by Bec McMaster
He grabs for me and I punch him in the face, driving the force of my blow through my knuckles.
His head snaps back and he staggers, but he’s twice my size and recovers quickly.
“You’ll pay for that,” promises the female.
I spin low, beneath the sweep of her sword, swiping her feet out from under her. The second she crashes to the ground, I scramble for her fallen sword.
Four-on-one aren’t great odds and my daggers are barely half a foot long. Jokes about little pricks notwithstanding.
The one I punched sneers and takes a step toward me. But the blond grabs his arm and removes his mask. “Wait.”
“Let me go!”
“Don’t you know who she is?” The blond’s eyes lock on me and I realize I’ve seen his face before. One of my mother’s guards. Halvor, perhaps? “That’s the princess.”
All four of them focus on me.
“Worth her weight in gold,” adds the last guard, “if we bring her back to her mother. Alive.”
I take a step back as they all advance. I’d rather die than be returned to my mother. I won’t be the bargaining chip she uses to destroy my husband and our people.
Placing my palm flat on the ground I summon fire. Flames circle me with a hiss; a warning.
And Halvor smiles. “She’s weak. Fire’s her natural gift, but the rest of her arsenal is limited. Attack.”
A rather accurate assessment of the princess who’d been sent to Evernight as a tribute.
But Thiago—for all that he loves me—hasn’t been letting me rest easy. I’d said that I wanted to relearn my magic, and so he’s spent the last three months pushing me to the brink in order to force it to flourish.
I’ve cursed him every day for that decision, but right now, I could kiss his feet in gratitude.
Without a voice, I merely place my palm out flat and gesture toward Halvor.
Come on, then. Let’s dance.
He launches himself over the ring of flames and I step into the movement, driving my sword up to meet his. There’s an instant of shock on his face, and then he lands with a jarring rattle of armor, the force of his blow emanating through my shoulder.
The armor gives him the advantage. It may slow him down eventually, but my blows will only glance off the shining metal.
But if they want me alive, then they can’t hurt me too badly. It’s armor of its own.
I attack with a daring he’s clearly not expecting. Beating him back, I push him almost into the ring of flames, before he looks up with a murderous glare.
A foot hammers toward me, driving into my chest. The breath slams out of me. I hit the ground hard and roll back over my shoulder.
A net shoots through the air, fanning out over me. No time to think. I simply burn it with a thought and little cinders fall to the cobbles.
Ash floats through the air like snowflakes, tangling in my hair.
“You’re better than I expected,” Halvor tells me, straightening as he prowls in a half circle around me.
And he’s done exactly what he needed to do.
Distract me, so that his friends can surround me.
They pace outside my ring of flames, blocking off all my exits.
I can’t beat them.
My mother’s Deathguard are stolen from their mothers at birth, and a knife is put in their hands before they can even walk.
The sword is a living extension of my hand, but it’s not going to help me out of here. And I can’t look for Thiago. He’s busy.
There’s one thing left to try.
“Not good enough,” I somehow rasp.
Halvor laughs. “No. You were never good enough.”
Words I’ve heard a thousand times before, but this time they ignite something within me that’s no longer desperate and lonely and fearful.
They will not take me alive.
I will not return to my mother.
Unless it’s with a knife in hand.
Sweeping my hand wide, I send flames licking toward the warrior on my right. He leaps out the way, but a cinder catches his cloak and I slam my fist shut, igniting it with a thought.
A shape drives toward me—an armored fist hammering toward my face. It’s like being hit with a sledgehammer. I spin off guard and as my vision blurs, a gauntleted hand locks around my throat, hauling me back into an armored chest.
Halvor.
“You should have had the decency to die at the Queensmoot,” he hisses in my ear, one hand clamping on the top of my head, his other arm cutting across my windpipe until my eyes bulge. “You’re a problem to be dealt with and I’d slit your throat here and now if you weren’t the weapon that can cripple that filthy prick.”
Erlking’s cock…. I can hardly breathe.
Grabbing his armored wrist, I grit my teeth and force myself to draw my energy inward. “Burn you—” wretch.
Heat ignites through my skin.
My hair whips around us and Halvor gives a shout as I erupt into flame.
His armor is cooking him from the inside out, broiling him within. I catch a glimpse of his reddened face as he falls away, before I turn and run, leaving dripping pools of fire behind me.
Everything hurts.
Everything.
My skin is blistered and peeling, and the ends of my hair have sizzled. The flames were crafted from my magic, which means I should be mostly impervious to them, but clearly my control slipped for one crucial second.
My lungs rasp for breath, and my throat is bruised from his crushing grip.
I stagger through the old quarter in a mindless dash, and even though I’ve barely had the chance to learn this part of the city, some part of my memory must be trickling through, because my body knows the way better than I do.
“She’s down here!” A voice cries out.
Fire rages unchecked through this part of the city. Not thanks to me. Someone else perhaps. Or maybe the Deathguard on my ass aren’t the only ones who were sent.
BOOM.
