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Thea advanced, blood leaking from her nose, looking every bit the warrior he’d come to know she was. But something wasn’t right. He had seen her take on this many monsters before with less effort, with less of her own blood spilt.
His gaze lingered on her a fraction too long, long enough for a cord of shadow to strike with teeth-rattling intensity, slamming him onto the road, sending him rolling across the gritty surface.The gravel and ice scraped at his exposed flesh and tore at his clothes —
‘Wilder!’ Thea screamed.
The wraith was upon him, pinning him to the ground, ribbons of darkness lashing at him, drawing his worst fears, his most traumatic experiences to the forefront of his mind, so that they started to take shape before him.
Gods, these wraiths were strong. Stronger than those he’d fought before. They almost held the full power of a reaper. He tried to pull his sword arm back so he could thrust his blade into the monster, but he was beneath the full weight of the creature now, its dark tendrils locking him in place, its shadows creeping closer and closer to his face, and to his heart. He closed his eyes with the force of his effort, trying to hold the attack off with his bloodied hands —
A high-pitched screech pierced the air, an agonised wail that nearly burst Wilder’s eardrums and sent an icy shiver down his spine.
His eyes flew open to see the tip of his own sword protruding from the wraith’s chest, and Thea standing in its wake.
The grip of the shadows weakened and a flash of silver blurred in his vision. Suddenly he had Malik’s dagger in his hand, had caught it by reflex as Thea had thrown it to him.
Without thinking, he palmed the dagger and lunged for the incapacitated creature, piercing flesh, muscle and bone as he sliced through its front, digging deep with the blade to get to its heart.
The overwhelming scent of burnt hair and blood filled his nostrils, but Wilder didn’t stop until he tore the wraith’s heart from its body and flung it across the blackened snow.
Panting, he watched as the swirling masses of shadow disintegrated, leaving behind mutilated corpses and mangled monster hearts.
‘Princess!’
Thea’s voice carved through the chaos, and Wilder suddenly remembered why they were there in the first place.
Princess Jasira was in that carriage.
Still clutching Thea’s dagger, he sprang to his feet, rushing towards the carriage, where Thea was already breaking the door open.
The young princess fell into her arms, sobbing.
‘I thought…’ she gasped. ‘I thought I was going to die.’
‘I would never let that happen,’ Thea vowed, holding the princess upright.
For a second, it hit Wilder: a princess of Delmira had saved the Princess of Harenth, but no one would ever know it, except him, and —
He whirled around, scanning the roadside. Where were Cal and Kipp? He remembered their shouts at some point during the battle, but they had never made it past the initial shadows, had they?
At last, he spotted them beneath a towering oak. Cal knelt before Kipp, who was hunched over his knees, head hung to his chest. With Thea occupied by Jasira, Wilder jogged over to them.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked the pair.
‘He’ll live,’ Cal replied, with forced lightness, Wilder noted.
He surveyed Kipp. He couldn’t see any blood, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an internal injury. ‘What happened?’
‘Our swords do fuck all against those shadowy bastards,’ Kipp grumbled. ‘The big one got in a swipe at me. I ended up in the damn canopy.’ He was holding his ribs.
‘Anything broken?’ Wilder demanded.
‘You mean besides my pride?’
‘Didn’t know you had any of that,’ Wilder quipped, gripping the lad’s shoulder gently.
Kipp half laughed before he gasped in pain. ‘Didn’t know you made jokes.’
‘Who said I was joking?’
