Bright Wicked 3: Infernal Dark (A Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  Lowering him onto his back, I fit my lips to his.

  Exhaling, I breathe into his mouth, the same way he breathed into mine after we visited the burn site where I killed my parents. It feels like a lifetime ago that Nathaniel brought the breath back into my chest.

  At the same time as I breathe into his mouth, I press my fingertips against his temples, allowing my hands to warm with my power, but this time, I draw only on the calming power that I used to ease his bruised ribs yesterday. I need to ease his mind, keep him asleep so that he doesn’t feel the pain of his wound or wake up in shock.

  I need to keep him alive for as long as it takes to get him to a healer.

  Taking another deep breath, I exhale into his mouth again, making sure to seal my lips completely against his, sensing the air pass into his body.

  I repeat this process three more times, but nothing changes and my breathing becomes desperate. Panic threatens to overwhelm me. For all I know, the spike nicked his heart and it will never beat again.

  “No!” I reject my fear, shouting it out, refusing to give in to it.

  Forming a fist, I thump his chest, wishing I could reach beneath his skin and force his heart to beat again.

  My power flows out from the impact point, lighting up his ribs. Tears drip from my cheeks onto his. I breathe into his mouth again before I thump his torso once more, my power streaking across his body.

  “Nathaniel” I scream at him. “Wake up!”

  My fist crashes against his chest, a spark ignites between us, and starlight flashes back at me, rebounding so brightly that I fall back onto my hands. I gasp before I force myself to become quiet. Force myself to listen.

  A soft whisper reaches me.

  The gentlest breath.

  Scrambling back through the dust, I lean over Nathaniel, desperately seeking the rise and fall of his chest.

  Just as I press my ear to his heart, rough hands grab me and drag me backward through the sand.

  Cyrian shakes me so hard, it feels like my teeth rattle. “What are you doing?”

  I glare up at him in defiance, but he’s already turning to Hagan, who bends at Nathaniel’s side.

  Hagan presses his hand to Nathaniel’s heart.

  His voice is a low, shocked whisper. “Nathaniel is breathing.”

  Cyrian whirls back to me. “That’s impossible! Your fae magic can’t touch him. Not until dawn!”

  Dropping me into the dirt, Cyrian storms back to Hagan. “Finish him before the sun rises!”

  Hagan tips his head back as he considers the sky. Then his eyes meet mine. He has seconds to kill Nathaniel before the Three Chances expire. If he doesn’t, he won’t replace Nathaniel as Cyrian’s champion. If he isn’t Cyrian’s champion…

  Hagan is a dead man.

  The sharp intelligence returns to Hagan’s eyes as his gaze settles on my cheeks, following the tear tracks from my eyes down the scrubbed-out ink of Nathaniel’s family name.

  The harsh lines of Hagan’s expression soften. “No.”

  “What did you say?” Dark light grows around Cyrian’s hands in the form of spikes, his razor-sharp anger manifesting along his arms. “You will kill Nathaniel! Now!”

  Hagan rises to his full height. He’s bruised, bloody. Beaten. “I won’t kill for you again.”

  “Then you’re breathing your last air,” Cyrian snarls between gritted teeth.

  Hagan nods. Slowly. With certainty. He shocks me even more when he points at me. “Aura Lucidia, be sure to tell Nathaniel that I repaid my debt twice over.”

  As he speaks, the sky brightens.

  I can’t see the sun because of the haze, but the darkness lifts so suddenly that I can imagine its rays finally rising across the horizon.

  It’s dawn and Nathaniel is alive.

  The Three Chances are over.

  Nathaniel is still Cyrian’s champion.

  The third day has begun.

  Chapter 2

  I rise to my feet, overcoming my fatigue as a new sense of purpose fills me. Healing Nathaniel is now my only goal.

  Cyrian whirls toward me, his face pale.

  His champion lies unconscious in the crimson sand. If Nathaniel dies, Cyrian will lose his throne to Imatra.

