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DESDEMONA FLAPPED HER wings, flying backward to avoid the spears stabbing out at her. Three Sorcerers surrounded the mob of Witches working to stack their explosives in a pile up against the castle walls. They worked with their spears to keep her from getting close enough to stop them. Her fire might set off the explosives, which would only help the Witches achieve their goal. Up and down the wall, more groups of Witches attempted the same, while the Minotaurs worked to slam their battering ram against the castle gates. The iron bars shook and trembled, but held as the ram swung back and forth, taking up a rhythm that matched the grunts and snarls of the Minotaurs controlling it.
Arcing back around, she increased her speed, swooping low and stretching out her talons as she made her way back to the Witches. This time, she came too fast for them, avoiding the tips of their spears and bowling them over with her large body. Taking two of them up in her talons, she hurled them against the castle wall. The sound of their bones snapping as they fell limp to the ground pleased her. The others ran to get away from her as she dove toward them again. Instead of chasing them, she scooped up as many of the explosive bombs in her talons as she could and took to the sky, flying out over Eranna’s army.
Dropping them, she spewed fire as they hurtled downward, causing them to explode in the midst of the enemy ranks. Bodies flew and cries of the dying reached out to her, but Desdemona did not stop. Flying back and forth, she continued her assault, collecting the bombs and taking them back to where they’d come from. Spears and arrows flew at her from the enemy in an attempt to ground her, but Desdemona prevailed.
Up and down the wall she flew, beating the Witches back and getting rid of their bombs. Behind her, the commands for the archers and catapults continued, and here and here, the large arrows and boulders flew past her, aimed at the Dark Fae still battling it out in the sky with the Warrior Fae, and the enemy army waiting for their chance to charge the gate.
From within the courtyard, more arrows flew through the bars, aimed at the Minotaurs who relentlessly pounded away with their battering ram.
Just as she glided over the enemy army with her last batch of bombs, a large spear came hurtling at her from out of nowhere. Before she could move to avoid it, it struck true—embedding itself in the joint of her wing. With a scream, she spewed fire down in the direction the spear had come from, then made her escape before more of them could strike her. The ball of fire engulfed several Minotaurs and a Werewolf as she flew back to her place at the top of the wall.
She shifted as she landed, falling beside Eli with the spear buried in her shoulder, jammed into the vulnerable space between her breastplate and pauldron.
“Your Majesty!” Mindirra called out, rushing forward and falling to her knees in front of Desdemona. “You’re injured!”
“I’m all right,” she managed between short pants, even though the pain radiating down her arm was akin to the worst she’d ever felt in her life.
“We have to get the spear out,” Eli replied, stepping forward to take hold of the shaft. “Are you ready?”
Below them, the wall trembled as the battering ram crashed against the gates. An explosion, and she lowered her head, knowing she had failed.
Desdemona gritted her teeth and nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. Eli braced his opposite hand against her shoulder, took a pause, then yanked on the spear with all of his might. A scream fell from her lips as the spear was torn free of her flesh, followed by a font of blood. Mindirra stepped forward to unbuckle the pauldrons, removing it and the rest of the armor covering the arm.
With a grimace, Eli quickly removed his shirt. He approached her as if to use them to bind the wound.
Holding one hand up, she halted him with a shake of her head. “I must sear the wound first ... to stop the bleeding.”
Nodding in understanding, Eli produced a dagger from his boot and held it up to her. “I’ll do it. Just give me a flame.”
Extending her palm, Desdemona produced a small flame and held it out toward him. Thrusting his knife into the fire, Eli watched and waited while the metal began to heat. Once it glowed like an ember, he withdrew it, and she extinguished the flame. Mindirra tore her sleeve off to expose the wound, and placed a comforting hand on her good shoulder.
“Are you ready?” Eli asked, his gaze offering her sympathy.
Nodding, she looked away, unable to watch. “Do it.”
She bit her lower lip and held back a scream as the hot metal touched her, searing her skin. She fought down the bile rising in her throat and breathed through the pain, sighing with relief when he pulled the metal way. Glancing down at her shoulder, she found the wound now closed, the burn lingering in its place. It was going to leave a scar, but Desdemona couldn’t think about that now.
