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But she was already surrounded by shadow, cleaving through cords of onyx with Naarvian steel, fighting her way to the source as another of the princess’ screams pierced the forest. At her approach, the wraiths’ attention snapped up. Tendrils of obsidian lashed out at her, and she answered them with her blades, the wraiths hissing in protest as they stalked towards her, circling her.
Thea didn’t think of how she was to fight all three, didn’t think of anything except for the princess who was sobbing inside the carriage.
She raised her blades against the monsters born of shadow and malice, just as Hawthorne had taught her, and Talemir Starling had taught him before. With perfect balance and timing, she wielded the two shimmering swords, the blades singing a battle hymn as they carved through the air and then through the arm of the first wraith, its screech utterly blood-curdling.
A talon swiped across the front of her armour, the impact sending her sprawling back, but she maintained her footing, lunging at her attacker, her swords slicing through muscles and tendons, black blood spraying. She parried another deadlystrike of shadow, her blade piercing another limb before she was viciously thrown through the air, hitting a tree.
She rasped, the wind knocked out of her as she staggered to her feet, blinking in a daze at the three shadow wraiths still swarming the royal carriage, still eyeing her with brutal intent. The great swords in her hands were heavier than she recalled, for she had wielded them against worse than this and won. What was different now?
‘Thea! For Furies’ sake.’ Hawthorne rushed to her side. ‘Set me loose. Let me fight.’
She tasted iron, and felt a trickle of blood escape the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
‘No,’ she said, throwing herself back at the wraiths. The last time he’d been loose around these creatures, Hawthorne had betrayed the entire midrealms. She’d be damned if that happened on her watch again, not with Princess Jasira so vulnerable amid it all.
The monsters blocked out the morning sun in a wave of shadow.
Thea heard Cal and Kipp’s shouts from beyond the darkness, but she narrowed her focus on the wraiths, brandishing her swords, slicing through the lashing power and severing a taloned hand, the limb rolling across the ground with a thud. Undeterred by the onslaught, she countered their attacks with a quick barrage of slashes and parries, her steel carving arcs of what should have been utter devastation through the midnight around her —
But the wraiths evaded her, their shadows whipping at her no matter how fast her footwork, no matter her unwavering focus.
Something is different, she realised, panting.
She was losing.
So she did what came naturally to her. She looked inward, to her storm power, clawing at the place it had once been inside her.
It did not come. She had no magic at her fingertips, no lightning to spear them with —
Suddenly, a powerful hand lifted one of the swords from her grasp, the steel glimmering in the broken light.
Hawthorne.
Unbound, the alchemy-treated manacles discarded by his feet.
And Kipp, standing by his side, key in hand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WILDER
There was nothing like the weight of steel in hand to ground a warrior amid unyielding darkness. Gripping his sword, Wilder Hawthorne planted his feet apart, taking his place at Thea’s side, where he belonged.
The look of betrayal on her face was fleeting as she flung herself back into the fight. Despite the blows she’d dealt, all three wraiths prevailed, their sinewy bodies twisting, contorting along with their shadows. They hissed viciously in his direction, sniffing through the slits in their faces, scenting the Furies-given power on him.
The first monster lunged and Wilder met its talons with a resounding clash, his Naarvian steel singing through the icy air, cutting through the darkness with swift precision. If he could immobilise them, Thea could carve out their hearts. They had done so before in the woods outside of Tver, as a team.
He shielded his mind against the lashes of onyx power that threatened to bring his worst memories to the surface and delivered a flurry of attacks, slicing through the veil of darknessthat enveloped the road and the surrounding forest, ignoring the screams of despair that sounded from the royal carriage.
Amid the symphony of steel and shadow he could feel Thea fighting alongside him, whirling his second blade against the treacherous creatures, fighting back the tendrils, forcing her way to the heart of the fray.
Wilder followed her, as he always would. Their blades swept in radiant arcs of silver against the waves of obsidian, the wraiths hissing and recoiling, only to strike out again. Wilder spun on his heel, pivoting to deliver a powerful overhead swipe that shattered the inky essence around them, creating a window for Thea, who sliced through the outer defences. At last, the opportune moment presented itself and Wilder feinted right, thrusting his blade up in between one of the monster’s ribs. Thea was there in an instant, leaping upon the falling body, her dagger already carving through the creature’s torso to its heart. Shadows flickered as she wrenched the bloody, still-pulsing mass from the chest cavity.
But Wilder didn’t stop. He channelled all his strength into another devastating slash and was rewarded with a cascade of hot, black blood hitting his front. With his free hand, he punched through the wraith’s torso and closed his fist around its throbbing heart, tearing it directly from its body.
The beast screamed. High-pitched and ear-piercing.
Wilder tossed its heart to the ground and turned to the final wraith, whose shadows still clawed at the carriage.
