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THE THREE DAYS LEADING up to Eranna’s attack seemed to fly past Desdemona in a blur, and before she knew it, she stood on the ramparts of her castle walls, watching and waiting for the enemy army to appear on the horizon. Flanking her on both sides were Eli and Mindirra. Along the wall stood the soldiers who would operate the siege weapons meant to hold Eranna’s forces outside the walls for as long as possible. The reinforcements had yet to arrive from Damu, but Desdemona had faith that they would come. She had misjudged Queen Adrah, who had sent the Fae Warriors—some of whom stood along the tops of the castles towers with their birds, ready to take to the air in defense of the keep. The others remained down in the courtyard, along with her army of Werewolf and Fox Shifters—weapons prepared in the event the castle walls were breached.
If Adrah sent her own warriors to fight alongside them, then Desdemona trusted that she would ensure the warriors from Damu would come to their aid.
“Your Majesty,” said Mindirra. “I do wish you had allowed me to teach you how to wield a sword.”
Amusement curved the corners of her mouth. Mindirra had been pestering her for days, begging her to learn the basics of swordplay.
“One does not need a sword when one is a walking weapon,” Eli commented.
Desdemona nodded. “My brother-in-law speaks true. A sword would only weigh me down, Mindirra.”
“I suppose,” Mindirra grumbled.
Desdemona had purposely kept her armor and clothing light, so that she could move swiftly without being held back. Her black tunic and leggings had been a gift from Eli—his enchanted Fae clothing, which he’d had altered to fit her.
“So you don’t burn them away on the battlefield,” he’d said.
Desdemona wore them beneath the armor her brother-in-law had insisted she put on. Her breastplate had been etched with the image of a Phoenix—black on red enamel. Aside from the pauldrons protecting her shoulders, and the other pieces covering her arms, she’d denied everything else. The rest would only weigh her down. All the metal had been enchanted by one of the Fae Warriors, ensuring it would also shift when she did, becoming covered by her feathers.
Glancing back out over the snowy expanse stretching before the castle, she sighed. Waiting for a battle to begin was boring business. She allowed her gaze to wander as she waited, and found herself resting on Malachi Voran, yet again.
She chastised herself for dwelling on the male, but could not seem to stop fixating upon him.
At first, she’d told herself that it was simply because she hadn’t seen him in a long time, and she’d wanted him to know how grateful she was for the part he played in setting the Phoenix free. Then, she decided it must be because he’d seemed less than thrilled with her offer of gratitude, which had hurt her feelings. Now, she was certain it was because he seemed to be avoiding her, and she didn’t know why.
She watched him as he stood at his crossbow, both hands braced on the stone wall in front of him. His size and strength were fascinating to her—alluring for reasons she didn’t understand. His animal traits made themselves apparent in the sharp way he watched the horizon, focused like a predator waiting for his prey to appear. The brown suede he wore from head to toe hugged him like a second skin, and his wild tumble of red-brown curls begged to be caressed. The sadness in his eyes made her want to comfort him—to ask him what was wrong, and be the one to make things right for him.
God above, what has gotten into me?
Desdemona frowned and looked away, determined not to lose her focus. Malachi had lost his mate, and likely had no interest in a gangly thing like her—queen or no. Aside from that, she had obligations that must come before her own needs. Mollac stood on the precipice of a change, and this battle would determine whether it would be for better or worse. When the fight was over, Malachi would return to his son, and Desdemona would devote herself to ruling Mollac. She was determined to protect her people at all costs, even if it meant remaining alone. If Queen Adrah could do it, so could she.
“Look,” Eli said from her side, drawing her attention back to the horizon. “There.”
Trepidation sent a shiver down her spine as she spotted the large, black cloud moving swiftly across the snow toward them. The white snow disappeared beneath them, their darkness casting an ominous shadow over Mollac as they approached.
“They’re here,” she whispered. “Prepare the archers.”
“Prepare the archers,” Eli yelled, turning to catch Malachi’s gaze.
“Archers!” Malachi called out, his voice booming and carrying far enough that every soldier manning a crossbow snapped to attention. “Ready!”
Desdemona watched as each archer retrieved one of the massive, iron-tipped arrows from the buckets beside them. Fitting them into the crossbows, they pulled the strings back and notched them, readying to take their first shots as commanded.
Further down the wall, she heard someone yelling for catapults to be prepared. Two-man teams worked to load massive boulders into the catapults. More of the large hunks of stone lined the wall, pushed back to create a path for walking.
“Hold!” Malachi called out, a call repeated by the leader of those manning the catapults.
The archers held steady, watching, waiting.