Eli removed his shirt and quickly tore it into strips, which he used to bind the shoulder. The pressure of the tight bindings offered some relief from the pain, and she allowed Eli to help her to her feet.
“I’m all right,” she said in response to her brother-in-law’s questioning stare.
Suddenly, the sound of groaning metal from below struck fear into her gut. Her eyes grew wide as, right before her eyes, Eli and Mindirra shifted into animal form in response. She did not have to ask them why, as they quickly bounded off down the stairs leading into the courtyard below.
The gates had just been breached.
Malachi sprouted fur and four legs in an eye’s blink, rushing down the castle wall steps behind Eli and Mindirra. Another man took his place with the crossbow, and he was grateful for it. He did not have the patience to remain on the wall, when he’d rather get up close with his enemy and tear it to shreds. His gaze met Desdemona’s as he passed her on his way to the stairs, but he forced himself to keep moving. He was doing this for her, and stopping to comfort her when she was injured could be of no use right now.
Watching that spear fly up and impale her had sent his heart plummeting down into his stomach for a moment; until he realized that the injury was not life threatening. Noticing that Eli and Mindirra seemed to have things under control, he’d continued in his task of manning the crossbow.
Now that the gates had been breached, the mission had changed. Keep as many of them from entering the keep as possible. As long as the enemy could be held back from the wall, they could continue to hold out until the reinforcements arrived from Damu.
Reaching the courtyard, he found Desdemona’s forces pouring out through the now open gates, rushing out to meet Eranna’s approaching army. The Minotaurs who’d wielded the battering ram lay dead, their instrument of destruction lying on the ground. But, their goal had been reached, their mission complete. The gates lay mangled on the courtyard, trampled beneath the feet of those running out to do battle. Formations formed up along the wall, with the bulk of their numbers concentrated just in front of the now opened gate.
Eranna’s chariot rolled across the snow swiftly, leading the charge. The Shifters pulled away from the rest, their speed propelling them forward.
Eli roared, and even though it was not a call he understood, the animal instincts he possessed responded. He was calling on the other Shifters to fall in line.
Malachi’s paws pounded the snow as he ran to join the others—a mingling of Foxes and Werewolves flanking him and Eli on either side. As one, they ran out to meet the others. Snow and clumps of dirt kicked up beneath their swift feet as they ran, with Eli breaking ahead of the pack, the speed of a cat propelling him faster than the rest of them.
Eli made impact first, colliding with a Werewolf at the center of the battlefield. Seconds later, the rest caught up. Malachi roared, swiping his big paw at a Werewolf, as another leapt onto his back. Rearing up onto two legs, he growled, striking out with his claws at the attacking Werewolf while trying to dislodge the one clinging to his back. He had almost died once from the bite of a Werewolf, and did not wish to repeat the experience.
The first one went down, and the other fell from his back. Malachi turned and quickly snapped at the Werewolf’s throat with his teeth, rendering it motionless, too. All around him the Shifters fought, while the other, slower creatures finally met them in the fray.
The shower of silver dust swirled to mingle with the snow, as Dark Fae battled Eendi. Explosions shook the ground here and there as the Witches threw their explosives. Growls and snarls from the Shifters mingled with the sounds of snapping jaws and ripping claws.
Malachi fought without thinking, striking out at anything that attacked him with his teeth and claws. Overhead, more of the Warrior Fae flew, their birds dropping large stones onto the enemy forces and crushing them.
An Eendi swooped down at him on the back of a large crow, the bird extending its talons to pluck Malachi from the ground. He could not avoid it, as the bird began to fly off with him, pulling him farther and farther away from the ground.
Malachi felt dizzy as the bird flew him away from the others, seeming ready to drop him to his death. He gritted his teeth and braced for impact. He shifted as he fell, his two-legged form, making it easier for him to survive the fall.
But, he never touched the ground.