  The runes along Cyrian’s arm are suddenly dull and his eyes appear hollow. It occurs to me that he’s used up a lot of his dark magic—just as I’ve used up most of my starlight. He draws his power from the hearts of living humans, leeching their life force so that the Ebon Rot sets in, an illness that slowly disfigures the humans until their bodies succumb and they pass away before they reach the age of forty. He was at his strongest surrounded by a stadium of humans, tapping into their life energy, but the arena is empty now.

  Cyrian directs his rage into a stream of dark magic that sizzles around his torso. I suspect he intends to immobilize me with pain like he did before, but I shout before he can release the torturous darkness into me.

  “If Nathaniel dies, you’ll lose everything! Let us leave, Cyrian,” I shout. “You can’t kill me or you’ll forfeit your life. You can’t allow Nathaniel to die now or Imatra will win. I’ve proven that I will do everything I can to keep Nathaniel alive. I’m the only one keeping you on the throne.”

  Cyrian freezes. His magic sputters and vanishes while his hands clench. He roars in anger, a stream of profanities so loud, I can’t distinguish the sounds.

  I flinch but force myself to allow his anger to wash over me. There are only two ways to heal Nathaniel. Either I fly him all of the way to the mountains in Bright where my adoptive father, Crispin, lives, or I take Nathaniel west within Fell country to Mathilda.

  Of the two, Mathilda is closer.

  I consider for a moment whether or not Cyrian could use his dark magic to heal Nathaniel—because that’s what Mathilda will have to use—but I don’t trust him. He could heal Nathaniel well enough to fight but implant some sort of curse in him at the same time.

  Mathilda may have been angry at Nathaniel yesterday when he brought me to Null, but she was also incredibly protective. Even if she hates me, I can trust that she will do everything in her power to heal him. I just have to hope that I can keep him alive until we reach her.

  Backing away from Cyrian, I raise my fingers to my lips and give two short, sharp whistles. My hands are covered in dirt and blood, leaving the taste of death in my mouth, but I don’t hesitate. I pray to the stars that my thunderbird, Treble, is still flying above the haze, watching over me. If he is, his keen hearing will pick up my call.

  Continuing to pace toward Nathaniel, I locate myself between him and the King. Inadvertently, this also means I’m acting as a shield between Cyrian and Hagan, who stands on the other side of Nathaniel.

  I whistle for Treble again, my nerves setting in as I wonder whether he flew back to Bright after all.

  Concealing my anxiety, I angle toward Hagan. “When my thunderbird arrives, you will help me lift Nathaniel onto my bird’s back.”

  He nods. It’s in his interest to help me. As long as he remains close to Nathaniel, Cyrian won’t risk attacking him. It will be a different matter when we leave, though.

  Just as I lift my fingertips to my lips for a third desperate time, lightning crackles across the haze above us, lighting up Treble’s silhouette in brilliant blue-gray streaks. Glowing and rippling with electricity, he plummets straight toward us before he spreads his wings and cracks them to slow his descent. The thunder created by his wings explodes around us, loud enough to thud through my hearing, but it’s a welcome beat.

  As the wind from Treble’s wings gusts across us, my thunderbird casts a dangerous glare at Cyrian. The flickers of Treble’s lightning cut through the darkness swirling around the King, forcing Cyrian to backstep farther away from us.

  I don’t have time for relief. Movement at the far end of the arena indicates that the hunters are returning. The last time they saw Treble, they tried to shoot him from the air.

  I need to move quickly.

>   Hagan is already kneeling beside Nathaniel, carefully hooking his arms around Nathaniel’s torso and lifting him. He glances at me with a gruff command. “Help me keep his head steady!”

  I race to Hagan’s side, supporting the back of Nathaniel’s head as Hagan draws Nathaniel carefully upward. While he strains under Nathaniel’s weight, he uses the strength in his thighs to rise as he pulls Nathaniel over his shoulder. It’s a much more careful and labored maneuver than the way Hagan barreled into me yesterday and threw me over his shoulder. I guess it helped that I was already standing up. Also that I’m much smaller than Nathaniel.

  Making sure Nathaniel’s head doesn’t drop back during the process, I remain conscious of the oncoming hunters. Snake—the hunter with a long scar meandering down his arm—and the other men flood through the gate at the end of the arena. They shout in anger as they draw their bows and arrows.

