weight of what they said settled heavily on me.