Elora watched in horror as the gravemoors reached out for him next. Not the same tree, but one he had crawled past and hadn’t even been paying attention to how close he had become. It wrapped its gnarled fingers around his ankles. Two of the rootless were nearing Leighton, hunger in their eyeless faces that made Elora actually want to defend him.
Remembering the power at her own fingertips, she realizedshe could.
Elora tore the ring off her hand. Instantly, the Hollows stilled.
The gravemoors whined, retreating back into the soil. The rootless shrieked and scurried back toward the trees. Elora only hoped that perhaps she had just helped spare some of the carnage, and some of the guilt that Kestrel would surely feel later.
All the terrors of the forest had gone back to where they belonged.
All except for Signe.
Kestrel’s magic was still writhing around the queen like a tornado. It carried her into the sky, leaving only the orb behind where her feet had been, the magical item returning to the same shade of light blue it had been to start with.
With a surge of power, the magic encasing the queen expelled itself in a gust. In its wake, only a monster remained, the same one the queen had been trying to conceal for years. A winged beast of gnarled bones and mottled flesh, she shrieked her rage into the sky. With a flap of her black wings, the rest of the magic spooling out of Kestrel dissipated.
Kestrel collapsed to the ground, utterly spent. Magic like this would do that to a person, Elora presumed. Magic like the queen’s. And this was precisely the same magic. The same curse that now took root fully in Signe who was not pleased.
The queen-turned-beast dove for the crumpled princess, wicked claws outstretched. She plummeted atop Kestrel before Elora could so much as move. By the time she was bolting toward them, the winged queen was already slashing into Kestrel’s chest and face. Ruby bursts of blood splattered Elora’s as she dove for the queen, prepared to barrel into the creature and let her lethal touch do the rest.
But as Elora lunged, the queen twisted around, sensing her coming.
With a gust of her mighty wings, she launched herself into the sky.
Elora scrambled to a halt before she could fall atop Kestrel and accidentally kill her instead. She stopped just in time, though as she gazed down upon her, she noticed her dire wounds. Her chest was torn to ribbons and bleeding profusely. But with the threat still at hand, Elora couldn’t do anything for her yet.
Instead, she shielded her eyes and stared up into the sky. Her heart pounded as she prepared for another attack. This time it would be her those claws would tear into, and she could take it. At least a few strikes, if she needed to. Anything to let the queen get close enough for her to touch her. And if that didn’t work, there was always Kestrel’s dagger that Elora was still clinging to. She almost hoped the cursed monsters would be immune to her touch of death. There was something satisfying about the thought of plunging the blade deep into the queen’s flesh and wrenching it downward, letting her suffer the way all of her sacrifices had.
But instead of another attack, the queen-turned-beast shrieked. A cry of rage so high-pitched and horrible that it sent ripples across the pond and nearly shattered Elora’s ears.
Then, the winged creature tore off through the sky, heading west. Maybe back to Irongate.
Elora only feared for the Ironblood people for half of a thought before her concern barreled back toward Kestrel. She was starting to blink her eyes open. That was a good sign, she hoped. And they were once again the same emerald eyes Elora had come to adore. Like peaceful meadows untouched by corruption or death—only, there was a darkness to them now. A shadowing that hadn’t been there before. And Elora couldn’t help but wonder if the woman she had been falling for would be different now. Changed. Darkened like the rest of Grimtol.
It didn’t matter though.
Life had a way of leaving its mark on everyone.
And regardless of who Kestrel was becoming, what this magic was doing to her, Elora knew there was nothing that would keep her from being by her side throughout every moment of it.
Behind her, Elora heard Leighton shuffling about, still blind to his surroundings, his eyes oozing blood. A few of the guards hobbled back from the forest, their arms bound by vines, their bodies scratched and lacerated.
Micah was still half-buried in the ground, screaming for someone to come help—but not for his sake. He was still digging in the dirt, trying to reach his twin, whom Elora knew was already long gone.
Everyone was distracted by the chaos. It would only be a matter of time before they turned their ire toward the person responsible for so much of it.
They would imprison Kestrel for this. Perhaps even kill her.
And for what? All because the queen betrayed her, had shoved her into that lake and plotted the demise of her own niece.
Elora knew the real story. Perhaps in time, the princes would come to understand the truth as well. But for now, amidst so much grief and anguish, there would be rage. They would demand justice for the loss of their brother, for the perceived attack upon the crown prince.
The two of them couldn’t stay. They needed to run. But Elora wasn’t sure Kestrel could.
As quietly but as swiftly as she could, Elora crouched over her prone body.
Kestrel was already trying to lean up on her forearms, inspecting herself. That was a good sign too, Elora thought, until she saw the damage up close.
It wasn’t good. Blood was spurting from some of the claw marks. Some of the wounds were so deep, that there was no way Kestrel would be able to run with them.