  “Don’t kill the bird!” Cyrian bellows, skirting around Treble and backing toward his men. “Hold your attack!”

  Treble cracks his wings as Hagan and I approach, giving Hagan a warning glare.

  Now that Nathaniel rests safely over Hagan’s shoulder, I hurry toward my thunderbird, willing him to listen to me. “This human is not my friend, but I need his help. Please give him your wing.”

  I nearly cry when Treble shows me how much he trusts me, immediately extending his wing so that Hagan can climb up onto his back.

  Hagan only stares at the extended wing. “What is this?”

  “You have to walk up his wing bone. Like this.” I hurry to demonstrate, running up Treble’s wing, while Hagan takes a hesitant step. Just like Nathaniel the first time he rode Treble, Hagan casts Treble concerned glances. “I’m a lot heavier than you—especially carrying Nathaniel.”

  “His bones are as strong as metal,” I say, holding out my hand to Hagan to urge him toward me. “Trust me.”

  His gaze flashes to me, suddenly sharp. “Trust you? I will never trust my enemy.”

  “Then don’t trust me as a fae,” I snap. “Trust me as Nathaniel’s wife.”

  Despite the scathing glare he casts at my face, he takes another step, continuing up Treble’s wing. “You deliberately scrubbed Nathaniel’s name from your face before the ink wore off. Only Nathaniel can decide if you are still his wife.”

  My stomach falls and my hand lowers. When Nathaniel first drew the symbol representing his family name on my face yesterday morning, I didn’t know that he was offering me his love and his loyalty. After I gave him permission to paint his name on my face in golden lacquer, I accepted everything the symbol meant—that we would love and protect each other.

  Then I found out who he really is—the true heir to the Fell throne. I’d scoured at the mark on my face with dirt, wanting to put as much emotional distance between us as possible. I’d scrubbed my skin raw to remove the ink in an effort to make it clear to Nathaniel that he couldn’t jeopardize his safety for me.

  “I told you yesterday,” I say, my voice bleak. “I will do whatever it takes to keep Nathaniel alive.”

  Hagan scowls at me. “I don’t understand your motives.”

  “You don’t need to understand me. Only believe that I’m not lying to you.”

  Hagan’s glare deepens. He will never trust me. No matter what I do or say.

  Taking the final step onto Treble’s glowing back, he turns and slides carefully downward so that Nathaniel is facing forward. Positioning Nathaniel there requires Hagan to carefully maneuver himself into a sitting position at the same time, even though he’s facing Treble’s tail.

  I glance at the hunters who are approaching with stealth, their weapons ready as they creep toward us. They may not be attacking, but they’re preparing to kill Hagan the moment he leaves Treble’s back.

  My eyes widen as I realize that I could slip onto Treble’s back right now and we could fly away, all three of us. I have no reason to save Hagan other than instinct, but I hear Nathaniel’s voice in my mind, telling me not to rethink, to trust my feelings.

  I slide into position so that Nathaniel’s back rests against my front, quickly positioning his head against my shoulder. His heavy weight settles against me, nearly crushing my chest, but I wrap one arm around his waist and refuse to let go.

  I wasn’t sure if Treble could hold all three of us, but he’s already proving capable, unflinching as our weight settles on his back.

  Reaching around Nathaniel, I grab Hagan’s arm before he can begin the awkward task of extricating himself from his current position.

  “Come with us,” I say, gripping his bicep as hard as I can. It’s difficult, given that my hand barely reaches around half of his upper arm.

  The moment I speak, I regret it.

  Dark stars, what am I thinking?

  Hagan has made his hatred of me clear. I was the fae who killed Nathaniel’s mother, Paloma Exalted, at the border years ago. Hagan considered her his mother too—she raised him, trained him, gave him a home and a purpose. Even though Paloma came to the border to end the agony the Ebon Rot was causing her, I was the one who struck her down, burying her in the muddy earth within the Misty Gallows.

  I was the one who ended the human’s beloved Queen.

  The astonishment in Hagan’s eyes now tells me he thinks I’ve lost my senses.

  “I’m a dead man,” he says. “I’m prepared to take my last breaths.”

  I refuse to let go, gripping harder as he tries to shake me off. “I’ll need help when we land,” I say. “I can’t move Nathaniel on my own.”

