by Cate Corvin
They were my vampires. If they were willing to turn on Thraustila, I needed to spare them a second chance, or they’d eat me alive.
“What are you doing, slayer?” Iskandar’s voice vibrated with fury, but he didn’t make a move towards me. Càel was stalking him, and I knew if Iskandar was worried at all, it was about him. “I will drain you both. Don’t be noble on her account.”
I whirled, holding my dagger defensively. How the fuck was I going to convince these people before they ripped me limb from limb?
Oh, right. I had proof around my neck. “I killed Queen Eluned Ravensbane.” Moving quickly, I drew out the Fae chain, revealing the long ivory points around my neck.
I couldn’t have told Iskandar anything more surprising. He took a step backwards, then another, holding his hands up.
An enormous white wolf padded to my side. Càel had circled me and slipped his vampire form.
“Crowned in Blood,” Iskandar said, eyeing Càel, and knelt.
He fucking knelt for me. In the middle of the bloody wreckage of a school he’d helped storm. I hadn’t realized up until this moment how seriously vampires took their Laws: no matter how much he might’ve wanted to kill me a second, or might still want to kill me, he wasn’t going to raise a hand to the ruler of his court.
“Call off the hellhounds,” I demanded. “And don’t lay hands on another slayer.”
Iskandar looked up at me, his expression still contorted between amazement and rage. “I can’t. Thraustila controls the hounds and the machine. Where are the Morrígna? Rhianwen?”
I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. There was no guarantee of loyalty. “Doing my work. Why is Thraustila here?”
“He’s come for his singer.” Iskandar’s eyes narrowed. “We were given orders to take her at all costs.”
Glass shattered somewhere. I needed to find everyone else and try to prevent as many deaths as possible. “New orders. Remain with Thraustila. You are not to tell him a single thing that happened here.”
Iskandar nodded and slowly rose to his feet. Càel’s growl filled the air as he backed away from us.
Ermengol jumped down from the top of the fountain, hefting her crossbow over her shoulder. “The Belial siege engine came through the Atrium. It’s burrowing downwards; the school will not survive this damage.” All her quirky humor was gone as she wiped a bloody dagger on her pants. “How many of them can you turn to your side?”
I let out a breath. “I’m not sure. Not all of them will listen. Let’s get to the Atrium.”
Will and Suraziel cleared another hellhound out of the doorway, dragging its body to the side. The hall where we’d been divided into Lux and Tenebris was coming to pieces, the chandelier hanging crookedly, columns slowly collapsing.
Càel and I shoved open ebony doors that hung on twisted hinges. We’d found the source of chaos.
The Fae glittering in her aquarium in the middle of the rotunda was the calm in the storm. All around her, slayers took on vampires, warding them with silver daggers as the hellhounds stalked on their heels.
Knightley cut and slashed without missing a beat, intent on protecting the students. Aislin Liddell stood on the marble lip of the Fae’s aquarium, stomping down into a hellhound’s face with her boot.
Mater Bellum shimmered like a mirage, her hands twisted into claws and contorting as she lifted hounds in the air and took them apart with her magic.
The monstrous siege engine had taken out the door with the silver runes, destroying Libra’s first layer of protection. It was a machine that could only be infernal in origin; like a massive wedge of matte black metal, every line of it designed for burrowing and killing, and brilliant green hellfire gleamed in the cracks of its armor from somewhere deep within.
It was still burrowing, the sharp nose aimed downwards as it dug its way into Libra’s guts. Dark chains and hooks spewed from the machine, digging in anywhere they found purchase and pulling the building down around it.
There was no way we could stop an engine like that.
And Thraustila was there, reaching out to grab a student and thrusting his fist through their chest like they were made of paper. He tossed the corpse aside and followed in the engine’s wake, his perpetually young face twisted in a scowl.
The Belial engine was clearing his path to Apolline. The rear of the engine slipped below the floor, leaving a trail of rubble, and Thraustila followed it.
An internal battle warred in me: I could follow him and end this now.
