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“—behind me, Elina.” His voice reached her, barely louder than the demon’s hiss. Troll must be almost on top of the shard but she did not spare a glance to see. “That loose skin on its sides. It will—”
Jump, diving toward them with legs and arms outspread, claws gleaming.
With a full twist of her body, Elina swung the dangling axe. It whipped upward in an arc the length of the chain.
The blade bit deep into the demon’s left head, knocking it out of its dive and sending it spinning—and yanking Elina by her arm from the saddle.
Her startled scream was blown from her lungs when she hit the ground, stunned. Barely did she hear Warrick’s snarled, “You are mine, fiend!” before the pain of the impact walloped her belly and chest. She gasped for air and lifted her head just as the straining pull on her arm went slack.
The demon was…gone. The chain around her wrist led to her axe, which lay in the silt, the blade stained with blue blood.
Wheezing, she got to her knees. Her gaze searched the cliffs. But where…?
Silt suddenly flew in a wide arc past her. Then there was Warrick, his warmth passing through her flesh—followed by a cold slithering that left her gagging and coughing.
But she understood now. He’d claimed the demon as his…and it had vanished, as did everything of Warrick’s. Then their battle had carried them both through her.
Blue blood splashed the cliff wall.
She scrambled for the shard.
“Your Highness!” a familiar voice shouted.
Astonishment whipped her around. Serjeant Iarthil approached at a gallop, unslinging his crossbow from his back. His gaze was fixed beyond her—on the fight she could not see.
He lifted the weapon to his shoulder but did not fire. His brow furrowed. “Is it dead?”
Another squelch of blood painted the ground. “It is now. Is this the only fiend my queen wishes for me to kill?”
She found the shard, brushed away the dirt from its mirrored face—taking that brief moment to consider. No question whether she would ask Warrick to kill the serjeant—she would not. Yet what did she wish to do?
Once, it had been never to see the serjeant again. Yet he’d come anyway. And though everything within her screamed not to acknowledge him, to simply walk away…well, had she not learned her lesson? Perhaps the serjeant had reasons for his actions that were not meant as a betrayal. She could at least listen. That did not mean she would trust him.
“What is this?” Serjeant Iarthil stood over the demon she could not see, nudging it with his foot.
“Most likely what my uncle has wrought.” When the serjeant frowned, as if not understanding, Elina huffed out a breath. “Surely you recall passing through Scalewood as we journeyed to Kael the Conqueror’s four kingdoms? There were demons such as this there.” And she’d been utterly terrified—her entire retinue had been—as they’d traveled through the forest with only invisible wards to protect them from the monsters and demons inhabiting the woods. “The spellcasters in Ivermere flagrantly and frivolously used their corrupted magic, and the result was Scalewood. Now my uncle casts his spells flagrantly and frivolously. This valley might very well be our Scalewood now.”
And would be another explanation for why no one was here. She’d thought her uncle had begun to hoard the gems—which he might also be doing—but such demons would keep people away.
“It did not happen so quickly in Scalewood,” the serjeant said.
“Mayhap it happened more quickly here because it already did there.”
“We cannot know, can we? And it is not what concerns me now.” Elina fixed a pointed stare at her man-at-arms. “I gave orders for you to lead the others back to Aleron. Yet I do not see them behind you. Why have you come?”
“My duty to you—”
“No!” she said sharply. “Your duty to me was to lead the others. Yet you are here. Why?”
His jaw clenched. “My vow—”
“Was made to another. Whom do you serve, Serjeant? My dead mother or your living queen?”
“My honor demands that I protect you,” he said quietly.
“So you serve yourself, not me.”
“My vow is not to serve you but to keep you safe.” His gaze fell to her hand. “I had heard that you no longer wear the rings. Yet you are well. You had been poisoned, not cursed?”
“Did you not believe what I had written?”
“You might have been coerced to write it.” His gaze flicked over her shoulder, where she could feel Warrick’s warmth as he stood behind her. “So that he could persuade you to leave us and travel to Galoth.”
“The realm of bandits and warlords.” She smiled bitterly. “You lied to uphold your vow to keep me away from Aleron.”
His brow furrowed. “Never did I make such a vow. Only to keep you safe.”
“Lady Faraine—”
“Betrayed you. I would not, my queen. Your mother only wished us to wait until someone took it upon themselves to kill Soren, as she was certain would happen. Then you were to return to reclaim your throne.”