The dark mass moving toward them parted into two, half of it revealing itself to be Dark Fae flying through the air on the backs of their dark birds. On the ground below, more Dark Fae, Werewolves, and Minotaurs marched toward them, their chants and battle cries echoing across the plains. As they drew closer Desdemona narrowed her eyes, making out her mother at their forefront. She stood on a small, golden chariot, one hand gripping the reins as two massive polar bears pulled her. In her other hand rested the silver spear she fought with whenever she wasn’t using ice against her enemy. Long, white plumes trailed from the silver helmet covering her head, a matching fur pelt hanging from her shoulders. Her silver armor caught the light of the sun, causing Desdemona to squint against its brightness.
“Hold!” Malachi called out once more, urging the archers to wait until the enemy had drawn closer. The cry echoed up and down the wall, repeated by the catapult leader.
Desdemona held her breath, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted them to begin, but impatience would cause them to make mistakes. They couldn’t afford to waste any of their projectiles, and waiting until the other army had drawn within range was wise.
“Steady, sister,” Eli murmured, placing one hand on her shoulder. He seemed to sense her unease. “The battle will begin soon enough. You’ll have your chance.”
Nodding, she didn’t respond with words. Eli likely understood the need she felt to shift into her animal form and allow instinct to take over. However, a lone Phoenix could not win a battle, and she needed to trust her people to fight alongside her.
“Aim!” Malachi called out to the archers, taking hold of his own crossbow and bending so that the arrow would follow his line of sight.
All around her the other archers followed suit. The enemy army was coming faster now, running toward Semran Hall as if they intended to batter themselves against the walls to knock them down. Eranna’s chariot rumbled across the snow, keeping pace with the Werewolves and Foxes who, even in their two-legged forms, were faster than the rest.
“Fire!” Malachi commanded.
The archers followed the command, releasing their arrows in a synchronized hiss. Desdemona watched as they arced up through the air before hurtling down. She fought not to cheer as almost all the arrows found their marks, embedding themselves into several of the soldiers marching at the front of Eranna’s formation. It would take more than one volley of arrows to dent their numbers.
“Archers, ready!” Malachi yelled, at the same time the catapult master cried, “Catapults, loose!”
While the archers prepared their second round of arrows, the two-person teams working the catapults let loose with their boulders. In a staggered sequence, the heavy wooden beams of the catapults swung forward, hurling projectiles out toward their opponents. Two of the boulders hit the ground and rolled, slamming into the front lines. Bodies went flying as the boulders crashed into several of them at once, while others continued running, curving around the rocks to avoid impact.
One of the projectiles fell short, rolling to a stop before reaching the army. Five others fell beyond the front lines, crushing Minotaurs and Dark Fae beneath them as they hurtled to the ground at the center of their formations.
Desdemona stood and watched, her fingernails digging into her palms as more arrows and boulders began flying away from the wall, synchronized to the cries of “Ready ... fire!” from Malachi and “Catapults ... loose!” from further down the ramparts.
Even as the arrows struck true and the boulders crushed anything in their path, it seemed they’d hardly made a dent in the army’s numbers.
Before long, the army ground to a halt, stopping within several feet of the castle walls. Desdemona clenched her jaw, gazing down at her mother, who remained in her chariot, staring back at her with narrowed eyes. Behind Eranna, her army pounded their weapons against the ground in a drum-like cadence, their chants and war cries echoing out across the air, while overhead, the Dark Fae who flew on their birds circled like vultures waiting to pick over a corpse.
Taking a step closer to the wall, Desdemona raised her chin. “Eranna Ravenmoore of Mollac, you have been banished from these lands,” she called out, voice raised. “Turn your army around and leave this place, or you will suffer the consequences!”
Leaning casually against the side of her chariot, Eranna laughed. The sound traveled, carrying straight to Desdemona and stoking her annoyance.
“Consequences, you say?” she taunted. “If anyone here need fear consequences, it is you, daughter. Come, now, cease these games and open the gates. Give Mother back her castle, and all will be forgiven. The time for playing queen is at an end for you.”
“I am not a child!” she spat, her face flaming hot with anger. “And I am the true queen of Mollac. The people have accepted me in your place, and I will fight for them until my very last breath.”
All humor fled from Eranna’s voice, and the mocking smile melted away from her face. “If that’s the way you want it ... so be it.”
Raising one hand, she arced it through the air, pointing toward the walls, a silent command to her army. From overhead, the Dark Fae responded, guiding their birds straight toward the castle, intending to fly over the walls.
“Archers, to the sky! Take down the birds!” Malachi called out, already taking aim with his own crossbow.