Unfortunately, an extremely large, slavering hellhound ruined those plans. Càel had plunged into the thick of the fighting, ripping out throats until his white fur was painted scarlet, and Will and Suraziel were working in tandem, herding the younger students back into the safety of the Great Hall.
Eyes flashed like burning ice, and I gripped my daggers firmly as the hellhound circled me. It was the biggest we’d seen so far; probably the breeding male of the pack. Spines grew up over its head, shoulders, and haunches in a dense crest, each dripping clear poison.
It wasn’t like its hungry brethren, who ran in without a care for their own wellbeing. Cold intelligence gleamed in this one’s eyes.
I turned in place, never letting it out of sight. It made a sound, somewhere between a bark and a laugh, then spoke a string of invective that seemed to be made up mostly of the filthiest human words it could think of.
“Wow, that’s incredibly rude.” There was something horrifyingly uncanny about hellhounds that spoke. “Didn’t Belial ever wash your mouth out with soap?”
It licked its lips, revealing a tongue that looked ink stained. Drool puddled on the floor.
I had about one second to make my move before the hellhound lunged at me, and I chose to drop and raise my knives.
It turned sideways at the last moment, crashing into me and taking my blades to the ribcage. We slid backwards from the force of the impact, smashing into the far wall.
I kicked hard, determined to get it off me before those spines penetrated my skin. It was better not to find out the hard way that I wasn’t immune to the male’s venom. The hellhound writhed, twisting itself to snap at my face.
A bolt buried itself in the hellhound’s skull, plunging deep through one of those icy eyeballs. As it howled, pain lancing through my eardrums, I ripped one of my knives out of its side and slammed it home in the center of the creature’s chest.
It shuddered, ichor spewing out to cover my legs and boots in a hot, stinging puddle, and I got to my feet.
Aislin Liddell loaded another bolt into her crossbow, still perched by the Faerie’s aquarium. The ground was rumbling as the siege engine dragged itself back out of the earth, dark chains exploding through the floor to grasp the walls and ceiling.
One of them burst the marble with a sharp crack and plunged through the Faerie’s glass prison, shattering the entire tube.
Aislin went down hard, blood streaming from multiple cuts peppering her skin, sharp fragments lodged in her arms and back.
The Faerie’s eyes opened, burning with phosphorescent fire. She pulled herself onto her elbows, a glittering wraith surrounded by luminescence, and focused on Aislin’s struggling body. A long-fingered hand shot outwards and she dragged herself across the floor with jaw-dropping speed, parting glass in her wake to wrap her hand around Aislin’s ankle.
I saw Knightley across the Atrium, running towards Aislin the same as I was, but the Faerie crawled over Aislin.
They shimmered out of existence.
Knightley skidded to a stop where Aislin’s body had been only a second ago. He took several deep breaths, on the verge of a bellow, but his dark eyes flickered to me. “Get the students to safety, Miss Holmwood.” His voice was so flat, if I hadn’t just seen his face twisted like he would scream, I wouldn’t have believed the man was in the middle of internal torment. “Stay out of their king’s way.”
I nodded. The Faerie and Aislin were gone to the Fae realms. There was nothing w
e could do right now to bring them back.
But there were many students falling around us, and I’d been one of them once. I had to keep it together, do what needed doing now.
I pulled a curly-haired girl behind me, pushing her towards the Great Hall as the siege engine’s massive body crawled from the depths.
Thraustila was behind it, a limp figure cradled in his arms. He followed the machine as it worked its way back towards the ruined front door, grinding over the angel’s skeleton and turning it into quicksilver powder. The false king didn’t so much as look at us as he walked out with his prize.
I could’ve yelled at him then. I could’ve tipped over his authority with a single shout.
Somehow, it didn’t occur to me, because something else was becoming obvious.
The vampires were dodging bolts, ducking knives, but some of them weren’t attacking anymore. It was all a show. The moment one of them came close enough to bite a student, they danced back just as quickly, allowing the slayer to regain their guard.
