I can tell from the darkness creeping in his eyes that I'm right again. "I was given Tenebris. This is my land. I'll have my pleasures right here, with your people, every full moon. Just as soon as I've destroyed you."
I laugh out loud. "You truly are insane."
If he thinks the folk are going to lick his boots—or anything else—he's certifiable.
"And you're as good as dead, vermin," he retorts.
It's all the warning I get before the hill collapses under my feet. I leap in the air, letting my wings push through my reinforced tunic. I can feel Samel and the two others do the same behind me. At least they have wings; not all of us do. A flock of humans bursts out of the tent, bows ready, and shoot at us. The speed of my wings serves me well. The paper-thin membranes infused with magic are so fast that to an untrained eye, I disappear and reappear at another place. My companions aren't pixies: I hear them scream as arrows hit their wings, their most vulnerable features. I manage to fly to the border of the precipice, landing too close to the Vikus boy.
I try to spring back, but he reaches for me, grabbing me by the wing. Then he rips it off. My scream cuts through the valley, piercing the air. I've never known such pain. It's not just that he's ripped away one of my limbs—he's also taken part of me. A magic that makes me Vlari. I fall and try to crawl away, but he draws his foot back and kicks me so hard I'm propelled backward. I hear his delighted laughter as he hovers over me, grabs my throat, and knees my stomach firmly enough for bile to rise to my throat. Never letting go of me, he keeps hitting me—knees, feet, punches. He's gleefully knocking me around like I'm a ragdoll. He's not using any of his power, keeping his shield firmly in place. Part of me wonders why he doesn't just finish it. He has me. I can't get away. I'm no use at close range against an immortal twice my size. But I know why he's taking his time: he's enjoying it.
I tortured him. He's going to kill me with his bare hands.
In the distance, the sun goes down. I have just enough strength to turn toward Whitecroft. The seelie riders have attacked.
I try to find peace.At least Titus will see that my people are freed from this monster. He'll take care of them. He'll take them north and reinforce his borders—I don't doubt it for a moment.
I think about my mother's death. Pointless. I think about Meda, who sacrificed so many years to try to shape me into something, someone who could fight. She threw them away.
I think of Drusk. I promised him I’d be careful. I suppose fae can lie, after all. I need him more than air, more than the sky with all its stars, more than life itself, and he never knew it.
I can't get away from the immortal. I can't…
I see steel flash through the air. A dagger.
A dagger I recognize.
It almost killed me once. Now it's aimed at the Vikus's throat.
The immortal catches it midair, turning in the direction from where it was thrown—behind me. He rises, letting me go, and I don't hesitate to crawl away.
When I'm a few paces from him, I rise, wincing.
The Vikus ignores me, eyes behind me. I dare a glance back.
Drusk.
Drusk is standing right behind me, his dark wings expanded behind his back. He flew to me, leaving Whitecroft, right in the middle of a battle. There are arrows sticking out of his back, but he ignores them all, ignores everything but me. Or rather, my back. At first, I think he's paying attention to my broken, ripped-off wing. It can't be pretty. But his eyes are set on something else entirely.
The mark running over my skin. The mark he has on his shoulder, too.
I feel the Vikus's magic before I see it: he's throwing destructive magic at both of us. Now we're two, he's done playing.
One of Drusk's wings wraps around me and pulls me to him. With a nonchalant wave, he molds Myst into a shield.
Now that I'm close, I reach around to pull out each arrow and start to heal him. He takes my wrist, shaking his head. "Not now. You have somewhere to be," he reminds me. He turns his attention back on the Vikus. "I'll take care of this."
I want to say no. He can't face an immortal by himself. Last time he did, he almost died.
The Vikus is striding toward us.
We should take him together. If Drusk can keep him occupied, I can attack when his shields are down.
Before I can say a word, Drusk kisses the side of my cheek."Let me do this, princess."
I hear it in his voice. The raw need for blood and vengeance. I'm his. He didn't know it before, but I'm his and the Vikus was hurting me. He wants blood for it.
I nod, and rush toward the tent. The immortal tries to launch himself at me, but Drusk places himself in his path. The impact as they collide sounds like a roar. I don't give them another look, because if I do, I'll remain behind.