The birds of the Dark Fae filled the air with the sounds of their wings, while the hiss of the arrows being loosed seemed to answer the whisper.
Two of the Dark Fae went down, while the others steered their birds around the arrows.
Then, everything erupted into chaos. Malachi commanded the archers to fire at will, and the men manning the crossbows followed the command, notching and firing arrows as fast as their arms would allow.
From behind her, a command rang out from one of the Fae Warriors, prompting a swift response from the Undays’e. Their birds took to the air, flying out to meet the Dark Fae. The clash of weapons rang out over the plains in concert with the squawk of birds as dark met light in the sky. From the backs of their birds the Warrior Fae fought against the Eendi, the occasional death sending showers of silvery dust raining down toward the snow.
Another shouted command went up from Eranna, and in response, the ranks around her parted to allow a large group of Minotaurs to march through. Huddled in a close formation, they seemed to carry something in their midst, with those on the outside of the formation holding up large silver shields to protect it. As one, they began marching toward the gates.
“A battering ram,” Eli growled from her side. “They have a battering ram.”
“Malachi!” Mindirra bellowed. “Battering ram ... there!”
His response was drowned out by more shouts and orders from the catapult leader, but as several of the archers moved their attention away from the Dark Fae and focused their crossbows downward, Desdemona supposed they’d gotten the message.
The large arrows zipped through the sky, aimed at the Minotaurs marching toward the castle gates. One Minotaur went down, while the other arrows glanced off the raised silver shields, which touched each other to create a protective shell. The others kept marching, one of them picking up the dead Minotaur’s shield and taking his place in the shell.
Eranna gave another command, and from amongst them came several smaller groups of Witches and Sorcerers. They ran toward the wall, small wooden carts rolling along beside them. Inside, Desdemona spotted piles of the explosives they favored as weapons.
“They’re going to try to blow a hole through the wall,” she whispered.
Moving much faster than the slow, clumsy Minotaurs, the Witches and Sorcerers had almost reached the wall.
“They’re too close for the arrows to strike them,” Eli said, grasping the wall and leaning over for a better view.
“Then I’m going out there,” Desdemona declared, already moving to climb up onto the edge of the wall.
Eli grasped her arm before she could shift. “It’s too soon in the battle. You’ll tire yourself out.”
With a shake of her head, she pulled away from him. “I will not stand here and allow them to breach the wall when it is within my power to stop it. I can hold out until Damu arrives. Take over for me, Eli. Give commands in my stead if need be.”
Eli clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond. Moving to stand in the place she’d been occupying, he gave her a silent nod.
Spreading her arms, Desdemona allowed her body to drop forward. She began to fall, the cold wind whipping around her. Midair, she burst into flames, shifting into her bird form and arcing back toward the wall, her sights set on the Witches attempting to penetrate her castle wall.
Rothatin flexed his fist around the spear clutched in his grasp. Swiveling his eyes left and right, he studied the landscape of Inador. For the moment, all seemed calm. The very air within the Elf realm seemed to have gone completely still. There was no flute or harp music to be heard, no tinkling of Pixies—who were almost never still—no laughter from the Nymphs. The creatures of the forest—who did not possess the skills to fight—had been hidden away within the Riverleaf compound, where Arandil Riverleaf stood at the forefront of the unit of Elves gathered there to protect them. Close to their precious water, the Riverleaf clan would have the one weapon they needed to fight against anyone wanting to do these creatures harm—as well as a source for extinguishing fires.
Stationed at every secret entrance to Inador were the Dwarves, who held their axes and daggers ready to fight back anything that came through.
Somewhere in the trees, his owl, Archimedes, sat in wait, ready to come to his master’s aid if need be.
He stood at Inador’s gates with Jocylene on one side, and En’im on the other, a combined force of Warrior Fae and Elves. Hidden out of sight, the Treelor Clan rested on tree limbs, their bows and arrows readied to fire from the boughs.
Aside from being anxious for the attack to begin so he could fight—the one thing he knew how to do without complication—Rothatin felt uncomfortable standing between the two women. One would become his wife, and the other ... well, he was not supposed to think of her as anything other than a princess he’d sworn to protect.
Glancing over at Jocylene, he found her staring out through the gates, seemingly as ready to get on with it as he was. Over a green tunic and matching leggings, she wore the breastplate made for her by the Dwarves. Forged of iron and dipped in brilliant silver, it was etched with vines and roses. She held no weapons, but nearby rested a large wagon filled to the brim with pure iron ore. The Dwarves had reserved it just for her, using the rest to forge weapons.
