One of the farmers who’d saved Ruenen’s life was cut down in a ravaging slice across his torso. The man’s face froze, dropping his pitchfork, falling to the ground.

“No!” Ruenen rushed to his side, killing his Tacornian opponent, and held the farmer’s hand as he drifted off to the Underworld. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he whispered a silent prayer for him before leaping to his feet and striking down another Tacorn soldier.

The weight of the farmer’s death and heroism pressed against Ruenen’s breastplate. Another son of Nevandia lost.

Anger fueled Ruenen, mixing with adrenaline, becoming a mighty force inside him.

He hadn’t spotted the mad king yet, but Ruenen had seen the earth move and roll. He’d felt it rumbling beneath his feet. Black clouds gathered and roiled in the dark sky.

I won’t die until I fight Rayghast.

Chapter 28

Rayghast

Rocks and dirt and dust bombarded him.

The faerie battling him beneath the earth had sent a mighty pulse of magic his way. The black smoke that had been tunneling underground was vaporized as lush, green power shattered his magic. Rayghast hadn’t had time to dodge before the ground pounced.

Pebbles and stones assaulted his face. One may have knocked out a tooth. Grit and dirt worked its way into his eyes and mouth. A heavy rock landed on his leg.

Rayghast hissed at the pain and shouted curses from his prone position on the ground.

Why was this weak little creature able to use his own technique against him? Rayghast seethed. Only I control the earth!

Thankfully, no one had seen him falter. No one had seen him be overcome by such frangible, soft elemental magic. He was alone on the hill. His army and Varana’s were entirely engrossed in the battle below. Reserve troops waited patiently in the valley, surveying the slaughter of Nevandia.

They’ll get their turn soon. He wouldn’t leave a single Nevandian son alive on the field. Not one faerie would remain.

Rayghast stumbled to his feet. His knee was swelling; he could feel the contusion, but it wasn’t a break. Blood from small lesions dripped down his face and chest. The pain was minor, but humiliating. Rayghast couldn’t let anyone see him in such a state. Any sign of weakness was his death sentence, now that he’d revealed his magic.

“Heal me,” he ordered the darkness, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. It appeared so starkly crimson against the black stain of his skin.

In response, a sensation of disappointment rose in him.

You’re failing me, it replied, sounding so much like Rayghast’s father that it made him, a grown man, wince. You let a weakling overpower you.

“I can kill the faerie. It used up all its strength. One more push is all I need. Just give me your power,” he said.

Magic flooded through him, but it seemed reluctant, as if it was giving him one final chance to end things. If he failed again, Rayghast wondered if it would abandon him.

“I’m not a disappointment,” he growled to the magic and the memory of his father.

In an act of punishment, the darkness didn’t heal his injuries. Rayghast grit his teeth and kneeled in the grass once more, leg smarting as he did so. He dug his fingers into the ground, dark power snaking and tunneling beneath the earth, and began again.

Chapter 29

Marai

Keshel’s shield gave out.

Marai watched as he got to his feet, exhausted, and lifted his sword. He could barely hold it, never mind fight, but as the Varanese finally crossed over the threshold, Keshel held his ground.

Seven fae, six werewolves, and one vampire now stood before the Varanese army, blocking them from overtaking the Nevandians. But the Varanese had no idea who they were encountering . . .

Wind rushed around Aresti, stirring the bushes and Marai’s hair. With a swipe of her arm, five Varanese were thrown backwards across the battlefield.

Fire burst from Leif and Raife’s palms, engulfing dozens. Men screamed, their armor ablaze.

The weres barreled into the Varanese lines, slashing axes and swords through bodies.

Dimtoir sang as it sliced through the air. The Protector. Her father’s sword passed down through the generations. Marai stayed by Kadiatu’s side as the youngest fae continued her terrestrial battle below the surface.

“He won’t stop,” Kadiatu said through gritted teeth. “No matter how hard I push, he still presses back. There’s no end to his magic!”

Marai cleaved the head from the shoulders of a man. “You don’t need to beat him, Kadi. Keep Rayghast occupied. That’s all you need to do.”

She stabbed upwards through the stomach of another. She moved from soldier to soldier; they dropped like rotten apples from a tree around her.

The Lady Butcher was in her element.

The bloodstone ring hummed with each drop of blood spilt, filling Marai with strength. Magic cascaded up through her chest as a need to destroy sent heat to her fingers.

Revenge, it goaded.

“Not yet,” Keshel shouted from behind her. He’d sensed the spark of her power, saw it flicker at her fingertips. He cut down a Varanese man with a bludgeon-like swing.

Marai shoved the magic back down, sealed it off again. Wait, she told it. The ring bucked against her bones with impatience.

The others still had power. Through magic and sword, might and nerves, Aresti, Leif, and Raife cut three bloody paths through the Varanese ranks. The weres were too entrenched within the mass of chaos to see, but Marai hoped they were still holding on.

Nosficio’s path was marked by decapitated bodies, eviscerated throats, and gaping chest wounds. Darkening skies allowed Nosficio to ditch his gloves, granting him full access to his long nails. Every part of him was covered in red. He didn’t slow, his movements a blur. The more he killed, the more blood he drank, and the more overcome he became by bloodlust. Only a stake through the heart would stop him now . . .

Marai made certain to keep Kadiatu, Keshel, and Thora in her line of sight at all times. Despite being at the back of the fray, Thora was still in the thick of things. She wrapped bandages around injured, wailing men, poured liquid down their throats. Her hands and wrists were soaked with blood as she pressed down on a mortal stomach wound.

Thora wasn’t paying attention when a Varanese soldier ran straight for her.

But Marai was.

She launched into the air, knocking the soldier to the ground. She sliced across his throat, then stood in time to take down another.

“You need to pay attention,” Marai snapped at her.

Blood-red stripes smeared across Thora’s face. “I’m trying,” she yelled back, wiping away strands of sweaty hair with her sullied hand.

“Marai,” came a desperate scream.

The sound wrenched through the nerves in Marai’s body.