Thraustila’s form vanished. I wavered, torn with the need to go after him and the need to find more slayers.
“Let him go,” Iskandar said. He wiped blood from his cheek. “Rhianwen needs you. Her life is more important.”
He cast me a single burning glance, and followed his Maker, barking commands at the Clouded Court. The vampires slipped away, and Càel and Suraziel ripped the last hellhound to pieces while the teachers of Libra dragged the dead and wounded back into the Great Hall.
I helped woodenly, slinging a man’s arm over my shoulder and bringing him in. Lara Dumont cried when I picked her up and carried her. Her leg was broken at a twisted angle.
Càel was putting a girl on a chair that wasn’t entirely wrecked. She was unconscious, blood dripping over her face. “He took her.”
“I know. I saw.” I looked across the room. Ermengol and Burns were arranging the dead, taking a count. Too many faces I knew were laid out in that line: Professor Darcy, Pheric Grant, Silas Vaughan, and a score of the younger, less-experienced slayers. “What if she is his singer, Càel? What else could she have known that was so important it was worth this? All his hellhounds are gone.”
“If she is, then Lilith cursed her.” Càel rose to his full height, sniffing the air. “My sisters are broken.”
I was on his heels as we tore back into the ruins of Libra. It wasn’t an easy path; walls and stairs groaned around us, slowly collapsing from the damage, but we made our way down into the cell block, following the stench of blood.
The bars of Apolline’s cell had been torn open. I gazed at the damage, knowing Thraustila had done that with his bare hands.
If I’d faced him today, I would’ve died, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
But worse than that were the Morrígna. He’d dismembered them.
They were still alive, pale with blood loss, but their arms and legs were strewn across the floor, armor cracked open like crab shells.
Rhianwen’s gray eyes flickered open. Her pupils were dilated to fill almost the entire iris. “We tried,” she whispered.
I knelt beside her. In the frenzy of the battle, I hadn’t felt my Maker’s glow dim. “Càel, what do we do?” My voice came out taut with strain.
He carefully arranged Morgrainne so she was flat on her back. Her mouth was open a little, lips gray. Then he began gathering limbs, his face showing no expression. “We put them back together and give them blood. They’ll survive.”
I did the same for my Maker, taking care to treat her body respectfully as I began putting her pieces back on her.
As soon as their severed limbs came back in contact with their bodies, tiny threads began to lace together, their forms regenerating from the damage, but they were slow, frail bonds.
Two bloodsongs announced Will and Suraziel’s presence. I looked up at them as I tried to piece Rhianwen’s left arm together, but her body’s reserves were giving out. It didn’t want to knit anymore.
Pink droplets covered Rhianwen’s pale arm. I was crying. I felt her pain in my own limbs, a deep, dull ache.
Will knelt on the other side of her head, and Suraziel went to Morgrainne.
“They’ll get enough from us,” he said, “But I won’t be able to give more.”
He looked pale and wan, a combination of lack of sleep, the let-down of adrenaline, and from my own feeding on him. It was a delicate balance to maintain.
“Mine, too,” I said. I bit into my wrist as Will cut his own, and we took turns holding the wounds over Rhianwen’s mouth. I pried her jaws apart, doing for her what she’d done for me when I was Made.
Càel and Suraziel were doing the same, and I breathed a sigh of relief and wiped my eyes as they began to heal. They’d be weaker than usual for a time, but Thraustila hadn’t killed his remaining daughters.
“It was a message,” Càel said, breaking the silence of our work. “No matter how much they defy him, he’ll always win.”
I blinked gritty eyes, checking Rhianwen’s injuries. Vivid red skin showed where she was knitting together, and loud pops echoed through the room as bones slid back into their proper sockets. Will looked a little sick at the sound.
“No, he won’t,” I said softly.
“Is Iskandar alive?” Rhianwen’s voice was a little stronger.
His concern for her had overshadowed his need to serve Thraustila. I wondered what was between them as I told her he was safe.