Something else plucked him out of the air, and he found himself flying again. Glancing up, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the vibrant feathers flapping in the wind and carrying him to safety. Flames shot from her beak, incinerating the Eendi who had attempted to kill him.
Then, she gingerly set him on his feet, landing on the ground in front of him. All around them the battle raged on, but for the moment, he became entranced by the Phoenix standing in front of him. Her dark eyes met his and held, and for a moment, he wondered if she remembered.
But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and she was flying again, spewing flames down at the enemy. He shifted forms once more, rejoining the fight.
“I want her brought down now!” a shrill voice called out from somewhere within the battle. “I want the Phoenix grounded!”
Malachi searched for the familiar voice and found Eranna still in her chariot, her polar bears pulling her around the fighting bodies. From her place in the chariot, she held the reins with one hand, and her spear with the other—which she wielded against anything that came too close to her precious vehicle. Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile as she stabbed a Fox Shifter through the eye, before pulling her spear free and using it against a Werewolf.
From deep within Eranna’s ranks, a large wooden device appeared, similar to a catapult. Fighting off one of Eranna’s Fox Shifters, Malachi attempted to make his way closer to determine would it could be.
He barreled toward it, swatting a Witch out of his way with his paw and lumbering forward. The device deployed, sending what appeared to be a large net flying toward Desdemona. The net enfolded her, forcing her to the ground due to the heavy weights attacked to each end.
No!
He spotted Eli in the throng, fighting his way toward her, along with Mindirra. As they proceeded to where Desdemona had fallen, they found their path impeded by a horde of Werewolves. While Malachi fought to tear his way through them, he could see that several witches had taken hold of the edge of the net, and were working to keep Desdemona from breaking free.
Her cries sounded panicked as she fought against the bindings, her fire harmless to the undoubtedly enchanted ropes making up the net.
Eranna’s chariot rolled into view, and she brought it to a halt in front of her trapped daughter, dismounting and leaving it in the snow. She gave her silver spear a twirl as she approached the trapped Phoenix.
“Well, what do we have here,” she taunted, a cackling laugh falling from her lips. “It would seem that even a Phoenix can be caged like any ordinary bird.”
Desdemona’s response came out on an angry cry, but this only seemed to amuse Eranna. Lifting her spear, the dark queen glared at her daughter.
“I gave you a chance to back down ... to give me my kingdom back,” she snarled. “Now your precious followers will pay the price by watching their so-called queen die.”
Malachi crushed the neck of an attacking Fox Shifter with his jaws, his desperation to get to Eranna before she could kill Desdemona clutching at his chest. He bounded over the snow; his breath caught and held in his throat as he watched Desdemona thrash, fighting against the net and the Witches holding her down.
Eranna took a few long, running steps, the spear held up as she prepared to hurl it through the air. Malachi followed, jaws open and ready to strike. Her feet left the ground as she leapt, thrusting her arm forward with the spear. His teeth sank into her ankle, producing a scream of pain and rage. Falling toward the snow, he dragged her down, but not before she released the spear, which continued on its course toward Desdemona.
He and the dark queen fell to the snow in a tumble of limbs, the taste of the queen’s blood sour on his tongue. The spear zipped through the air, but did not hit its intended target.
Seemingly out of thin air, a large, black shape leapt through the air, putting itself between Desdemona and the spear.
The point of the spear struck it, knocking it to the ground and rescuing Desdemona from certain death.
“You foul beast!” Eranna shrieked at him from where she lay on the ground, blood from her ankle soaking the snow beneath her. “You cretin! I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
Malachi stood over her and roared, the need to kill her himself welling up within him. Raising one paw, he prepared to strike, his claws sharp enough to remove her head from her shoulders. Just as he brought it downward, she screamed, disappearing with a blast of snow, ice, and cold air.
He pounded the snow with his paw in frustration, but then shifted onto two legs as he remembered Desdemona.
Mindirra and a few of the royal bodyguards fought against the Witches to free her, while Desdemona laid still and ceased fighting the ropes, waiting for her moment to be set free.
As Malachi ran across the snow toward her, he spotted the black shape that had leapt in front of her to take the point of the spear.
