“Dear gods,” I breathe, watching in horror as the line of guards collapses beneath the onslaught. Some of the Soulless stop to feed off those holding the line, but most crawl past, entering into the heart of Seboia.
Sensing a Soulless behind me, I spin and swing downward, slicing through its face with a roar. Frustration powers my limbs. Fury scorches through my veins. Fear thunders my heart. Guilt labors my breaths.
I. Warned. Her.
I warned my mother and the Kings Council this would happen. That the Breccans had instilled traitors on our lands and were actively working against us. Yet they did nothing. Refusing to see the truth, they allowed blindness and fear to govern their actions. Now my kingdom bleeds, for the cowardice of kings and queens.
Glancing between Kace and Griffin, I see the same grim acceptance on their faces as it is on mine, knowing that none of us will be leaving here alive. Needing no words, I give them both one last brusque nod, and I fight. I fight for our brethren who died today. Fight for the kingdom I failed. I’ll fight until my very last breath and pray to the gods that I can buy some time for my loved ones to escape. For Aurora, Theon, Trip.
For Lena.
But as I’m hacking and stabbing, contemplating my death, the Soulless suddenly just stop. Stop snarling, stop growling, stop feeding. They cock their heads to the side in the grotesque, unnatural way they do, and sniff.
“What’s happening?” Kace asks, his eyes wide as he watches the creatures scent the air.
“I don’t know,” I reply, sharing an uneasy look with Griffin.
A whistle suddenly pierces through the sounds of snuffling and the Soulless instantly jerk their heads back, releasing a series of disconcerting clicking sounds. Then, as one, they turn to face the brothel.
A deep-rooted fear, one I’ve been taught since birth pricks at me. It crawls along my skin in warning as I watch the Soulless respond to the whistle as a slave would to its master. As they would to the Gods Cursed. Not really wanting to but knowing I must, I inhale a deep, fortifying breath and lift my gaze to the source of that sound.
My breath halts in my throat when I see Lena standing on the roof of the brothel.
“What is she doing?” Griffin asks, brows furrowed as he glances between the stilled Soulless and Lena.
“I don’t know.” And I don’t care. She shouldn’t be here. I took steps to ensure she wouldn’t be. Even when the inn exploded and I heard her voice, I knew she was set free, but Zander was supposed to watch over her. To protect her.
Where is he?
Passing my gaze over the roof, I find both Amara and Tristan crouched beside her with their bows strung. And the male standing at her back, still shirtless but appearing as stoic as I’ve ever seen him, is Zander.
You’re dead.
Lena walks forward, every step controlled, methodical, and confident, her plaited hair swaying with each calculated motion as she stops at the edge of the roof. “You think you know death, because Desdemona’s venom runs through your veins.” She unstraps an obsidian dagger from her waist, starlight jewels glinting beneath the moons. “But not even she knows what true death is. For she is of the Void, and only the Stars can grant such Gifts.”
She pricks her forefinger, blood beading beneath the point, and raises her arm over the edge, letting a single droplet fall to the ground. At the scent of her blood, the Soulless stir into a frenzy like none I’ve ever seen. More frantic and desperate, their bones clacking together in bloodlust as they shove past us to rush towards the brothel.
“Come, little demons,” she coos, unsheathing the sword from her back. “Let me show you that true power lies not within the Void, but with the Stars.”
Then, all I can do is watch as she steps off the roof and vanishes within a swirl of shadows.
Chapter 30Darius
I can't see her.
Can't hear her.
Can't feel her.
All there is beneath the howls of the Soulless are brief glimpses of their claws and fangs, before they, too, are swallowed up by shadows.
One of the undead crashes into my back as it rushes to join the horde, dismissing my blood for that of more tantalizing prey. Swinging my sword, I sever its head and roar. I roar my pain and grief. I roar my rage. I roar as I swing and slice, stab and pierce. I roar my wrath as I charge through the masses, killing those of the living and those of the dead blocking my path to her.
Griffin stabs a Soulless through the heart and shoves its corpse aside. Kace kicks out at one and then swings, cutting off its head. Both fight by my side. Neither of them says what we all know to be true: that Lena can’t possibly have survived. But I can't admit that aloud. Can hardly even think it. Just imagining her cold corpse with that glowing crimson filling her eyes and those unnatural fangs descending...
No! I can’t bear the thought.
We finally reach the edge of the swarm, none of the creatures registering our presence. Quickly sheathing my dagger, I summon my Gifts and raise a shimmering orange palm, parting the horde with a blast of air to reveal Lena with a dagger in one hand and her sword in the other, with a pile of corpses at her feet.
“Holy shit!” Kace says. “Look at the way she moves.”
It's like a dance; every motion elegant and fluid, yet fast and efficient. Needing no more than a single strike, she cuts down one Soulless before turning to deliver death blows to another. She’s beauty and death bound in a single package, and absolute perfection.
Lena stabs a Soulless in the side of the head and turns, flinging her dagger past a sword-wielding Zander to pierce it through the heart. Its body falls, revealing another undead behind it. Zander swings his broadsword over his head. Arching downward, he buries it into its head and cleaves its skull in two. His motions are more powerful than Lena’s, but just as graceful and efficient.
Realizing their prize won’t be so easily caught, some of the Soulless begin to take notice of our arrival. One such creature crouches before me, its mouth elongated and fangs dripping with blood. It hisses, then springs forward. But its momentum stalls when it's thrown to the side from the arrow speared through its skull. A barrage of arrows suddenly swish through the air, piercing hearts and eyes, dropping Soulless after Soulless until there’s a ring of corpses surrounding us.
“Unbelievable,” Griffin whispers, staring up at Amara where she’s crouched beside Tristan on the roof. Both of them string arrows and swiftly fire into the throng.
They’re all extraordinary. Their fighting style is entirely foreign, yet their skill is unparalleled. Far surpassing all my guards combined. Almost equal to my own. But no matter how skilled they are, they’re still only four against the overwhelming numbers of the Soulless.
Now seven.
Readjusting the grip on my sword, I stab up into an undead’s chin, spearing through the top of its head. Swinging overhead and then downward at an angle, I slash at another, slicing its torso in half. I kill another and another and another. Their eyes dim and their shadows disintegrate, but they still don't let up. When one falls, four more pop up.
“Why don't you just die?” Kace grunts, stabbing at one's heart with a dagger but missing when it swipes at him with its claw. Growling in frustration, he buries his dagger into its face all the way to the hilt.
Griffin cries out when a Soulless slashes at his arm from shoulder to wrist.
