Power and the Dark Divide : Book Two, page 28
She considered for another moment, then broke into a mischievous grin. The dimples on her cheeks deepened, and Shamus suddenly felt the urge to kiss her—to cup her face in his hand and touch those lovely dimples. How would he contain himself if they were snuggled under his cloak together? Gods, he hadn’t thought this through.
“I’m in, Shamus Greentree. We’ll wait until midnight.”
He returned her grin.
Shamus was doing his best to contain his uneven breathing. He knew Lyra could feel his tension, the heat of him against her, though she hadn’t said anything. He burned like the hottest sun this close to her. She was clearly intelligent; he knew she knew what she did to him. He did take comfort in the fact that, at least on some level, the desire was reciprocated. Her sweet aroma, like honey and cinnamon, made it clear that she was attracted to him as well. But this connection felt like more than just attraction. Shamus wondered if she was considering the same thing he was—whether they could be mates.
As much as he usually tried to contain his emotions around her, they were in such close proximity now that there really was no use. Shamus was nestled awkwardly behind her, his cloak draped over both of them as they rode Miri. Lyra was considerably smaller than him, but her silver wings made for a bit of a challenge. Whatever she was thinking, she had at least agreed to come scout with him.
“Those wolves are massive,” she whispered as they approached the perimeter of the war camp.
Shamus could make out a few dozen oversized wolves near the spiked wooden fortifications outside the tents. Luckily, they were currently downwind from the creatures, so they hadn’t had to approach from the north. Miri’s magic kept them invisible, but they were both wary about how well these mutated wolves might scent things.
“I’ve never seen wolves like those before.”
“I have,” Shamus whispered back. “They were with the war band that sacked my village.” An image of Dren struggling to breathe flashed in his mind.
“I’m so sorry, Shamus,” Lyra said softly.
Shamus was holding up the cloak with one arm, but she grabbed his free wrist and brought it around her waist. It wasn’t easy, as she had to finagle his arm beneath her wing. His nerves turned to liquid as they settled and she patted his hand.
“We’ll make it right,” she promised.
His heart was thundering in his chest, but he managed to whisper, “Thank you, Lyra.” Keenly aware that she could feel every one of his stupidly obvious emotions, he nearly blurted out his undying love for her right then and there, but he bit his tongue.
“We’ll shred these abominable hybrids into tiny bits and feed them to the very beasts they’ve brought to devour us, and then they’ll all cower before the terrible might of Shamus and Lyra,” she went on.
Shamus nearly buried his face in her wing to stop himself from laughing. “That was—colorful,” he finally said, his grimness abating as he squeezed her waist tight. He would make this female his, one way or another.
She patted his hand again. “You’re welcome.”
They stopped talking once they made it to the outskirts of the camp, where Miri crept silently by the enemy wolves. Most were slumbering, but a handful were awake and alert, like guard dogs. Their red eyes cut through the night, searching for something to shred apart. Shamus noted with dread that they were a fair amount larger than the ones he had faced at Henrith. These ones were closer to Miri’s size. He shuddered, wondering how many more of these terrible beasts they had with the rest of the army. And the bears—he hadn’t forgotten about them…
Bit by bit, they crept around the war tents, looking for anything that might indicate a timeline for the arriving forces. Eldenroth soldiers patrolled the night and red-robed mages sat around small campfires, talking amongst themselves. After a few minutes of circumnavigating black-uniformed guards who had no idea they were there, Lyra spotted some mages around a table who appeared to be looking over maps and scrolls. Miri cautiously made her way to them.
The men appeared to be calculating supply necessities. Shamus, Lyra, and Miri watched them for a long time as they spoke of slaughtering innocent elves, of exterminating the fae people. Shamus had to remind himself to slow his breathing; he wanted to cut them down on the spot.
Eventually, the mages retired to their tents for the night and Miri crept up to the scrolls left out on the table. Shamus leaned out as far as he could from her back and bit back a gasp as he saw the anticipated troop calculations. These men were planning to coordinate supplies for a host of over fifty thousand troops. That was just the hybrids, not including the wolves and bears. And it appeared much of their calculations were factoring in an invasion of the forest as well. The documents detailed the extensive supplies the army would need. The plans indicated that the main host would be here in a little under two months.
