Page 116 of The Reaping Rose

For now.

“Soldiers spotted a siren on the beach. She had a message for us.” Darvel frowns, angling his chin toward the tent behind him.

Rior and I follow Darvel to the tent, and when he peels back the flaps, the thick reek of death hits my senses. Saltwater and rot.

A siren lies lifeless on a cot to one side, but the tent is filled with bodies. Soldiers are stacked one on top of the other as they’ve run out of places to put them.

Sickness churns in my stomach.

My people.

My kingdom.

Piled in front of me as a sick reminder of how much has been lost. Worse, how much we’re still bound to lose.

Darvel leads me through the narrow path of flesh and limbs, stopping at the siren. Her moss-green hair is braided tightly to her scalp. It’s wet and matted to her neck and shoulders. Her pink skin is scaly below her belly button, and inky-black veins run all over her body.

“What happened to her?”

“We don’t know.” Darvel brushes his hair back. “We found her like this. She said something split open at the bottom of the sea, and she barely managed to escape.”

“Sirens don’t come to us for help.”

Darvel meets my gaze, reading my thoughts. If the mercreatures are in fact fearing what is happening at sea, that can only mean one thing: the Well has reached deep below the surface of the realm.

“She said something before she died.” Darvel waves over a warrior standing by the entry to the tent. “Repeat it for us.”

“She said the Well is changing.” The warrior scratches the back of his neck, his gaze moving to the siren, his face paling. “She said when it came for them and split open, it was not darkness that came out. But light.”

“Light?” My eyebrows pinch.

The warrior shakes his head, doubting it himself. “She was half dead when we found her. She might not have remembered it correctly. But she said it wasn’t creatures that attacked. That in the shadows, there were veins of light crawling out, reaching for her magic. She said those light veins are what stole from her and did this.”

He points to the black webbing on the siren’s pink skin.

“Veins of light,” Darvel repeats, meeting my gaze. “There’s only one Fae whose magic is described as such.”

“Malachi.” My teeth grit, and the warrior’s cheeks drain of all color. “Elorie said something similar when we were in Solace. That when she and Greer went into the darkness of the Well, they saw veins of light. Like his magic was threaded through it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“With a gods-touched object?” I rake my hair off my face, considering it. “Anything is possible. We know he intends to use the object to rebuild a realm. What else can it do? If he’s found a way to control the Well and drain magic himself, then he’s stronger than ever before.”

“Maybe your mate’s mission isn’t fruitless after all,” Rior grumbles beside me, and I narrow my gaze.

“It never was. So long as Malachi wields that orb, there won’t be an end to what we’re already seeing.”

Shouts come from outside the tent, and we rush to the commotion. A dark storm brews on the sea’s horizon. Shadows swirl, caving in on themselves as they roll like a second set of waves over the water.

“Incoming,” Darvel shouts, stepping forward. “Front lines in place, now.”

The army splits, half pulling back, while others form a line along the beach. The shouts continue so far down the sand that I can no longer hear them after a while.

Darvel frowns when I step to his side. “You should get back just in case.”

“I should,” I agree, knowing the risks now are not the same as they once were.

But I refuse to be a king who stands behind a wall of flesh, watching my people die.