Càel looked between his sisters. His tension had faded a little, expression relaxing into something slightly less terrifying. “He’s sworn fealty to Victoria. Thraustila harbors a hundred spies in his nest.”
He reached out and took my hand, reassuring himself that I was well. I’d picked up cuts and scratches, but they were healing over. “We will take him apart piece by piece as he did to them,” he told me. “You will wear his fangs in your crown, and any vampire who refuses to kneel for you will die.”
From the look in his eye, he meant to dismember them himself.
Seventeen
Càel
For the sake of my singer, we remained in the ruins of Libra Academy. Nowhere was safe for her now that Iskandar knew the secret we’d kept hidden for months, but I trusted he would keep his mouth shut for Rhianwen’s sake, if no one else’s.
Victoria thought it was because it was safer here for my sisters to heal, but truthfully, I wanted the slayers as a line of defense between her and Thraustila. I wouldn’t argue with free meat-shields.
We took up residence in one of the slightly-less-ruined halls, where we laid out the Morrígna in beds to heal. In the day to come, several able-bodied students mutinied against their Headmaster and came to offer blood. The bagged blood had gone to salvage those who were not so injured they were destined to die more slowly than their luckier brethren.
We cut their wrists over glasses, not wanting to risk my sisters’ bloodlust taking over. I was feeding Rhianwen, helping her sit up as color came back to her face, when someone knocked on the door.
Suraziel answered it, revealing the tall black man with the limp: Knightley.
Victoria stood up when he entered the room. “What can we do for you, Professor?” She still had the tones of a student deferring to an elder. The Law-abiding part of me wanted to demand that he kneel now that she was aware of her status, but the tensions were too high already.
“You saw the Faerie take Aislin,” he said, without a single word of greeting. He was wearing their spelled armor, armed to the teeth with cold iron weapons.
“I did.” Victoria looked up at him with something like sadness. “Any idea where it would’ve taken her?”
He held up a piece of paper torn from a ledger. Fine, spidery writing covered it. “The sylph was a captive from the White Court of the Sunderlands. If she’s anywhere, that is where she’ll be.”
I frowned, tipping the glass so Rhianwen got every last drop. The Sunderlands were one of the deadliest lands in Faerie.
I didn’t want t
o ruin my singer’s day, so I wouldn’t tell her that her friend Aislin was likely dead now.
Victoria’s mouth flattened. “Aislin has Fae blood. The kelpies answered to her. There’s a chance she’s alive.”
“Does she, now?” Knightley stared at her, his jaw working. “Thank you, Miss Holmwood. That’s all I needed to know.”
Victoria frowned as he turned back towards the door. “Why come to me for that information? We were friends, but not so close I’d know her secrets.”
A tiny smile touched Knightley’s scarred face. “When you and Miss Liddell found yourself answering for Miss Glover’s death, you proved that you’re both terrible liars.”
Victoria crossed her arms over her chest, but she nodded slowly. “I guess we are.”
“And she had Fae magic all over her.” He tapped his head. “Stay aware, Miss Holmwood. Pay attention to the minutiae. That’s the best advice I can give you.”
He left, closing the door behind him. Victoria sat down, staring down at her clasped hands. “I suppose he’s off to Faerie, then. I hope he finds her.”
“Don’t even think about it, Tori.” Will leaned over her chair and pressed his forehead to hers. “We need to finish this.”
She looked up and gave him a wan smile. “If anyone can get Aislin out of Faerie, it’s Knightley. I’m not going to run off on you.”
Still, she looked unhappy and drawn. Even though she’d fed on Suraziel multiple times in the last week, given that the incubus regenerated blood much more rapidly than Will, she’d put a lot of it into reviving her Maker.
I put the glass on a table and took her hand. “Come with me, shíorghrá.”
She needed a moment alone. After that brush with my own Maker- or explosion, more like- I’d found that danger had come a little too close for my liking.
So realistically I needed a moment alone with her.
Victoria kissed Will and followed me out into the hall. There were many empty rooms now; I found one several doors down that wasn’t too damaged by the Belial engine, and smashed the door back into its frame.