He leaned out a little too far, and Lyra pulled him back with another soft pat to his hand. They sat there quietly for a few minutes, both scanning the scrolls and maps. Eventually, Shamus patted Miri on her neck. The saber cat turned to creep out of the camp—and froze.
Two giant wolves, silent as the wind, had snuck up on them. Dual sets of luminescent red eyes bore down on their invisible forms. How are they sensing us? Lyra’s earth magic must not have been concealing their scents sufficiently.
Miri took one silent step to the left, but a wolf lunged to the side, cutting her off. A growl ripped from its chest. Shamus glanced behind them; they were surrounded by tents full of sleeping mages and soldiers.
“What is it?” someone yelled from inside a tent.
Vix me. What could he do? Think, think. Shamus drew an arrow and prepared to launch it into one of the wolf’s eyes should they attack.
Both great wolves were growling now, scarlet eyes darting around. They couldn’t figure out what their senses were picking up. That meant they still had the advantage of invisibility, but how to get around them?
“Hey!” A mage emerged from a tent. “What do you smell?”
Shamus drew back his bowstring and was about to shoot, but Lyra halted him. He felt her shift under his cloak, and the earth started to shake. A sinkhole appeared before them.
The wolves were forced to bound away as the grassy ground beneath their feet gave out. They growled as the hole spread wider, even pulling the approaching mage into it. He wailed in terror as he was swallowed into the earth.
Miri leapt right over the sinkhole, a fifteen-foot stretch, landing deftly on the other side. Amid the commotion and the shuddering earth, they were able to slip away unnoticed. Shamus loosed a breath.
They were halfway to the tree line when Lyra whispered, “It’s exactly as the queen feared. These men are the great enemy from the seer’s visions. There can be no doubt now.”
“How can we possibly stand against fifty thousand men?” Shamus breathed. “Not to mention their beasts.”
Lyra shook her head. “I need to relay this information to the queen.”
“How? You’ve already sent your messengers.”
“Remember the queen’s messaging spell?” Shamus nodded. “I wasn’t entirely straightforward before. Xerelda actually gave me one of my own. We can send it when we get—”
She was cut off as a glowing green arrow burst from beneath Shamus’s collarbone and jammed into her shoulder.
Shamus gasped in horror and pain. The arrow was somehow acidic; it felt like it was melting his flesh. Something lashed around his throat and he reared back, pulling the tip of the arrow from Lyra’s shoulder. An instant later, he was violently wrenched off Miri’s back with such force he was shocked his neck didn’t snap.
“Shamus!” Lyra screamed at the top of her lungs.
A terrible growl erupted from Miri. She and Lyra blinked into visibility, and they turned and bounded after him.
Shamus was being pulled along the rough ground at an extraordinary rate by some kind of oily leather whip. He dug his fingers into the coiled leather and pulled with all his might, to no avail. Gasping for breath, he frantically scrabbled for one of his kukris and started cutting at the whip. It was incredibly tough. Shamus sawed for his life—and came to a sudden halt, staring into the dead eyes of a crimson-robed mage.
The gaunt man had a mad twinkle in his eyes—jet black eyes that now peered over Shamus in hatred. How could he have seen them? This vicious human smiled with blackened teeth, magically tightening the rope around Shamus’s neck.
His chest burned where the poisonous barb protruded beneath his collarbone. Stars appeared in the corners of his vision. He didn’t have long before he’d lose consciousness. Summoning his strength, he kicked up with all his might and connected with the man square in the face.
The mage howled in pain as around ten soldiers appeared and grabbed Shamus, lifting him up as if he weighed no more than a youngling. Shamus tried to scream, but his air was completely cut off. He glimpsed giant wolves passing him, heading toward Miri’s growls and Lyra’s battle cries. At her command, shards of earth shot up around the soldiers as more mages joined the fray. They aimed torrents of red flame toward Lyra as the earth began to shake.
