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“Are you quite done?”
It wasn’t a voice, because beasts didn’t have voices. But neither was it a growl. Maybe it spoke directly into our minds, some bastard cousin of the lost ethereal magic.
Veyka and I both lifted our weapons, exchanging a silent look. Waiting would only raise our anxiety, make us sloppy. Best to attack whatever the challenge was directly.
“Yes,” Veyka said, voice sharp as her blades.
The image of the creature in the mirror rippled.
The reflective glass pane of the mirror was gone. The creature leapt free, a mass of fangs and claws and death. I didn’t hesitate, shifting into the snarling beast within me. That beast of bloodshed had time for one growl in Veyka’s direction, one command that only she would hear.
Go.
81
VEYKA
Go.
One word was all Arran’s beast could manage as it fought the ever-changing monster. First a darkling, with clawed feet and hands, a beast that stood on two feet and could kill with the cunning of a fae, but the brutality of an animal. Just as Arran got his fangs around its throat, it shifted. Now a long, deadly serpent, with glowing red eyes and sharp spines that promised poison.
I couldn’t let him die, I couldn’t leave him here alone, not knowing—
He is the most powerful fae in thousands of years.
I am nothing.
I can’t do this.
Another flash of light, and a harpy replaced the snake, beating wings filling the room and knocking Arran to the side. But he was up before the harpy’s talons could slash, his teeth aiming for those wings, recognizing them as the creature’s weakness.
I didn’t let myself look back to see how much of the blood I could scent belonged to Arran. He was ready to bleed and die for this, for me. I could not be a coward.
I forced myself up the stairs, each step painful and labored. My muscles ached from the battle in the palace, from watching my friends fall as we fought our way up this blasted tower.
Don’t stop.
I could see the landing ahead, light around the curving wall.
Don’t stop.
I was so very close to finally finishing, to dousing the burning rage for vengeance that Arthur’s death had lit within my gut. I pushed the fear aside, let that flame of vengeance consume it until there was nothing but determination.
If this was how I died, then at least I was not alone.
I stood on the precipice, looking into my own doom.
But my friends were with me still.
I could feel the heat of Lyrena’s fire at my back, blocking the way behind me. Gwen’s last roar still rang in my sensitive fae ears. I could only pray to the Ancestors that someone would hear Parys’ clever laugh again.
Arran—I could not think it.
I pressed my thumb hard against the ring Arran had slipped on my finger. Let me go to my destiny with the etchings pressed into my skin. So that we might be together, if only in death.
Death and terror had been wrought upon my kingdom.
But I could make it stop.