Clearing his throat, he caught her attention. She turned her head to glance at him, one eyebrow raised.
“General?”
When had she begun referring to him by his title instead of his name? It shouldn’t have bothered him at a time like this, but it did.
“Princess,” he replied. “I think it might be best if you stay close to me during the battle ... in the event that we find it necessary to combine our abilities.”
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, seeming uncertain whether he truly thought they’d need each other, or if he was simply being gallant. It was true that Jocylene needed no protection when she was, by far, one of the strongest royal daughters. Second only, perhaps, to her sister.
After a moment, she seemed to decide that he was right, and gave him a nod. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll do my best to stay close.”
Satisfied, he turned his gaze back to the gates. It could not be denied that Rothatin’s power, when combined with Jocylene’s, proved a force to be reckoned with. He did not know how or why, but his connection to nature seemed to feed her attachment to the earth. Yet another reason why he found it almost impossible to put her behind him.
Turning to gaze upon his betrothed, he reminded himself that he had no choice. He had selected En’im to be his bride, and it had been made public. Queen Adrah was likely already planning their engagement celebration. Things had been set into motion that he could not undo.
It was for the best. Jocylene was mated, which was just as permanent—if not more so—than a marriage. She had chosen Eli, and he had missed his chance with her.
En’im met his gaze and smiled. She seemed happy enough, and he supposed that was all that mattered. He would endeavor to uphold his promise and be a good husband to her. It was the least he could do after asking her to marry him for duty when she might have had the chance to marry for love someday.
The sounds of screams in the distance tore him out of his reverie. Turning toward the source of the sound, Rothatin found a cloud of billowing black smoke wafting into the air. Another scream came—but this one was not a cry of terror. It was the call of a bird.
A Phoenix.
An orange light flashed, producing more smoke, and with wide eyes, Rothatin watched as the tops of several trees burst into flames.
Beside him Jocylene made a move, as if to march through the gates and toward the fire. Rothatin reached out to grab her arm, pulling her back to his side.
“Don’t,” he commanded, maintaining a hold on her arm.
“But the screams—”
“We knew this was coming,” he interjected. “Any creatures still in the forest will hopefully take shelter. They’ll come here, or run to Skel’gar. If we go rushing off after those few, we will fail to protect the many we have sheltered here.”
She glared at him for a moment, as if accusing him of being a heartless beast. But then, sighed and nodded at him, as if realizing that he was right.
The screams died away, but the screeching of the blood magic Phoenix and belching of flames continued. All around him, the Elves watched in in various degrees of horror, anger, and grief. The protectors of the forest, it must hurt them viscerally to see the beautiful trees burned down.
Suddenly, a black shape raced over them, its shadow blotting out the sunlight filtering through the tops of the trees. Rothatin glanced up and caught sight of the abomination—the black magic Phoenix with silky black feathers tipped in orange and red.
The sound of arrows being notched to bows rang out, as the Treelors appeared from their hiding places in the trees, aiming upward.
More shadows passed—the Dark Fae following the path of the Phoenix. Arrows flew, racing up through the tops of the trees. Rothatin protracted the double blades of his spear, while at his side, En’im drew her sword. Several hunks of iron ore levitated from their place in the wagon at Jocylene’s command.
In an instant, the treetops above them seemed to explode, as the dark shapes of the Dark Fae and the birds came bursting through the leaves. They swooped down, the talons of the birds aimed at those standing on the ground.
The archers let loose with more arrows, as the rest of them ducked and swung their weapons at the birds diving down at them. Rothatin narrowly avoided the sharp talons of one of the birds, crouching low, and thrusting upward with his spear. Blood sprayed his hands and face as he gutted the bird, snatching his spear loose and watching as its rider leapt from its back to land in front of him. The bird fell, dead, while its rider attacked Rothatin with two curved, iron blades. He swiveled and ducked to avoid one blade, bringing up his spear to block the second. Raising his leg, he kicked his opponent in the chest and sent him flying back. A chunk of iron ore came hurtling out of nowhere, slamming into the Dark Fae’s head, causing him to shatter into a shower of silver dust.
“You’re welcome,” Jocylene called out, her focus already turned to her next target.
Her iron ore flew through the air—but not in a careless way that left Rothatin fearing that she might hit him or one of the other Warrior Fae. She was in complete control, hurling the hunks of rock at the Eendi as many of them dropped from the backs of the birds and drew their weapons.
Two more dropped down in front of him, and Rothatin took on one while En’im went for the other. Their blades slashed and blocked, their bodies moving in a synchronized dance born from years of practice with their weapons. As the Eendi kept coming, they kept fighting, striking them down almost as fast as they could appear.