“Shamus!” she screamed again as the soldiers carried him back toward the camp.
A small yet violent battle was unfolding. Shamus was dimly aware of more elves rushing from the forest. Magics collided; arrows whined around him, some hitting the soldiers that carried him. His chest burned in agony as his vision darkened. He couldn’t breathe. The rope—
He had a vague sense of his arms and legs being tied, and finally, the choking pressure around his throat abated.
“There, there,” the head mage said softly. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out before the fun began, now, would we?”
Shamus’s back was blazing hot. Was it the poisoned arrow? No—as his blurry vision began to clear, he realized he was on a spit, restrained by his wrists and ankles, and hanging over a raging fire.
Animalistic fear drenched his entire body as the screams of his people came from the clash against the enemy forces. Shamus’s cloak caught fire just a few seconds later. Curling plumes of smoke wrapped around his body, choking him as more of his clothing ignited and he felt his flesh begin to sear. He roared in anger, hatred, and fear. He couldn’t move. He was being cooked alive.
At this moment of certain death, time seemed to slow. Shamus watched the embers rising from the flames that were greedily clawing for his body. He was burning. He watched as the glowing beads billowed into the night sky, like a hundred spinning fireflies desperately racing for the star-stream above. But he also heard a great screeching caw. There was a flash of green and silver wings.
He glimpsed Lyra Mistwood, in all her mystical beauty, land in the middle of a mass of soldiers and mages next to her giant owl familiar. The earth shuddered in violent waves as she summoned her magic. Bodies were crushed under the weight of a massive earthen maw. She turned the world upside down, at least from her enemies’ perspective. The unforgiving soil swallowed nearly all of Shamus’s captors, including the blind mage and two wolves.
As the mighty female unleashed her magical wrath, talons snatched up Shamus, along with the spit itself. Was he flying? He was blacking out. From the pain. From the poison? The fire—was he still on fire? Even through the pain he could somehow feel the night wind on his face as he closed his eyes and finally succumbed to the darkness.
Chapter 40
Endra
Burning hot flames pierced Endra’s heart as she tore her eyes open. A blood bond had been severed.
She breathed in slowly, shakily. Dren’s face flashed before her. A dream. It was just a dream. She still saw him sometimes, felt that searing pain.
It was morning now; she could see the greenish-blue sunrise outside her bedchamber window. The soft luminescence filtered through the dark forest. It was—beautiful.
Endra looked toward Sendana’s bed. It was empty. The elf must have got up for breakfast while Endra slept. She stretched in her black silk bedsheets; she had actually slept great. These beds were exceptionally comfortable. The skills of the dark fae artisans made her appreciate their culture just a smidgen.
She took her time rising, but eventually found Sendana eating breakfast with a few of the royal intendeds. Endra joined them, planning to eat her fill. A light and protein-rich meal would be ideal to keep her strength for this competition the Dark Queen had cooked up.
Two hours later, Endra had already faced off against two of her royal counterparts. She had “won,” but not without a fair amount of effort. She now stood twenty paces away from Vestra Azalea, sensing eyes on both of them.
This competition, as Queen Rhiannon had called it, was a showcase of their skills in the form of single combat. The fierce queens stood among the onlookers around the training mats of Steel Fort.
“You ready?” Vestra called.
Endra exhaled smoothly, excitement brimming inside her. She smiled. “Are you?”
Vestra matched her smile—and struck.
A fierce wind, cold and crystalized, flew for Endra. She met it with a wave of electric energy. White frost met orange light in a crackling explosion; the thundering crack rattled her ears.
They pushed into each other’s magics as a howling gale took shape. Endra gritted her teeth. Vestra was strong. Then, with no warning at all, ice coated the floor under her feet. She gasped, completely caught off guard, and found herself sliding backward. She hastily braced herself with her magic, creating a barrier behind her and anchoring her footing.
“Nice trick!” she yelled, forming a little storm cloud above Vestra and letting loose a bolt of orange lightning.
