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Beasts came. Beasts I’d seen in my nightmares. Terrestrial fae, outcast from Annwyn from one reason or another. I didn’t need to recognize their faces to know their kind—unruly, vicious. Unable to be trained into an army unit. Spurned by their families. Bears and panthers, I met in that clearing. Ripping them to shreds until the grass ran with blood.
Cyara met the hawks, the birds of prey. She caught them between her claws, tore them with her beak. She was a monster, high above the ground.
The starling circled lower.
Percival was gone—his sister with him. I’d hunt them down, later. Distribute justice.
But first, this. First, death.
The soldiers knit together, shields up. Approaching me in a solid wall. As if I couldn’t leap well beyond their lines. Eat them alive from their flank.
But I never got the chance. A flash of white—Veyka.
The line fell, one by one. She cut through them from behind, just as I would have done. By the time one realized the man beside him had fallen, she was already sliding her dagger between their ribs. Humans were easy to kill, and she wasted no time. No need for beheadings here. These were simple, weak humans. They died like it, too.
The line fell. Not a single human left standing.
A second of reprieve.
Where is Lyrena?Veyka cried through our bond, even as she repositioned herself, ready for the next attack.
My beast rolled his head, throwing his snout back toward the water’s edge. Isolde had dragged Lyrena off to the side. Stood over her, throwing her white flames out like spears. She was keeping them at bay, if only just.
And beyond… Morgyn le Fae.
Floating on the mist—watching it all.
Avalon is neutral.
I roared and sprang for the next fae that dared get too close.
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VEYKA
There were too many of them, not enough of us battling. Arran’s beast was fast, brutal. The humans were easy to fell. The fae were harder. Isolde could barely keep Lyrena safe. Was Lyrena even alive?
No—I cannot think like that.
If I do, I will die. We will all die.
Far above our heads, Gorlois circled.
The starling.
I’d never suspected. I’d never seen him use magic—he hadn’t needed to. My mother was a perfectly capable captor all on her own. But I’d assumed he was an elemental. How could a terrestrial dwell at the elemental court for centuries without anyone suspecting?
All those years of torture, they’d been trying to get magic to take root within me. I’d thought it was because I was an embarrassment, a liability. But it was more than that… they’d wanted my power. Why? Why did they want the void? What did they need it for?
The battle was dragging on. For every fae I killed, another sprang up to fight me. It was just Arran and me on the ground, Cyara in the air. It wasn’t enough.
But Gorlois didn’t want me dead.
What did he want?
I had to get him down, somehow. Back into his fae form. I tried to reach for Arran, to communicate with his beast. But he was too far gone, sunk too deep into that feral part of him for me to reach.
A fire-wielder threw out a spear of flame. I stepped through the void, dragging my dagger over his neck. Another tried to shove water down my throat. But I’d already disappeared before she could try and drown me from the inside out. I sliced her hand away, then her head.