The black shape had morphed, appearing much smaller now that he lay in the snow, blood pouring from the wound in his center of his chest. Malachi’s stomach lurched as he skidded to a stop beside him. He knelt, eyes wide and hands trembling as his eyes met a pair of wide, yellow-gold ones.
Jocylene ducked to avoid the swing of an Eendi’s sword, then reached for one of the chunks of iron ore nearby with her power and threw it right in her opponent’s face. He shattered, his head disintegrating first, followed by his body. A Minotaur roared at her, the points of his horns lowered at her as he charged. She pulled on the ground and caused it to roll like a tidal wave beneath the beast. It stumbled, and Rothatin was on it before it could move. Leaping onto the beast’s back, he drove the point of his spear between its shoulder blades. With a roar, the beast jerked, then fell still and silent. Wrenching his spear loose, Rothatin hopped down from on top of the beast.
Spotting an Eendi behind him, Jocylene pulled on a hunk of iron and hurled it over his shoulder. His eyes widened as it just missed him, flying to tear through the Dark Fae attempting to attack him from behind. Rothatin turned just in time to see his attacker disappear in a swirl of silver dust.
He scowled at her. “Are you attempting to kill me, Princess?”
She scoffed. “I could if I wanted to. And, you’re welcome, by the way.”
He smirked, raising his spear to fight off another Eendi, which had dropped out of the sky between them.
“Thank you for almost killing me,” he snapped between blows. Within seconds he’d killed the Dark Fae.
She opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort, but was stopped short, when an unseen force slammed against her chest. The breath knocked from her lungs, she fell back onto the ground. As she scrambled to gain her footing again, Rothatin appeared over her.
“Princess, are you all—”
A sharp cry tore from her throat, cutting him off, as a searing pain blossomed in her chest. She felt as if something had lodged itself there, and was now ripping her apart from the inside. Dropping to her knees, she clutched her chest and screamed again, finding no other outlet for the pain. Her throat seized and she felt as if her lungs had filled with water, even though she sat on dry land.
Smoke and fire continued to ravage the forest around them, while the battle raged on. They were winning—beating back the Eendi who had lost the element of surprise. Yet, Jocylene could not seem to get a handle on whatever it was tearing her up inside, and felt as if she stared death in the face.
Rothatin’s face swam in her blurred vision, his brow knit with concern. “Jocylene? What is it ... what’s wrong?”
“My chest ...” she choked out. “The pain ... I can’t ... agh!”
She lurched forward into his arms, and he caught her, keeping her from pitching face-first into the dirt. A flash of bright light filled her vision, and when it cleared, she saw clearly what had caused this pain. Tears filled her eyes as the throbbing pain echoed throughout her entire being.
“Eli,” she croaked. “It’s Eli ... he’s hurt.”
Rothatin lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, his mouth a grim line. “I can take you to him.”
She nodded quickly, reaching out to latch on to the front of his shirt. “Please.”
Before the word had even finished coming from her mouth, he began to teleport, taking her with him in a haze of glowing light.
They arrived in Mollac, and for a moment Jocylene registered nothing except the crippling pain and the swirl of snow around her. Then, the sounds of battle broke through, and she found herself in front of Semran Hall, where the battle against Eranna raged on.
Carrying her forward, Rothatin set her down in the snow next to the prone form of her mate. Lying on the ground, shirtless, he writhed and groaned in pain as blood welled up in his mouth and spilled over his chin A long, silver weapon protruded from his chest. At his side, Malachi sat, holding one of his hands, his large, brown eyes filled with sadness as they came up to lock with hers
“No!” she cried, crawling toward him, clutching at her own chest as his pain became hers. “Eli!”
His disoriented eyes stilled, finding her. He released Malachi’s hand and reached out, his fingers trembling as she crawled across the snow toward him. Tears blinded her vision, but she blinked, releasing them down her cheeks. Her hand met his. She took hold of it and collapsed at his side, the agony nearly unbearable now.