It was Vestra’s turn to gasp, but she brought a small shield of ice above her head in the nick of time. “That could have struck me!” she roared, eyes wide with challenge.
“Yeah, well, you should be careful while playing with lightning!”
The white-haired female’s eyes flashed. She let out a laugh and launched herself forward, diving under Endra’s wave of lightning. She was fast—Endra blinked, and they were trading strikes. Fists, elbows, knees, in a brutal exchange. Endra parried a quick right and aimed for her adversary’s chin. Vestra arched back, sending a straight kick right into Endra’s torso. Endra took it on her crossed arms, skittering back a few feet.
Vestra breathed in slowly as Endra began to circle her, icy blue eyes tracking every movement. The ice-wielder unsheathed her longsword, its glacial Trimethian crystal gleaming in the sapphire fae light. They hadn’t really been given rules; the dark queen had simply told them not to kill each other.
“Shall we?” she asked, smiling.
Endra’s heart raced at the challenge. She slowly drew her falcata, energy coursing into her as soon as she touched the hilt. Her magic surged, focusing her, a buzzing current hot in her veins. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She ran her hand over the blade, coating it in her essence as a shield of sorts—she didn’t intend to truly harm the female. Vestra followed suit on her own weapon. A thrill shot through Endra. This could be interesting…
Feinting to the left to draw Vestra’s blade, she redirected her strike into Vestra’s other side at the last moment. However, this female knew what she was doing; she completed her figure eight in a defensive parry with expert precision. Endra’s own curving blade was swept back. She twirled it in front of herself in a similar fashion, striking and parrying in a blinding array of sword-work.
A thrust, a dodge, a sweep of her foot—Vestra met her in every aspect of this fight. They were incredibly well-matched. Endra parried two quick thrusts before using a mighty overhand strike. Her crackling blade sparked orange as it met Vestra’s longsword. The female performed a swift pirouette, letting Endra’s weight carry her and her sword forward, throwing her off-balance. Endra nearly didn’t recover quickly enough to avoid Vestra’s follow-up attack. The strikes kept coming, one after another, wearing her down. She nearly managed to pierce the ice-wielder’s shoulder, but at the last moment was blocked by a shield of glimmering frost.
“Gah! I almost had you!” she growled.
“Almost!” Vestra said, swinging right for Endra’s head.
Endra ducked it easily, yet was not anticipating the wave of frost that immediately followed. She was blasted off her feet.
Vestra leapt, blade angled right for Endra. Almost without thinking, Endra summoned her own magic. surging a burst of energy from the crystal in Pavrir’s hilt, she harnessed the charge in the air around her and her opponent. With a look of pure shock, Vestra stopped midair. She was suspended, looking around herself as her hair floated from the static charge Endra was flaring around her.
It was short-lived. Vestra spread her arms wide, her own glacier-blue crystal glowing bright. She formed a sphere of ice around herself, breaking Endra’s hold on her. The ice plummeted toward Endra, who barely had time to roll out of the way before it smashed into the ground, shattering. She got to her feet in the blink of an eye, ready to face the white-haired female.
Vestra smiled again, breathing quickly now. She swept her blade in front of her, fist over her heart, and bowed in respect. “Well fought, Endra Brightwood.”
Endra bowed back to her excitedly. “You too!”
Shamus
Shamus opened his eyes, entirely surprised that he was still alive. “Lyra…”
“I’m here. I’m here, Shamus,” her beautiful voice said, causing his heart to skip a beat.
His chest and back still burned, but it was more of an ache than it had been before. He had felt as though he was melting from both inside and out. This at least was manageable.
Tracing the source of the sound, he blinked up at Lyra, his vision unfocused. It was daytime; he could see the sunlight through the cracks in the trees. Slowly, her beautiful face became clearer. Her hazel eyes were red and welling with tears, and there was a grim, tortured expression on her face. Shamus would do anything to make sure that look, that pain, never made its way onto her perfect face again. He would do anything to just make her smile.
