I will, Marai told the ring. We shall have our revenge against Tacorn and Rayghast.
The jewel quieted. It purred like a curled-up cat against Marai’s finger. She hadn’t used its magic before, but it was now time to find out what kind of power was in a faerie queen’s curse.
For too long Marai had hid in the shadows. Now was the time to step into the light.
“For the fae,” Raife said, putting his fist to his heart. He let go of Thora’s hand to do so.
Leif and Aresti followed with vigor, echoing his words. They’d become warriors; their parents would be proud. One by one, Keshel, Thora, and Kadiatu all did the same.
Marai was last. She whispered the words, remembering her father’s eyes. Her mother’s face. The moment she was ripped away from them and thrust into this life of hardship. Alone, except for the people in this tent. Love washed over Marai with staggering strength. Her knees wobbled, barely keeping her standing. Her family.
“The last march of the fae,” Leif said with a grin.
They all watched her again. Their leader. Their unintended queen.
Marai dismissed them with a nod, throat too constricted to make a sound. Leif and Aresti slammed their helmets on their heads, clattering outside in their golden Nevandian armor. Thora adjusted the pack strapped across her body, took a sputtering breath, grabbed Kadiatu’s hand, and walked after them.
Before Marai could follow, Keshel took her arm and pulled her close. His fingers didn’t hold; they were light upon her forearm. His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear as he bent down. “Don’t use it, Marai. No matter what happens, do not touch the dark magic.”
She glanced up into his eyes, shimmering with emotions he always kept hidden behind a veil of detachment. How Keshel had not broken . . . how he’d managed to save the lives of so many, how he always stayed calm in the face of so much fear . . .
“Of course,” Marai lied. “I’d never let that happen.”
They exited the tent together. The others were speaking with the fully-armed weres and Nosficio. He’d discarded his velvet cape in favor of black gambeson and a full hood over his head. His whole body was covered, except for his red eyes and fanged mouth, which quirked at the sight of Marai.
“Envious of my hood, Butcher?” he asked with amusement. “It doesn’t fall down when I fight.”
Marai snorted. “If only I’d come to you for fashion advice.”
Nosficio grinned, revealing all his teeth. The sky was overcast. There’d be limited direct sunlight, but the vampire still risked his life twice over by being out on a battlefield with no shelter.
He must truly believe in this, she thought.
No, you are the one he believes in. It wasn’t Nevandia. Nosficio hated Rayghast, but he was there because of her.
Horns sounded. A call to arms. Soldiers rushed about, abandoning their breakfasts and watery coffees by the campfires. They mounted horses, grabbed weapons, adjusted their armor. The poorer Nevandians had no coverage in their thin and ragged clothing. They held pitchforks and scythes with freezing fingers in the early spring morning. But they marched towards battle with honor and courage, bracing themselves for the inevitable.
Tarik held out his massive hand to Marai. “It’s an honor to fight with you.”
Marai gave the werewolf a rare smile. “The honor is mine, Master Wolf.”
Tarik grinned, then turned to bellow orders to his men.
Thora latched on to Raife’s arm, yanking him back towards her. In a breath, Thora pulled his face to hers. Marai pretended not to watch. The desperation in their kiss, the love and longing, regret and unspoken promises seized Marai. Raife and Thora clung to each other like two merging souls.
“I’ve loved no one but you,” Raife whispered into her pointed ear. “My whole life, I’ve loved you.”
Thora choked back a sob; tears glistened on her bronze cheeks. “I’m sorry. We should have . . . I shouldn’t have said no. Because now all I want, Raife, is the life we could have had.”
Raife held her to his chest. “We will have that life. We’ll have years and years ahead of us.”
Thora kissed his palms as Raife went to cup her cheeks. She uttered “I love you,” those three small words over and over again like a prayer.
Marai finally turned away, eyes burning, throat tightening. If they both made it out alive, it would be a miracle from Lirr.
Side by side, fae, werewolf, and vampire marched onwards.
Marai searched for Ruenen. She couldn’t spot him in the mist and masses.
Hold the left.
Marai led her small unit to the far side of the sprawling army, feeling as if she were a tiny rowboat lost in an endless sea. Avilyard had sectioned the units into blocks. It was easy to spot the rows of gold armored mounted cavalry—Nevandia’s most skilled knights. Their horses were bedecked in Nevandian colors; the sunburst symbol sewed onto their caparison cloths. The cavalry had been relegated to the outer edges, surrounding the infantry, except for a small grouping in the center. Marai’s chest tightened. Ruenen was in that grouping.
Infantry surrounded the mounted knights. They gripped lances, javelins, swords, and shields, while the archers were dispersed in clumps amongst them. The most experienced soldiers were spread across the front lines, forming the shield wall. Green and gold shields overlapped, edge-to-edge, across the infantry ranks, back and back until the final row.
Sunburst flags billowed in the breeze as the army marched onwards, leaving the camp behind. They marched towards the dirt road cleaving the Red Lands in two. The only sound was the stomping of the marching army, moving as one. No one spoke. All their concentration was focused on the battle before them.
Across the moor, black shapes gathered through the thick fog, like a massive flock of crows. Rows and rows of infantry soldiers, a tight, long line of black shields stretching across the horizon. Marai couldn’t see where the far right side ended.
Rayghast’s army was assembled.
Nevandia stood ready for its finale.
As the enemy neared, Marai spotted details amongst the black cloud of soldiers: their crossed-sword emblem pins, red feather plumes in their commander’s helmets, their painted shields. They were in range now for the archers.
The air fluctuated and flexed as Keshel’s shield snapped into place around the entire Nevandian army. The scent of decadent wine, leather, and old parchment wafted through the fog; the distinctive scent of Keshel’s magic. Marai reached out her power and gently pushed against his barrier, sensing its oscillating boundaries. Next to her, Keshel shivered and sucked in a deep breath as her magic skimmed across his.
The shield stretched farther and farther, all the way to the far right side of the Nevandian army where Commander Avilyard sat on his horse, bellowing orders. No one besides the fae, weres, and Nosficio had registered the appearance of Keshel’s shield. Marai didn’t know how long Keshel’s magic would last, being stretched so far.