He turned his head and spat dark blood into the snow, gazing up into her eyes. His lips moved, but no words came—only more blood. Jocylene could taste it in the back of her throat, feel the sensation of him drowning in his own blood within her own chest.
“Rothatin,” she whimpered, her pained voice coming out more like a whisper.
But he was close, his voice reaching out to her from somewhere over her shoulder. “Princess, I’m sorry ... this is beyond my power to heal.”
Shaking her head, she felt more hot tears tracking down her cheeks. “No ... please. You can heal anything. You have to try!”
A hand clasped her shoulder, and she knew it was his. “Not a heart that has been destroyed. Eranna’s spear is poisoned ... his heart is disintegrating in his chest, and even I cannot repair something that isn’t there. He’s dying, Jocylene.”
She’d known this, but hearing it said out loud filled her with despair. Tightening her hold on Eli’s hand, she threw her head back and screamed, pouring out all her sadness, grief, and rage. A surge of power tore through her, and behind her Rothatin gasped. She could feel his power intertwining with hers and surging outward in waves. She took advantage of his nearness and pulled harder on it, fusing it with her power over the earth.
The ground beneath them shook and those fighting around them fell to the ground. Desdemona broke free of the net holding her down and shot up into the air in a burst of flames. All around them, the thundering of the earth shaking resounded, responding to her grief. Fissures opened in the ground, swallowing up several bodies. Whether friend or foe, Jocylene did not know ... nor did she care.
Joss, my love ... stop this. You’ll kill everyone here, and yourself with your rage.
Eli’s voice filled her mind, clear as a bell. Glancing down at him, she calmed, finding that he now lay limp and motionless, his drooping eyes still attempting to hold her gaze.
Eli, please ... you can’t die. I cannot live without you.
Reaching up with a weak hand, he touched her face, leaving a smear of his blood behind. I am sorry, my love ... so sorry ... I wouldn’t leave you if I could help it. But you will survive. You are strong. You have to survive for Michael, Vincent, and Gracie. And for Fallada ... our world needs you. Be strong, my love.
“I love you,” she sobbed out loud, reaching down to clutch his face in her hands. “I love you so much.”
I know, he replied into her mind. And I love you.
His eyes fluttered closed, and the pain within her chest ceased. With another sob, she collapsed onto him, her head falling against his shoulder. The cries spilling from her shook her body from head to toe, the overwhelming grief sweeping over her making it impossible for her to lift her head. She became faintly aware of someone removing the spear from his chest, and the thundering of the ground beneath her picking up once more.
Had she created another earthquake in her grief? If so, she could not seem to stop it, as she went on sobbing, clinging to her dead mate as something inside of her tore away, the piece that remained left to die a slow death.
“You must take her away from here,” a voice said—Malachi, perhaps.
“See to his body,” Rothatin responded a moment before his arms came around her.
“No,” she protested feebly, flailing against his hold. “I won’t leave him.”
Despite her protests, he lifted her to her feet and took hold of her shoulders. The quaking of the ground continued, and overhead lightning crashed and thundered.
Glancing at something over her shoulder, Rothatin grimaced. “Listen to me, Jocylene. Malachi is going to take Eli’s body into the keep. We will honor him when this battle is over, but it is not yet won.” Turning her toward the horizon, he pointed. “Look.”
As she saw what approached, she realized the trembling of the ground hadn’t come from her. A large force of the Centaurs of Damu thundered toward them, their powerful horse hooves pounding over the snow. Among them, the wind warriors ran, keeping pace with them, as well as the mass of Werewolves howling as if to announce their arrival. A splotch of white fur revealed Titus among them, while the blue crack of lightning flashed as Gretchen’s calling card.
“Eranna did this,” he told her. “And she’s getting away. Desdemona went after her alone, to avenge him. Are you going to leave her to face your mother without you?”
Anger seeped into her soul, washing away the grief, and Jocylene felt her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She gritted her teeth and met Rothatin’s gaze, finding the turbulent depths stained dark green. He was angry, too.
“No,” she growled. “I will not.”
He nodded, his chest swelling as if he were proud of her for that response. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close. The air around them wavered as he began to teleport.
