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“Romeria! Stop!” Jarek shouts in the distance.
I could continue this forever, and yet I need to save some sliver of affinities to get us back to Ulysede. I relinquish my hold and the brilliant light dims, leaving me to survey the damage I’ve caused. Boaz is gone as if he never existed, but so is the thick foliage, the hedges, the trees, the statues. Nothing remains but a charred path at least twenty feet wide leading straight to the castle. I’ve razed a large swath of the royal garden.
Zorya drops to her knees beside Gesine. “Save her!” she demands, snapping the back of the arrow off and flipping the caster over. The pointed head protrudes from her chest. Her eyes are vacant.
“I can’t unless she has a pulse.” My voice cracks over the words.
Zorya presses her fingertips against Gesine’s neck. A pained cry of anguish erupts from the warrior’s lips a moment later, confirming what I already know.
Just like that, Gesine is gone.
“They’re coming.” Loth nods toward the castle. The blast of my affinities must have drawn attention. Guards spill out of the castle and rush toward us, the path cleared for them. There are at least twenty, with more dripping out of the doors, one at a time.
“I don’t think I have enough in me,” I warn. “Not to fight them and get us home.” What felt like an endless well inside is now hollow.
Zorya hops to her feet, drawing a second blade, her teeth bared. “I will give you a head start.” She swings both swords, preparing.
“We are not staying to fight,” Jarek barks. “You will die, and I am not losing another person today. Let’s go!”
The warrior doesn’t move.
“That’s an order, legionary!”
With a roar of discontent, Zorya sheathes her swords and hauls Gesine up over her shoulder. She rushes past, her teeth gritted. A streak of tears mars her cheek.
“Romeria! Run, or I will carry you,” Jarek warns.
My legs move of their own accord, and we take off in a sprint. Behind us, metal whistles and thuds to the ground, too close for comfort. I reach for Aoife’s thread to form a shield but I can’t seem to grasp it. Either it’s spent or I’m too distraught by the lifeless body ahead.
Another deafening screech from above has me ducking and I sense Caindra sweeping down.
All this just to end up eaten by a dragon.
The ground suddenly trembles and I stumble, falling.
Jarek dives to haul me back to my feet in a heartbeat. He checks over his shoulder. “Fates.”
I dare follow his gaze.
Caindra has landed in the charred strip, her massive body overtaking the royal garden, bending tree branches and hedges on either side. Shouts sound, but I can’t see anything past her.
My fingertips dig into Jarek’s forearms as my legs wobble under the ferocity of that stare. But she remains where she is, the finer details of her form hidden in the dusk.
“Why is she watching us like that?” I whisper.
“She’s blocking their path,” Jarek says. “She’s helping us get away.”
With a roar that makes me wince, as if she can hear and understand our words, Caindra swings her mammoth, spiked head toward the castle and opens her mouth. A stream of fire shoots from it.
“Go. Now!” Jarek has one arm around my waist, practically carrying me as we run the rest of the way to the nymphaeum. We’ve almost reached it when she emits another terrifying sound and launches herself back into the air.
I peer back at the empty space left. The guards who were there before are all gone. Jarek was right—she was helping us escape. If only she had gotten there before Boaz found us.
“Romeria, just a little more to get us home, okay?” Jarek coaxes my attention back to him, nodding toward the stone, his grip tight around me.
I manage to pull enough of my affinities to get us through the door.
Only when I touch Ulysede’s stone floor again do I allow myself to dissolve in tears.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
ZANDER
“The taillok will arrive at dawn with a message from Romeria, confirming all is well,” Elisaf assures me as we stroll through the officers’ quarters. Firelight and soft laughter surround us from all sides as soldiers attempt to shake the anxiety that gnaws at them, knowing this might be their last full night of life.
“I am sure you are right.” And yet I worry.
We pass by Abarrane’s tent, where Aziel and Drakon stand sentry outside, pretending not to listen to the heady sounds of coupling within, their hands gripping their pommels, ready to slay the other should there be any sign of treachery.
“How many gold coins do you owe me?” Elisaf whispers.
“It is you who owes me.” A more predictable commander, I have never met. “She must have low hopes for our success tomorrow.”
Elisaf’s humor vanishes. “She’s not the only one.”
