“Ritalia!” Ophelia shouted over the clashing of weapons. “If you want to rain blood on our soil, let it be your own.” Ophelia pulled her lone remaining dagger—the one I’d gifted her for her birthday last year—from her thigh.
She’d take the queen on with nothing more than that. And as her Second, I’d hold the line.
“Tolek, Malakai,” I barked, “flank me! Form a perimeter.”
They fell into line, Tolek determined despite Lancaster’s bargain. He’d guard Ophelia to his dying breath.
“Lyria,” I instructed, “on your brother’s side. Vale, Santorina, and Erista, in line.”
At the edge of the skirmish, Lancaster and Mora waited, tension vibrating through their bodies. The former’s eyes were trained on Tolek, watching for…I didn’t know. A sign of the death he promised? A fatal string to pull?
Tolek continued to fight, panting through every strike. Nothing would get him to drop his guard in front of Ophelia—not even magic.
“Jezebel!” I spared a glance to the younger Alabath, but it wasn’t necessary. She dove into the spirits of those falling around us. There were no myths here for her to slay, but Jez was manifesting shields of silver-blue light before us, blocking close calls. She threw one behind Erista as a fae charged at her back, and the male’s body froze as he hit it. Like the deathly power Jezebel wielded was enough to pause his magic.
Ritalia called back to Ophelia, “You are making fatal mistakes, Revered.”
A female fae nearly taller than I was charged at me. Swinging my scythe to my back, I pulled my sword and caught her blow. The metal sang as it met again, but I planted my feet and braced my arms to absorb the force.
“Why?” Ophelia spat, pacing behind us like a caged nemaxese, no doubt searching for a place to infiltrate the solid fae guard. “What is so wrong about warriors claiming our full power? About freeing a deity who is wrongfully imprisoned?”
I blocked another blow, leaning into the female. She staggered back a step, and I didn’t hesitate, ripping a knife from my side and jamming it in her neck.
Around me, Tolek and Malakai each brought down another guard.
I didn’t allow myself to feel guilty for the faeries falling. Their spirits would never find rest thanks to the cypher trees I was named for, but they chose that risk in attacking us. Ritalia condemned them to that fate in burning Ophelia’s weapons.
“You cannot say he’s wrongfully imprisoned without knowing the full story!” Ritalia shouted back, her voice strangled.
“Then, tell me!” Ophelia pleaded, tear tracks still shining on her cheeks. “Tell me the truth so I can decide if this must be done. Because from where I stand, there isno other option.”
“Icannot.”
Because the fae Goddess’s part of the magic that forged the prison kept everyone from speaking of it.
Behind Ritalia, Dax took down two Engrossians with an ax each, leaving only one between them and Nassik.
“Why would your Goddess put such restrictions on you if not for her own advantage?” Ophelia growled, clearly frustrated, but that beseeching undertone layered her words. “Why wouldn’t she want you to be able to tell us whatever it is that might convince us not to free the Warrior God? Why are we constantly left in the fucking dark, as toys and playthings for the deities?”
And that was the root of the frustration for all of us, but Ophelia especially. The answers we hadn’t been given, the lies we’d been fed. Her strings had been pulled again and again, taking away any choice she had.
My blades met the advancing fae, our line inching back under their strength. The stone behind us was looming uncomfortably close. Would they demolish the statue if given the chance?
Fuck those gods for condemning us to this, I thought as I met fae swords repeatedly.
If they hadn’t locked away the Warrior God and the Angels, perhaps we’d be on level footing in this fight. Perhaps the feuds wouldn’t even be happening if power was equal across Ambrisk.
I’d never considered that deities could feel something as mortal as fear, but it was likely what drove their decision. And in that, the known gods sentenced the fae and warriors alike to a life of brutal warfare and prejudices.
I ducked around my opponent and jammed a knife between his ribs.
It was almost ironic, I thought, as I feinted against the next guard, that the Angels and gods were supposed to be the beings we prayed to for comfort, and yet they rained nothing but torment upon our lives.
Upon both of the rulers facing off verbally in this theater in the mountains.
And as they hurled their arguments back and forth, weapons ringing between each word, it became clear how this night would end.
With one dead queen or another.
