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I didn’t see them land, because Purple Hair was protecting me with her body. But I felt the hot wind blow past, strong enough to slam us back into the ground again. And then Caedmon was up and Efridis was facing him alone, because Alfhild was nowhere to be seen.
And then, a second later, neither was Efridis.
“Fuck me,” Purple Hair whispered. “I thought they made that shit up for the movies.”
“Guess not,” I said, as we watched Efridis decide on the better part of valor, take a running jump for the opening of the cave, and be caught halfway through her fall by a giant freaking eagle.
Well, she always did like birds.
They soared off, leaving us with only a large army of approaching stone giants and a murderous fey king to deal with.
“We can’t let Aeslinn have the bones!” Caedmon said, rounding on me.
“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do?” Purple Hair said, gesturing savagely with her free arm. “Those things are gonna be here any minute!”
“Burn them,” I said, and for some reason, I felt Dorina jerk.
But Caedmon was nodding. “Some of our people used to burn the dead, saying it sped up the process, and allowed them to reincarnate more quickly.” He glanced around. “I think these have waited long enough.”
“So have we! Let’s go!” Purple Hair yelled, and grabbed a grenade.
Caedmon shoved the crates of weapons over by the biggest piles of bones, and then gently picked up Louis-Cesare. We ran for the door, while behind us an army crashed through the entrance to the cave, obliterating it.
Only to be obliterated themselves, a moment later—at least, I assumed so. Because Purple Hair threw that grenade like a World Series pitcher in the ninth inning. And the last thing I saw before the portal grabbed us was an explosion of light brighter than anything Efridis had ever put out.
And then we were gone.
Chapter Sixty-one
I woke up in a familiar bed with a familiar guy. Louis-Cesare was sprawled next to me, wearing a lot of bandages and no clothes. I smiled at him, even though it made my cheeks ache. “We have to stop meeting like this,” I whispered, and put a hand on his chest.
And felt him flinch.
I was still half-asleep, and groggy. The residuals of some of Claire’s hideous concoctions hung in the air, which probably explained why. Or the pain that was slivering through them anyway, from my nonexistent leg, like someone was poking at it with shards of glass.
I’d heard of phantom limb pain, but had never had a chance to experience it before. It was possibly the only pain I hadn’t previously experienced. Do I shout bingo? I wondered blearily, and sat up.
And found myself staring at a perfectly good, if seriously bruised and battered, left leg.
“What the shit fuck!”
I almost fell out of bed.
Louis-Cesare grabbed me, just in time, and hauled me back to the bed’s center. Which left me half underneath him, not that I minded. But I still didn’t know—
“What the hell is going on?”
He licked his lips nervously. For someone as naturally—let’s be kind and say confident—as him, it was a strange sight. “They found your leg.”
“I see that.”
“Mircea reattached it.”
“That was good of him.” Considering that I lost it on senatorial business, and the Senate didn’t have a medical plan. I glanced downward again, although I couldn’t see anything, having a rather large amount of naked vampire in the way. “Is it . . . likely to stay that way?”
“He thinks so. He is hoping there is no lasting nerve damage. He is having a specialist brought in from Paris to make certain.”
“That’s good.”