Another explosion.
The sky is falling. Little white flakes drift through the air now. Burning. The world is burning. Gravel rains down. I throw my hands over my head as I dart beneath an arch, and it’s so fucking hard to breathe right now, bruised throat notwithstanding.
“Thiago?”
Where in the Underworld is he?
My heart skips a beat. This was clearly an assault designed by my mother. Even though he’s one of the most powerful males in the alliances, she’d have accounted for him.
And he should have stopped those explosions by now.
Maia’s mercy. I need to get out of here. I need to get moving.
Shoving off the wall, I take two steps just as something moves in the square ahead of me. I skid into a narrow space behind a barrel, heart hammering as I crouch there.
It’s just a wisp of a red cloak, but I know the hunters are closing in.
A shadow ripples over me, and I glance up as Halvor leaps from rooftop to rooftop above me. He pauses on the lip of the gutter, his hair a ragged, smoking mess and the left side of his face blistered.
If he looks down, he’ll see me.
I press my spine into the stone, trying to make myself as small as I can.
“Come out, come out, little rabbit,” he calls softly, his gaze scanning the courtyard. Every inch of him trembles with suppressed violence, and violent clouds of smoke whirl around him.
Fuck. What am I going to do?
It’s a sound on the edge of consciousness at first. I’m so attuned to the crunch of armored feet on gravel debris that I barely hear it at first.
A rushing, gushing sound.
Halvor stills, as if he senses it at the exact same moment I do. He turns and his eyes go wide.
“Run!” he screams to his men, before he vanishes.
What the—?
And then I realize there are no more detonations. Only an eerie silence filled with the rush of water. A lot of water.
I take his advice
.
Sprinting into the courtyard, I snatch a glance to my left.
Water gushes and roars as it races through the streets. The dam. The dam’s blown part of its walls.
And for a second I can’t breathe, before my mind catches up with me.
If I stay here I’ll die.
Fear gives my feet wings. There’s only one path forward. I sprint through streets, waving my arms as I see a group of fae scrambling on top of a roof.
“Go!” I croak. “Run!”
The house won’t be tall enough.
But there are more merchants here, as if they paused in their mad rush. There’s a bucket chain and one old lady holds a bucket in hand, gaping behind me as if she’s just seen the end of her existence glaring down upon her.
These people will die.
They’ll all die.
And I can’t stop it and I can’t run fast enough, and then I skid around a corner coming face-to-face with mayhem.
The Wayfarer’s Oak looms over us, but the streets are a warren here, and they’re a death trap for the hundreds of fae trying to escape.
A little girl stands in the street, crying for her mother as fae trample past her. Screams filter through the air. Incoherent cries. Some people try to reach for others in the swimming mess of fae bodies, but others merely shove them apart as they try to escape.
It’s the little girl that catches my eye.
Alone. Terrified. A blonde plait hanging down her back.
And pounding through my memories is every nightmare I’ve ever had of a baby crying.
Thiago said to get them out. There’s no time for this. No—
I shove through the crowd, darting a look at the shining curtain of water that thunders down the cliffs. It hits the streets, gushing toward us in an ever-churning wave.
It churns into shops, smashing glass, and sweeping tables and chairs along with it. Almost upon us.
One little girl. If I can save one little girl….
“Ayelet!” someone screams, and I catch sight of a woman reaching for us with horror written all over her face as she’s pushed into the crowd.
“Hold still,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’ve got you.”
Dragging the little girl into my arms, I close my eyes and try to will us away from there. I can feel the Hallow in the castle, plugged directly into the ley line. It’s a drumbeat that calls to me.
And maybe if I wish hard enough I can somehow get us out of here.
Nobody’s ever been able to travel without a Hallow portal.
But I have the blood of the Old Ones in my veins and maybe….
Maybe nothing. There’s no link to connect with. The Hallow’s too distant.
Water roars down the streets toward me. I can’t outrun it. I can’t channel it. I can’t evaporate it.
My magic is useless, and—
A little whisper of memory stops me.
The Gray Guild whispering about how Thiago wants to bind me to the kingdom.
A bound queen rules the lands. She gives herself over to them and they rise and fall with her blood. My mother bound herself to Asturia a thousand years ago, and she can wield the land’s hungry power like a whip.
“You want a queen, Mother?” I rasp. Dragging the knife across my palm, I slam my hand against the cobblestones, marking it. “Then let me give you a queen.”
This is not the way it’s supposed to happen. To bind a queen to the land is a cause for joy and celebration. Not one of desperation.
Nothing happens.
There is no great spiraling rage of power. There is no surge. The stone feels cold beneath my bare palm, and I withdraw my fist, clenching it against my chest.
It didn’t work.
I’ve never felt more unworthy in my life.
But then my eye falls on the Wayfarer’s Oak.
If the oak falls, the city will fall, they say.
It’s the type of prophecy my mother would like.
Even if the city stands, even if most people escape, if the oak falls then it will crush the heart and soul of these people. Symbols stand for a reason, and I grab Ayelet and fight my way toward it, determined not to let Thiago wear the burden of this loss.
