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“Why would he want a breeding female?” he growled.
Elwyn’s eyes widened and he rapidly tapped Raskyuil’s hand until he released him. He dragged a long, wheezing breath, sputtering as he spoke.
“The sacrifice. If he is sacrificing younglings at all, a breeding female would be potent.”
Raskyuil stumbled back, anguish and shock freezing his heart within him. If Nathiel had MaryAnne, he couldn’t waste any more time searching the carnival.
“Where is he likely to be if he’s not on the grounds?” he demanded, his voice carrying in a loud, resonating growl.
“The grove,” a voice hesitantly interrupted, and Raskyuil’s head whipped around to stare at a familiar oread who gave him a pained smile. “He often talks about his grove on the island. I think he does it to impress us because we are nymphs and he’s out to prove a point that he doesn’t need a nymph for settling into his own grove, even though we’ve told him it’s not possible. If he’s anywhere, it would be there.”
His jaw tightened. “But with the right magic—”
“It can twist it,” Elwyn muttered. He groaned aloud. “He’s been doing it for years with none the wiser, and now I’ve finally handed him exactly what he needed to not only cause irreversible damage here but also soaking this land with yet more blood.”
“There’s something else you should know, Lord Elwyn,” an aelf hesitantly interrupted. The male was one of Elwyn’s entourage, but he looked sickly and drawn. “We have a problem.”
“Speak already,” Elwyn commanded imperiously.
“F-Ferin is dead,” the male stammered. Raskyuil recognized that name. It was one of the senior members of Elwyn’s private staff. “He was just found attached to the accumulator, his flesh pierced and woven into the system, b-but his heart is gone.”
“Blessed Ones,” Elwyn rasped faintly as he reached absently for his chair and dropped into it.
Raskyuil shook with fury as he turned to the oread. “Who knows the way to the grove?”
“I think one of the harpies may,” the female replied nervously. “Are we to fight?”
He gave her a look of careful consideration, noting that, not unlike his mate, she was of a small, delicate build. “Those who wish to fight, we leave now. Those who do not may remain with no less considered of them,” he assured her.
She nodded. “I shall spread the word.”
His brow raised. “Can you do so quickly?”
A mocking laugh escaped her. “Sir, you’ve clearly never seen an oread run. You will now see why we are so favored by the goddess of the chase.”
Raskyuil removed his ax from his harness, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It felt good. It reminded him of his purpose—to protect and not just simply survive. He hadn’t been doing much of that in his wretched wandering. He swung its heft as he stalked toward the bridge.
Despite the protest from the carnival, and the creatures that had sprung from the fog to attack them, it had taken little time to walk the short distance. The road to the other towns along the bend split before reaching the first of the towns, the left fork curving sharply toward the water. The fog rose thicker than ever there, spilling across the banks and the bridge alike. He couldn’t even see the water, much less the island at the other side of the wooden bridge no matter how hard he stared.
The sounds of shrieks overhead had him tipping his head back to glance up at the harpies and siren soaring overhead, their wings spread wide to catch the currents of air. Everyone stiffened at that call, bristling. Something bellowed from the sea, and water sprayed up and over them. A naiad screamed in challenge, and at Raskyuil’s roar, the fae converged upon the bridge.
Those who fought from the air dive bombed anything that tried to attack them from the water even as the naiads, nereids, the nagini, and various water fae jumped into the waves, rushing forward, attacking any foul creature that rose from the waters. Their shrieks were deafening, and Raskyuil tried not to think of how many more were out there dying as he led the charge over the bridge with Barok and his kin at one side and, shockingly, Elwyn and his aelves at his other.
Magic exploded in brilliant bursts and showers of light. as they collided with blade, spell, and claw. The vortex of magic shrieked as it continued to expand out from the carnival, bending young saplings with its power as it raged with unfulfilled hunger. The air whipped all around them in response to it, lending chaos with its frenzy as the fog curled and spun on itself. Raskyuil summoned his fire to his hand, gathering it and breathing power into it. He fed it with his rage until it rapidly grew to a size where he could lob it with one hand while swinging his ax with the other, felling the creatures that attacked. Blood splattered him, coating his flesh with the gore of the monstrosities and the scent of burning flesh and hair filled his nose. Humans who staggered forward in a rushed attack also fell to his ax, their eyes vacant and saliva running from their gaping mouths. His eyes fell upon a male staring sightlessly at the sky and his lips twisted with regret. He got no pleasure from driving his ax through him. He only hoped that he brought the unfortunate male some semblance of peace.
The sounds of battle and the stench of death and blood filled the air as they fought for every inch, crossing over the bridge and onto the island. But Raskyuil pushed mercilessly forward, his flames dancing and his ax swinging, he gained ground. He dripped with blood and unidentifiable gore as the last of beasts fell before him, its innards spilling from it. His ax was black with its filth, its weight heavy and comfortable in his hand. His dark hair whipped around him, the loose strands and braids slick from the sprays of blood.
Triumph filled him. Everywhere he looked, fae stood, battle-exhausted but victorious as the foul creatures lay broken on the ground before them, rivers of blood seeping into the earth—a bloody sacrifice to the earth mother, and to the dark-veiled maiden of the harvest and the torn prince, gore and blood drenched the ground entirely. The vortex shrieked and grew as it too consumed its part of the terrible feast. At a short distance to his left, Elwyn tipped his head, listening to its moans and shuddered. That would be another reckoning to come but it would be all Elwyn’s as the monstrous carnival’s sire. For now, they had the high ground and were victorious.
Turning to the others, he raised his ax victoriously but paused when he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. His eyes shot to Barok as the ground split all around him, dirt crumbling away as a wyrm stretched above him. Its massive mouth opened wide before it descended and claimed him with one bite as it crashed back into the earth, attempting to take him with it.
ChapterForty-Eight
MaryAnne eyed Nathiel as the dryad paused by one small gap within the trees to tip his head back and speak quietly to the crow settled there among the branches. With small movements, she tugged on her bindings, working at them with her fingernails until she felt them begin to tear and rip. It was obvious that he hadn’t thought this kidnapping thing out very well or he wouldn’t have killed the one person who would have known her bonds were weakening and would have repaired them immediately.
Oh well. His loss, her gain—because she was getting the fuck out of there.
She wiggled harder, her breath catching with excitement when it gave another good inch. Just a little more and she would be able to tear herself free while he was distracted. She didn’t know what was wrong with her kids, or any of them. They hadn’t moved the entire time she’d been there. Their small bodies barely breathing from what she could tell. Surely there was someone within the carnival who knew a little something about medicine. Her narrow knowledge did not cover fae-caused problems as this doubtlessly was. He’d all but spelled out the fact that he had used magic to force them from their bodies and out into the carnival.