“Good. Let’s go avenge your mate.”
Desdemona circled over the mountain summit where her mother stood, surrounding herself with a swirl of snow and ice. She cried out in rage, letting loose with a ball of fire. Her mother had tried to kill her—murdering her brother-in-law in the process. Just before taking off after Eranna, she had seen and heard the agony this had caused Jocylene. Her heart ached for her sister, while her own wrath boiled hot in her chest.
When the dark queen had disappeared in a swirl of snow and ice, Desdemona had known she would flee to her precious mountains, watching her people fight from a distance once her attempt at killing Desdemona had been foiled. Now that the reinforcements from Damu raced toward Semran Hall, Eranna knew she’d been beaten. She would try to flee to Zenun, but Desdemona would not allow it.
Eranna met her fire with ice, freezing the mass of flames until it became hard as stone. Desdemona swooped upward to avoid the ball of ice as it came hurtling at her, propelled through the air by a cold blast of wind from her mother.
“I must applaud you for your persistence, daughter,” Eranna taunted, pacing back and forth on the snowy mountain top. “You’ve lasted much longer than I expected.”
Desdemona’s response was a squawk of fury as she extended her talons in an attempt at grabbing onto Eranna. Ice blasted at her on a cold wind, throwing her back.
“But that does not mean you will triumph!” Eranna bellowed, moving her hands about in the air and creating another large chunk of ice to hurl at Desdemona. “On your own, you are no match for me, and you know it.”
“It’s a good thing she’s not alone,” said a voice from thin air.
Desdemona’s heart soared as she recognized the voice seconds before Jocylene appeared in a flash of light behind Eranna, with General Rothatin teleporting her. The mountain shook with the force of Jocylene’s power, knocking Eranna off her feet. Desdemona shifted to two legs, landing in the snow beside her sister and sparking flames from her hands. As Eranna staggered to her feet, her stance uneven as she favored her injured ankle, Jocylene pulled two large, icy hunks of the mountain away and held them in midair. General Rothatin stood back, but watched them with a sharp, hawkish gaze as if ready to leap in if they needed him.
He seemed to understand that this was something Desdemona and Jocylene needed to do together.
Eranna swiped at a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and laughed. “What’s this? Both my daughters joining forces to kill me?”
“You’d be dead already if I didn’t think Des here deserved a crack at you, too,” Jocylene sneered, hurling one of the large hunks of mountain at her. Eranna went vertical in an icy blast, snow swirling around her as she avoided the blow.
“You are no family of ours,” Desdemona declared, lifting her hands and allowing the flames simmering there to roar.
“Oh, but you are,” Eranna retorted. “Especially you, Snowdrop. You have more of me inside of you than you’d like to admit.”
“Don’t call me that!” Desdemona bellowed, allowing the flames to shoot from her palms in Eranna’s direction.
Eranna threw her hands up, sending a forceful gale of wind and ice to combat Desdemona’s fire. The two met in the middle, battering against each other. Eranna advanced on her, giving the ice and snow a forceful push against the flames. Desdemona trembled as the icy blast almost overpowered her fire, but fought back against it, allowing the blaze streaming from her palms to grow hotter, rage stronger.
“I have the best parts of what you used to be inside of me,” Desdemona cried out, as the fire and ice fought back and forth for dominance. “I am everything you have ever wanted to be, but failed at becoming. I am the true Queen of Mollac.”
Eranna’s answer was a scream of rage and another strong blast of frigid wind, but Desdemona stood strong. Beside her, Jocylene had begun to move, but she could not see what her sister might be up to. So, she concentrated on her own part, stepping forward and pushing back against Eranna with all the strength she possessed.
“You ungrateful girl!” Eranna screamed, her voice indicating that her strength had begun to fade. Still, she continued to fight back. “I would have given you everything. We could have ruled both this world and the world of men together!”
Suddenly, a large wall of earth erupted from the mountain on one side of Eranna, and Desdemona spotted Jocylene, running around behind their mother, working to erect another wall. Eranna was trapped, forced to continue fighting against being incinerated by Desdemona’s fire, as Jocylene trapped her from behind with a second earthen wall, joining it with the first.