I won’t let her win.
Not this way.
I’ve spent years polishing my anger until it’s a shining blade of retribution.
I want her to lose.
I want to destroy every plan she’s ever set in place.
I will not let her have this victory. I will not let her take my city—my kingdom, my husband—from me. Ceres is mine. Evernight is mine.
And Thiago is mine.
Water sweeps the woman and her friends away.
My bloodied palm slaps against the tree just as the first gush of water slams into my feet. Ayelet screams and throws her arms around my waist.
Maybe it’s a combination of fury and the desire to protect what I’ve come to cherish, but the second my blood marks the tree, it sets off an alchemical explosion within me. Something suddenly unlocks within my soul. I reach out and thousands of roots spear out from the tree, sinking my mind down, down, until the earth beneath my feet answers, the lands suddenly singing through my veins.
I can feel it all.
I am the city.
I am the lands.
I am Evernight.
“Vi!” Thiago screams in my mind.
Nothing can touch me right now.
Water parts around me, thundering past as I splay my fingers wide. The spray of it stings my face, whipping my hair behind me, but I can’t focus on the physical.
Hear me!
The earth groans beneath my feet. And then cracks begin forming in the cobbles as I clench my fist together. Water plunges between the cracks, gushing down into the sewers and caverns beneath it. I feel them snaking through the earth. Catacombs. Underground rivers. Hollows and nooks where the rats lurk. I send the water down, letting it pour through those hidden tunnels.
I am a woman standing before a flood.
I am a queen with the power of the lands shivering in my veins until I can barely see the world around me.
I am every inch of earth beneath my feet, every little earthworm creeping through the dark unknown, every bone in the ground, every stone that forms the numerous catacombs beneath me. I am water gushing through newly opened channels, plunging into the sewers and tunnels that form an underground town beneath me.
I can’t keep forcing all of this water down into the underground caverns, and there are millions of cubic meters of it in the dam above.
The dam.
Pain screams through me as I turn all my focus upon its stone walls. Rock turns molten, hissing with steam as I force it to fuse, until there are no more cracks, no more mortar. Simply an enormous expanse of solid rock forged together.
And then it’s slipping through my grasp as a spearing slash of pain drives through my right eye. Behind it.
I stagger away from the tree, and suddenly Ayelet’s the only thing holding me up.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, running my hand through the fringing of hair that shields her face.
She starts crying, but she only squeezes me harder.
And it finally hits me.
We’re alive.
We’re all alive.
The street lies in ruins, and I’m ankle deep in water, but nobody was swept away. The Wayfarer’s Oak still stands. Indeed, it seems to be growing as I watch, new buds unfurling from the ends of its branches, and bright green leaves bursting into life.
Did I do that? I can feel it still, its roots anchoring deeper and deeper, almost…. Almost as if it reaches for the ley line.
A shadow falls over me.
I’m so weak I can barely keep my feet, but as I sway a dark figure lands in front of me, strong hands capturing my arms.
Thiago.
“I think I broke your city,” I rasp and try to smile.
I lean against him and one of his wings tucks protectively around me.
“You were supposed to fix the dam situation.”
Curse it, my throat feels like I’ve swallowed pure fire.
“I thought you were—” He bites off the words, his jaw locking as he turns to the side. “I didn’t think I would reach you in time.”
And my bleary eyes take in the crowd of people gaping at us.
Distrust fills their eyes and the way they look at him—and his wings—hurts my heart. They slosh through the draining water toward us, barely daring to let go of each other.
He is the monster they all fear.
Even in losing this hand, my mother wins.
Until a single woman breaks the spell, daring to step toward us.
“Ayelet,” she whispers, and then she’s no longer tremulous. She runs toward us and snatches the little girl up into her arms. “Ayelet.” Drawing back, she runs both hands over the child’s face as though she can scarce believe she’s still alive. She looks at me over the top of the child’s head, tears sliding down her face. “Thank you. Thank you. You saved us all.”
And as I look around I realize they’re no longer looking at Thiago’s wings, they’re looking at our feet, where the water has finally cleared.
Flowers bloom around us, little blades of grass pushing through the crevices in the cobble stones. A thin vine curls its way up my leg, caressing my calf.
What in Maia’s name?
“I’ve heard them say that when your mother bound herself to the land, the earth blossomed at her feet for her,” Thiago says. “There is summer in your veins. The city blooms for you.”
It starts with one man.
He goes to one knee, bowing his head. “My queen.”
And then the handsome fae youth at his side lands harshly on his knee. “My queen.”
One after another they fall to their knees, and it’s no longer a whisper, but a rising chant that pulses in time to my heartbeat.
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
“My queen.”
It echoes through the streets until there are hundreds gathered, all of them bowing toward me.
Thiago looks around. Something raw touches his expression; a mix of awe and love and admiration. And then he too is going to one knee, capturing my hand and squeezing it between his. “My queen.”