“Lower the barrier and pull back,” Marai shouted to Keshel.

He stared at her, at the carnage on the road. Keshel’s face was emotionless, but his eyes betrayed him. They simmered with terror and regret and repulsion. For a moment, Marai thought he’d frozen, but then she felt his magic disappear around her. “Fall back!”

Leif, Raife, Aresti, and Nosficio leapt into the safety of the woods where Keshel still remained. Body parts littered the ground; men lay bleeding, screaming, like those innocent children in Gloaw Crana had. The surviving soldiers were scattered about, trying to reform their ranks as the new unit joined them.  Horses reared and ran from the fray. Pandemonium.

Now vastly outnumbered, Marai had no choice but to unleash everything she had.

The charge vibrated through her body, electric and wild. The ring glowed, sensing her power and purpose. She didn’t repress it, nor did she shy away. Marai let the magic rush as she pulled from the deep well inside her.

The road came alive with bright white light. Streaks of lightning snaked across the path. Marai closed her eyes, letting magic do its work. She heard the screams, the curses, the crackling of lightning as it whipped past her ears.

Soon, the only sound she heard was a long whistle from Nosficio in the woods. She opened her eyes, revealing the devastation before her: piles of ash, trees in flame, thick burning scars etched into their bark, and black scorch marks across the dirt.

“Fucking Unholy Underworld, Marai,” Aresti said as Marai fell to a knee, lightheaded.

Not a single soldier remained alive.

Aresti swallowed; her bloody hands trembled. Raife’s freckles turned white as they observed the aftermath of Marai’s calamitous power, and Leif gagged, then vomited into the dirt. Marai breathed deeply until she found the strength to stand again.

The only one unaffected was Nosficio, who stepped over an ash pile with a chuckle. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re stronger than I thought.”

Keshel remained in the tree line. He stared and stared at Marai. Then back to the ash and pools of blood.

“Kadi was right . . . I remember the slaughter from when I was a child, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it,” said Raife, his voice hoarse.

I hope you never have to, Marai thought sadly, watching the others deal with this death. Gentle hearts. That makes you all better people than me.

“How did you do this for eight years, Marai?” Raife asked, staring at her with questions and anguish and revulsion in his face.

She hated that expression, especially from someone she cared about. It made her feel unworthy. Dirty. “I killed for survival before. But this is different, I am different. I do what must be done, because I have people I need to protect.”

Marai remembered Kadiatu’s words back in the Badlands.

“Because even when you’re afraid, you stand up for what you believe in. Because you make the hard decisions, even if it means others judge you for them. You chose to stay here and protect us. If that doesn’t show true strength, I don’t know what does.”

Maybe Marai should have felt guilty for not feeling guilty, but this carnage altered nothing inside her. She did her duty for her new kingdom. She’d saved lives by taking lives. But maybe once this war was done, when Ruenen and her people were safe, she could become something more . . . someone worthy.

Leif dropped his sword and stumbled over to a nearby tree, the bark still smoldering. He crouched down and took several sporadic, deep breaths, covering his face with his hands.

“I guess this is why you’re Meallán’s heir,” said Raife after clearing his throat. He wiped the horror from his face. Perhaps he could understand her motivations, perhaps he forgave her a little. Raife gestured to the road, and glanced at his sullied hand. He quickly wiped the blood on his pants with a pained cringe.

Nosficio’s head snapped to Marai. “You’re Meallán’s heir?”

“Supposedly.” Marai shot Raife a look, but he was too busy hovering over his brother, who still hadn’t moved from his crouch. Raife held out his hand, whispering words of encouragement. Leif swatted him away.

“No wonder your blood smells so familiar,” Nosficio said, coming closer. He sniffed around Marai like a dog, pupils dilating. “I . . . I didn’t know her line survived.”

The vampire’s face changed. The usual devilish grin replaced by a hunger Marai didn’t understand.

“You said you knew her,” she stated. “Were you her lover?”

Nosficio’s red eyes blazed, then softened. “No. Meallán was my friend. My first friend. Never my lover. Aras was—”

He stopped and shut his mouth. His hands clenched at his sides. Marai had never seen Nosficio hold himself back before, at a loss for words.

“King Aras,” Keshel said. He still hadn’t moved, but no matter the trauma, he couldn’t pass up a history lesson. “Meallán’s husband?”

Nosficio stared further up the road, to where the riderless horses whinnied and pranced. He said nothing for a moment.

“You remind me of her sometimes . . . Meallán. And you have Aras’ eyes.”

Marai’s heart clenched at the grief in Nosficio’s voice when he said the fairy king’s name. Her father’s eyes, passed down through the generations, from King Aras.

Nosficio turned, gazing at Marai with sharp intensity. “It’s fate that brought us together. Or strings set in motion by Meallán from the Underworld. But I think deep down I knew, the day I met you, that you were theirs. Perhaps that, more than anything else, is why I’m helping you. To repay Meallán for her kindness. To protect the last piece of Aras that still survives.”

Nosficio’s throat bobbed. Marai had no response for him, but she saw the pain in his eyes. Pain that had lingered for centuries. Pain that he’d tried to shove aside by allowing those dark, shameful parts of himself to take over. Marai wished she could tell him she understood, but her mouth was dry and wouldn’t form the words.

“We should return to Kellesar now,” Keshel said.

Marai raised her arms, beginning to tug on the remaining embers of magic inside.

Keshel placed a hand on her bicep. “No portals. You’ve used a lot of magic the past few days. I can see that you’re exhausted.”

“I can get us back to Nevandia.”

Keshel shook his head, countenance still haunted as he studied at her, as if he was looking at a stranger again. “You must conserve your magic. We all must from this point on, until the battle. We’ll need every ounce of our strength.”

Had Keshel seen something? Something Marai needed to be ready for?

“Then how do you suggest we get back to Kellesar? It’ll take us a couple days to walk there,” Aresti said, crossing her arms.

“We’ll take the horses,” Raife said, as he walked towards them, so light on his feet Marai barely heard the scrape of his boots across dirt and pebbles, so as not to startle the horses.

“We should take them all back to Kellesar,” Leif said, finally finding his voice. He got to his feet with a wobble, and spit on the grass. “I’m sure Avilyard will appreciate the unexpected Tacornian gift.”

Marai felt no satisfaction in seeing her kin’s reaction to death. Leif’s anger was a front. She was beginning to understand that he’d always been more affected by the events of his past than the others. Perhaps he felt too much.

Raife calmed the traumatized horses, easing closer, clicking his tongue. Marai counted ten that hadn’t entirely run off. He grabbed hold of the reins, still issuing hushed commands and gentle encouragement as he stroked the long nose of a sleek, muscular brown one.

“I’ll meet you there,” Nosficio said quietly to Marai. “I’ve no need for horses.” He stalked off into the woods.

The fae awkwardly climbed into their saddles. None of them but Marai had ever ridden a horse, but after some brief instruction, the other riderless horses were tied off, and the fae galloped back towards Kellesar. The journey took the rest of the day, and well into the night. Marai blandly thought that it was far easier to portal.

They came across a city of tents and bonfires lighting up the night, flags waving in the breeze. A Nevandian encampment of men Ruenen had mustered. Marai trotted up, the others behind, and raised her arms in submission as the sentries blocked their entry with long spears.

“State your name and purpose.”

“Councilman Keshel of Nevandia. We’re friends of His Highness Prince Ruenen.” Keshel used his most authoritative voice. “We’re returning from our mission to dispatch the unit of Tacornian soldiers who sacked the town of Gloaw Crana.”