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My feet hit solid ground and hands steady me. Then I’m looking into Truett’s silver eyes. “You’re safe now.”
I gasp, realizing I’m on the Bridge of Judgment, out of Jago’s grasp. Truett pushes me back, but I scuttle around him to peer over the edge to watch.
Amell lifts an arm, clenching his fist tight as if holding on to something. I can’t hear words, only the cries of dismay from the fae below.
“What’s happening?” I whisper.
“He’s taken away the ability to bend distance for those who can,” Truett says. “He’s not going to let any of them escape his wrath.”
“He’s mad they wanted out.”
Truett looks at me. “You don’t know much, do you, human? He’s furious they took you. He’s vengeful that they hurt you.”
I ignore the jab and gaze back down, but there’s no stopping the yelp of fear and amazement that pops out of my mouth as a massive wave from the river rises up, its edges frothing. I think Amell might have it sweep away the traitorous fae, but I soon realize that’s far too simple.
The wave twists and arcs and undulates, and as I watch, it takes shape. Wings form along with a massive body and a long neck.
A dragon made of lava and fire.
It flaps its wings hard, wafting currents of hot air toward us on the bridge as it lifts from the river. It flies higher and higher, sparks trailing in its wake, circling the castle as Amell holds the fae in place.
Cries requesting mercy ring out as the dragon aims its body downward, wings tucked to speed the descent. As it gets closer, the fae scream in terror. I clap my hand over my mouth, uncertain what it will do.
The dragon banks hard, swooping toward the horde of traitors. I expect fire to erupt from its mouth, but instead, it glides mere feet above them and just as it passes, its massive tail whips out and catches the entire horde, effortlessly sweeping them into the river.
It wheels around and lands on the black sand facing Amell, awaiting its next assignment.
The sacrifice to the torturous depths is so great, the resulting earthquake disrupts chunks of rock from the cavern ceiling high above the illusory midnight sky. It rains down around us, and Truett pulls me into him, covering my head with his arms as rocks bounce harmlessly off him.
When it stops, I glance back over the edge and am shocked to see Jago and Calix. They weren’t swept into the river but instead are on their knees before Amell.
Once again, things spin, the ground shifts under my feet, and it goes dark for a few seconds before I’m on the ground standing next to Amell. I wobble slightly but correct my balance, then jolt when I see his entire army that was on the bridge is now standing behind us.
It’s an impressive display of his power that he can move hundreds of fae in the blink of an eye, a message that should he be opposed again, he can quash the uprising with very little effort.
Amell moves to stand before Jago. “Where is Ariman?”
The fae glares back at his king, lips flattened in an expression that says he’s not saying anything.
Amell’s hand shoots out and clamps onto Jago’s scalp. I’m stunned when his fingertips press right into the top of his skull, and his muscles bulge as it appears he’s pulling it apart. Bright light streams from Jago’s head, and Amell examines it as his captive screams in agony.
“Interesting,” Amell mutters, pushing Jago away. He falls to the ground, holding his head and writhing in pain. But there’s no blood, and his skull appears intact. “I understand Jago’s motivations, but I’m curious, Calix,” Amell drawls as he moves to stand in front of the human cowering before him. “Why be a part of this?”
“I was serving Kymaris,” he cries, lifting his head so pitiful tears streak down his face.
“Kymaris is dead,” Amell points out. “So you weren’t serving her, but yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Your Most Benevolent and Gracious Omnipotence. Please… mercy. I beg of you.”
To my surprise, Amell’s regard turns to me. “Should I show mercy to Calix or Jago?”
The weight of his question scares me, and I back away, shaking my head. “Don’t ask me to make that decision.”
“Why not?” Amell’s eyes are tender but also brimming with vengeance. “They used you. They were going to throw you in that river no matter what.”
“No, my lord,” Calix wails. “We wouldn’t have.”
Jago manages to push himself back to his knees, although he keeps a hand pressed to the top of his head as if staving off a headache.