“There would have been no togetherness,” Desdemona hissed, advancing on Eranna even more, giving another surge of fire, pushing back against the ice. “We both know you would have turned me into your plaything—something to be controlled.”
Eranna’s eyes blazed red as Desdemona closed in on her, the fire now only inches away, with only a thin layer of ice separating them.
“I am a queen,” she growled, as a thin coating of ice began to spread over her skin, racing over her arms and hands. “Queens do not share power!”
Jocylene’s third wall came up, leaving Eranna with nowhere to run.
“I am a Phoenix,” she declared as the fire began to envelope her body. “And we do not bow to queens.”
Eranna screamed as she made one last attempt to combat the fire, while protecting herself with the covering of ice which had now enclosed her up to the neck. But, as Desdemona shifted into her bird form, the flames roared hotter, enveloping Eranna in the raging inferno. The ice glowed red as the flames danced around her, enveloping her, washing over her in a tidal wave of heat, anger, and strength.
Jocylene erected the fourth wall, closing her in. Shifting back to two legs, Desdemona stood beside her sister as flames shot upward from within the earthen prison, Eranna’s screams rising to echo through the air. Despite the pain in her shoulder, she lifted one arm and wrapped it around Jocylene, holding on to her sister—the only family she had left—as the sounds of their mother’s screams slowly died away.
Suddenly, the rock walls around her began to tremble and crack, a red glow showing through the fissures. Jocylene threw up a chunk of earth to protect them as the walls shattered outward, exploding with the force of whatever had occurred from within. Rothatin appeared behind the shield with them, avoiding the raining chunks of rock and dirt. He gazed at her with approval, a small nod telling her everything she needed to know.
She’d fulfilled the prophecy.
The Phoenix had risen up to protect Mollac. Below them, Damu’s army joined with Mollac’s to chase off the retreating army of the dark queen.
And, as the last bits of rock and earth fell, Jocylene lowered the shield to reveal what had become of Queen Eranna.
She stood before them, frozen the way she’d been trapped inside the earthen walls—hands extended to ward off the fire, her face both beautiful and haunting—frozen in its final expression of terror.
“What is this?” Jocylene murmured, stepping toward Eranna.
Her body had been encased in a substance that seemed a mixture of fire and ice—the hard exterior glowing from inside with shades of amber, red, and gold.
“A coffin,” Rothatin replied, derision curling his upper lip. “The resting place of the scourge of Fallada.”
Staring at the frozen visage of her mother, Desdemona expected to feel pity ... sadness, perhaps for the woman who had once been her mother. But, she felt nothing but relief at the realization that she had won, living to resume her place as the true Queen of Mollac.
“This isn’t over yet,” Jocylene said suddenly, her eyes glowing the fires of rage as she met first hers, then Rothatin’s gaze. “There’s still Kalodan. If he hadn’t attacked Inador, I could have been here to save Eli ... I would have been here.”
Rothatin nodded in understanding. “There’s no time to waste. He’s still in Inador.”
Stepping forward, Jocylene took hold of Rothatin, her jaw clenched as she seemed to use her fury as fuel. Desdemona suspected vengeance would drive her sister until Kalodan Longspear had been killed.
“Go,” Desdemona urged them. “I’ll be fine.”
Jocylene nodded. “Yes, you will ... because you are strong, and you are fierce, Des. I am proud to have you as my sister.”
Emotion clogged Desdemona’s throat, and relief flooded her as she realized she hadn’t completely ruined her chances with Jocylene. After so many months of avoiding her destiny and lashing out at the one person who had believed in her from the start, Desdemona hadn’t been so sure.
“Thank you,” she managed, choking back tears. “Now, go. I must see to my people.”
With a nod, Rothatin wrapped his arms around Jocylene and they disappeared, leaving Desdemona standing on the mountaintop, alone.
Turning her gaze toward Mollac, she spread her arms and shifted. The Phoenix flew down from the mountainside, returning to her home and the waiting arms of the people she had fought to protect.