  It’s not completely true. The last time Nathaniel was mortally wounded, I managed to drag him off Treble’s back, but carrying him farther than that on my own will be very difficult. I don’t have the power of a Frost fae to control the wind that could carry him easily. My twilight power has many facets, but lifting things isn’t one of them.

  Hagan shakes his head—already saying no—but I allow anger to flood through me. “If you want to meet your death once Nathaniel’s safe, then feel free. But until then, you will help me.”

  His eyes widen at my anger, then narrow. Finally, a perplexed crease grows on his forehead. “I don’t—”

  “We’re wasting time,” I snap. “Decide whether to help me or not. If not, then get off my bird.”

  A dangerous smile settles on his lips. The light of intelligence in his eyes grows even brighter. “I will help you. Then I will die.”

  I’m already regretting my actions as I lean forward, crying to my thunderbird, “Treble! Fly!”

  I won’t tell Treble where we need to go until we’re in the air. I can’t chance Cyrian following us.

  Treble cracks his wings, a single powerful sweep carrying us up into the air. I grip with my thighs and wrap both of my arms around Nathaniel to keep him securely positioned. He’s heavy and it’s difficult, but I’ve held him in place on Treble’s back before. I wasn’t so fatigued then as I am now, but I tell myself that I can do it again.

  Hagan lurches with the sudden movement, his knees knocking into Nathaniel’s before his reflexes kick in—the muscles in his arms and legs visibly tensing as he adjusts his balance. He’s not in the most comfortable position, facing backward, squished between Treble’s wing joints and Nathaniel’s unconscious form.

  Below us, Cyrian raises his hand in Hagan’s direction, preparing to let loose the dark light he controls, but Treble is already banking to the left. Once again, I become a shield between Cyrian and Hagan.

  As Treble rises into the haze, seeking concealment in its murky depths, I take one last look at the arena below us.

  Cyrian’s arm drops to his side. The hunters watch us leave, their faces upturned while their weapons lower. The patch of bloody sand where Nathaniel lay becomes smaller as we rise. Finally, it’s nothing more than a crimson bloom far below us.

  As the haze envelops us, I face forward again, finding myself the focus of Hagan’s attention.

  I may have left one danger behind, but I’ve brough
t another threat with me.

  Chapter 3

  I meet Hagan’s eyes across the small gap between us. Now that we’ve entered the haze, the air is murky and cold, visibility obscured, but I can see the dangerous glint in his eyes all the same. I’m not too concerned since he isn’t carrying any weapons now, while I still have my hidden sword and dagger.

  Leaning to the side, I call past him again. “Treble, take us west. Look for a patch of overgrown plants and vines that are as black as night and as red as blood. We need to fly west of the Bitter Patch into Mathilda’s territory.”

  Without taking his eyes off me, Hagan repositions his grip on Treble, his hands settling across the top of Treble’s wing joints on either side. He inclines his head sharply at Nathaniel, raising his voice over the rushing wind. “You’re destined to kill Nathaniel, yet you’ve saved him many times. Why?”

  Inwardly, I sigh. I guess it was too much to hope that he wouldn’t demand answers while he has my undivided attention.

  I snap back. “Why did you push Nathaniel out of the wolf’s path?”

  Hagan takes a sharp breath as if he’s preparing for an equally sharp response, but he slowly exhales instead. His shoulders hunch. “All I had to do was keep Nathaniel fighting until dawn. No matter how tired we got, as long as we kept fighting, we would both get what we wanted.”

  My lips part slowly with shock as I register the meaning behind his statement. He’d bargained for control over Christiana and then he’d set her free.

  I speak slowly, testing my thoughts. “You wanted Christiana’s freedom. Volunteering to challenge Nathaniel was the only way to free her.”

  Hagan gives a single nod. “She despises me, but she’s all I’ve got left that’s worth fighting for.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What about the fight between you and Nathaniel?”

  He shrugs, his voice so quiet that I almost don’t hear him over the wind. “Nathaniel and I used to spar against each other all of the time. We could fight for hours and neither of us would win.” He looks up again. “Nathaniel would have remembered that.”