In the distance, the sounds of battle reached out to him from every corner of Inador, and he realized that more of them had infiltrated through the waterfall tunnels. The grunts of Dwarves intermingled with the clash of axe against sword. The whisper of arrows continued from the trees, while farther into the realm, the sounds of rushing water indicated the Riverleafs were hard at work.
Rothatin backpedaled as another Eendi appeared right in front of him, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by an iron blade. He raised his spear in challenge and engaged the Dark Faerie in a fight, praying to the gods for the strength to endure what appeared to be a long fight looming ahead of him.
Phaedra flicked her tail and undulated her body through the water, swimming as fast as she could. All around them, the trees of Inador were bursting into flames, endangering the lives of the creatures hidden within the Riverleaf compound. While Arandil and a unit of Elves and Warrior Fae placed under his control fought the Dark Fae who’d burst through the nearest waterfall entrance—she and Arrian led several swimmers up and down the river, working with the water to put out the raging fires.
Bursting through the surface, she found a nearby tree lit aflame, chunks of ash and charred leaf fluttering to the ground and threatening to set the grass on fire. Extending her arms, she kept a hold of her iron trident with one hand and rose up from the river on a large tidal wave. The wave held her up as she directed more water toward the tree with the trident, attempting to extinguish the fire.
Farther up the bank, another tree caught fire, producing several screams from the Nymphs taking refuge there.
Arrian left the water, droplets flying from his braided hair as he dashed toward the tree in an attempt at rescuing them. Phaedra followed, pushing herself along behind him on the tidal wave and using her trident to direct more water toward the tree. She aimed for the fire spreading from the top, watching as Arrian quickly scaled the tree. Standing on a large, sturdy limb, he reached out to take the hand of a slender female Nymph, who clutched a child in her arms. Taking the child, Arrian cradled it in one arm, while taking the woman onto his back. A male Nymph followed, climbing down the tree beside Arrian. He arrived on the ground first, then reached up to accept the babe from Arrian, who then dropped to the ground to deposit the woman on her feet.
Retrieving the bow that had been looped around his body, Arrian notched an arrow to it from the sheath on his back. He and the three Nymphs were swallowed into the trees, and Phaedra assumed he intended to get them to safety.
She had just prepared to dive back into the water, ready to put out more fires, when something silver came flying at her from the riverbank. Swatting at it with the trident, Phaedra knocked it into the river. It fell to the bottom, resting among the smooth, colorful stones lining the bottom. A dagger.
Glancing up, she found the Dark Fae who had thrown it had her. He produced another from a series of sheaths holding several more along his sides and hurled it.
Phaedra blocked it once more, then surged toward the bank on a tidal wave, shifting back to two legs and landing on her feet on the bank.
The Dark Fae was on her in an instant, two of his daggers swinging at her in swift arcs. Phaedra backpedaled, defending herself with the trident. He came at her ruthlessly, his mouth curled into a derisive snarl as he attempted to take her head off with his daggers.
Swinging with the trident, she knocked one of the daggers from his hand, then rotated the staff of it at his head. It glanced off his temple, sending him reeling back. As he tripped over his own feet and began to fall, Phaedra took advantage of his momentum and drove the trident’s sharp prongs into his chest. The iron weapon tore him to pieces before her eyes, turning him into a shower of silvery ash.
The sound of footsteps behind her had her on her guard, and she swiveled quickly to meet a second Eendi. This one—a female—came at her with a sword. She blocked and parried the swipes of the sword with the staff of her trident, watching for an opening to strike. Swinging up with the trident, she blocked a downswing of the sword, but then lost her footing as the Dark Fae swiped at her ankles with a sweeping kick. Phaedra went down on her back, the wind knocked from her momentarily.
She rolled to the side when the sword came down toward her, leaping to her feet and thrusting the trident out just as the Dark Fae stumbled forward with the heavy momentum of her sword. Her trident thrust into the Eendi’s side, and she disappeared like the first one had.
A heavy hand came down onto her shoulder, and Phaedra gasped, turning swiftly and turning aiming the trident toward the threat.
Arrian dodged the blow, his eyes going wide as he bent almost parallel to the ground to avoid being gutted with the weapon.
He righted himself and chuckled. “Careful.”
She cringed. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I saw you fighting off those Eendi. Well done.”
Flashing him a smile, she backed toward the water once more. “Think you can keep up?”
He returned her grin and replaced the bow so that it was looped across his chest once more. “Absolutely.”
As one, they dove into the water, joining the others who continued working to keep the fire from overtaking Inador.