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Juliana slid. She plunged Briarsong into his back, holding herself in place as he flapped desperately, sagging against the piling weight of the snow and his own mangled wing. The world turned upside down. Juliana glanced desperately through the fallen debris, searching for way out, a passage to safety—
A ledge opened up ahead of her.
She pulled out her sword and ran, hurtling along the length of Ladrien’s body, flinging herself into the air—
She missed by a few short inches, and the entire world narrowed as she fell, weightless and weighty, down, down—
Something wrapped around her, slowing her descent. A dozen warm vines, cushioning her fall, hugging her limbs, pulling her out of the way of the snowfall, down the mountain, slowly, carefully, all the way to the quiet, undisturbed gardens as the snow slowed and steadied.
Juliana’s heart took an age to still. The grounds took even longer. Ladrien’s massive body twitched beneath the avalanche, his shredded wing bent and broken. As she watched, it shrank away entirely.
The vines pressed Briarsong into her hand, and hovered there, like a hand helping her up.
She climbed shakily to her feet, as the King of Unseelie crawled out of the snow.
One of his horns was missing. His left wing looked broken beyond any repair. He was breathing hard, his chest bruised—ribs likely broken.
He made no motion to move as Juliana approached, and raised her sword to his neck. “Call off your forces, or I will run you through.”
“The curse won’t end with my death, girl. It will still stand for a hundred years.”
Juliana was still sure she could wake Hawthorn, but if she couldn’t, if there was even a chance… “Then yield, faerie,” she warned, “before I take my chances.”
Ladrien raised his hand, wincing, and clicked his fingers. The sluaghs circling overhead stopped their assault on Miriam and the others, and slid away into shadows. The trolls and ogres looked up, awaiting instruction. “Stand down,” he told them. “Stand down.”
Juliana glanced at her allies, all relatively unscathed, and nodded at Miriam, who immediately started giving orders to round up Ladrien’s forces. Weapons were thrown down, but Juliana didn’t care to watch.
“It’s over,” she told Ladrien.
The Unseelie King shrugged. “As you say.”
Juliana began to run.
Itwasn’tuntilJulianareached Hawthorn’s side that she realised, in her haste, she’d forgotten to bring Serena. No matter, perhaps it might even be easier to tug him down than bring her up.
Even though she didn’t want to. Even though she was tempted to go back to Ladrien right now and demand he find another way to break the spell, because how was it fair that she had gone through all that not to be with him now?
Not all fairytales are fair,a voice reminded her, and she had to quash it for fear that it would mention tales cut short too soon, names she couldn't bear to hear… not right now.
Hawthorn lay on the bed, looking as perfect as she had ever seen him, arranged on the pillows, the vines twirling round him. She approached him slowly, carefully, as if she expected him to flicker away like candlelight.
She sat down on the mattress, sagging beneath her weight, and caressed his pale, beautiful cheek.
It should not be ending this way, but she did not know what else to do.
“Hawthorn,” she whispered, “can you hear me?”
She waited for a rustle of the vines, but it didn’t come. No matter, time was short. Her courage would wane before long, or Ladrien would figure out some new plan of attack.
“I don’t know what will happen after I wake you. I know that things cannot be as they were before, that it would not be fair to anyone. But I want you to know that whatever lies I’ve told you, and for however long you live… you were mine, once. And you will forever own a piece of this lying mortal heart of mine.”
She bent down, and placed a kiss to his still, frozen lips.
The last time,she told herself.Don’t entertain the idea again.
With poisonous reluctance, she stood up again, trying to calculate what to do now, all the endless, painful roads opening up ahead of her, free and consuming all at once.
“Juliana?” called a weak voice.
