Page 134 of Ashen Wings

The color drains from her lips as she dies with my blade in her gut.

I pull it free with a slick, suctioning sound that churns my stomach, but I refuse to look away.

I force myself to watch the life leave her, to remember exactly what fate she chose.

The silence that follows isn’t one of peace. It’s a rage that burrows through my ribs like a living, clawing thing. I rise slowly, every muscle trembling, not from exhaustion, but from the tidal wave of fury, devouring the grief before it can drown me.

One done. One to go.

53

Aslow, amused clap pitches behind me. “King Ashborne’s bitch is far more rabid than I ever imagined.”

I don’t give Samkiel the opportunity to start in on some bullshit monologue before raising my blade and charging him.

He’s faster than I remember, but the rage fueling every step makes me quicker. His eyes flare in surprise as I close the distance, steel begging for his throat. A soldier intercepts, ramming his shield between us, and my blade scrapes across metal in a shriek of sparks.

I snarl and bare downward, severing his arm from the shield like it’s nothing more than a rotten stump. Maybe my training with Isra is paying off after all. The look of shock flashing in the young soldier’s eyes mirror my own, then he falls to my godsdamned blade.

I leap over his lifeless body and swing for Samkiel again. Only to meet another wall of steel. Three, four, five soldiers rush me at once. I slash one across the jaw, pivoting to bury my boot in another’s sternum. Bone crunches on impact.

I spin and drive the point of my blade through the third’s ribcage, ripping it free in a hot, nauseating spray of blood.

A grin spreads over my lips.

Whether I’ve plunged into the darkness with no means of return, or I’m in shock, doesn’t matter as I hack and slice and carve through body after body to reach Samkiel. I barely feel the hits—numb to the elbow in my ribs, the fist across my cheekbone, even the sting of a knife slicing my bicep. Pain is noise at this point—irrelevant and meaningless.

All I can see is Samkiel’s head severed from his body. All I can taste is the scream from his lips when I carve out his eyes.

He watches me slaughter his men with a calm, detached interest, the guardian egg still tucked carelessly under one arm.

“Pathetic,” he sneers, “but entertaining, nonetheless. Tell me, little bitch, are you frothing at the mouth yet?”

“I’ll have your fucking head!” Bodies collide with mine from all sides. A spear catches my thigh. Boots jut into my spine. I fall to a knee, but swing my blade blindly, severing tendons, cleaving through armor. A soldier cries as he falls, tears mixing with the life streaming from his abdomen.

Another disarms me and my sword skids across the ash, but I pounce before he can raise his longsword. My fingers curl around his neck and clamp down like a vice.

His eyes bulge as he gapes and claws and scrapes against my hold, but I unleash a wicked laugh and squeeze tighter. With my thighs around his waist, I snap my weight to the side.

His neck cracks at an inhuman angle. Then he joins his fallen comrades in the heap of limbs, bones, and entrails I’ve left in my wake.

I retrieve his fallen blade. A small jolt of panic slips from the darkness. It’s heavy, but my muscles, stronger and unyielding from Isra’s training, hold steady. I wrap my two hands around the pommel and charge.

The next wave is coming and I fully intend to close the distance first. Using the torque of the blade to my advantage, I follow Isra’s footwork over and over again, imagining his presence beside me.

My arms burn. My lungs claw for air. My vision pulses at the edges. Still I fight—guttural, nightmarish, and greedy for blood. Bodies fall. My steel cuts through bone. The warm breath of dying men rushes against my face.

If Finnick could see me now…I’ve definitely surpassed the seventeen casualty record back where this all started, and I’m a glutton for more.

Someone’s blade slices down my ribs. A fist drives into my abdomen so hard I gag. Another slams his shield into my spine. There’s a crack, then agony throughout my body.

My knees hit the ground.

“Nice try, Nova Lindwen…” Samkiel flashes his teeth at me.

No, I refuse this fate. If I have to hack my way through a whole fucking army, I will. If this is my last moment on Earth, I’ll fight until my skin shreds raw and my muscles fail. I tell myself it’s to protect the continent. To reunite the guardian with its rider.

But I’d be a fucking liar.