The way the trees seemed to weep, their leaves falling like tears. The plants that withered, reaching desperately for a shred of light before turning to ash. Flowers that would never bloom, an earth with nothing left to give.
“Now”—Parisa sneered down from her extravagant seat in the stands—“hand her over, High King.”
“Tiernan…”Maeve’s voice cut through his mind.
“Of course.” He inclined his head, then,“I love you.”
Tiernan shoved Maeve into Rowan’s arms.
A mass of impenetrable shadows swarmed, devouring them. Tiernan heard Maeve scream his name, heard the break in her voice, and then they vanished. Dissolving like the night.
“NO!” Parisa screeched, her eye bulging with such force Tiernan thought it might pop out of her face. “Traitor!”
Tiernan opened his hands, and twin swords appeared in each palm. He pointed one of them directly at her. “I did exactly as you asked. I released her.” He twirled the blade so its nightshade coating glimmered like the darkest night. “Perhaps you should be more mindful of the bargains you strike.”
“Bastard,” she snapped.
He smirked. “Not quite.”
Casimir shifted into his drakon form without hesitation, smoke unfurling around him as his mighty wings spread wide, launching him into the sky. A terrifying screech pierced the air and his rage echoed through the valley of Suvarese. His jaws opened wide, and the scorching glow of a fireball erupted from his mouth, blasting the dark fae who swarmed into the arena. The horrible scent of burnt flesh and charred bodies filled Tiernan’s nose as Casimir incinerated the nightmarish creatures.
Tiernan hacked through the charge of dark fae barreling toward him. His swords arched through the air, cutting through tendons and slashing through spines. He spun into each attack,moving with ease as he slit open throats, and ripped off heads. Blood splattered his face and armor, and he grit his teeth against the onslaught.
He was the wrath and the storm.
The tempest and the fury.
Menacing clouds reached across the sky like claws, stretching and scouring. Thunder shattered through the heavens so that the ground beneath his feet trembled and quaked. Extreme gusts of wind tore through the arena, carrying the strength of Casimir’s blaze so it engulfed the endless stream of dark fae hurtling toward them. Violet lightning ripped through the clouds in streaks of fury, illuminating the silhouette of a fire-breathing dragon hell-bent on revenge. A battle cry tore from the back of Tiernan’s throat and he sprinted toward the mass of enemies, his magic amplified with every hastened step as Casimir set fire to the chaos.
Wave after wave, he slaughtered them all. Parisa’s shouts and screams echoed all around him, but they were indistinct and muted. For Tiernan, it was life or death. Through the cloying plumes of smoke and the blood-soaked ground, he never faltered. His muscles screamed but he ignored them. Ash coated his tongue but he remained unyielding. Relentless.
All for Maeve.
He would bleed for her. Die for her.
Nothing else mattered.
He was ruthless in his assault, a High King without a heart whose blood ran cold. He showed no mercy beneath the wrath of his blade, nor the power of his magic.
Tiernan killed them all.
A swell of all-encompassing darkness overtook the skies, the pitch of it so intense it subdued even Tiernan’s storm. On first glance, it looked as though night was falling, but far too rapidly.It consumed the sky, swallowing every tree, every building, every mountain in its wake.
Casimir swooped down low, landing beside him. He loosed another piercing cry, and through his rows of vicious teeth, Tiernan could see the fiery ember of a fire blast ready to wreak havoc upon the impending threat.
Whatever had come for them startled even the dark fae—the creatures born of the Sluagh and fear, the banished ones—and they scattered in every direction. They took refuge wherever they could find it, fleeing their ranks and spiraling like the threads of a web caught in a storm. This darkness, this swath of a seeming endless void, instilled a deep fear in them, and for a split second, Tiernan wondered if perhaps he and Casimir should flee as well.
But it was too late.
The darkness overcame them.
It drowned out every sound, stole every fractal of light, obscuring them in a brutal, deadly cold. Tiernan stared into the pitch, straining to see, to hear. But there was nothing, save for the faintest ripple of magic. The shadows surrounding him pulsed, beating like a heart, like they were a living, breathing thing.
Tiernan kept his swords raised and at the ready. He moved in a slow circle, cautious and vigilant. The hairs along the back of his neck stood on end, and a prickling sense of unease crawled down his spine. He spun around, knowing thatsomethinglurked in the darkness. Waiting. Watching.
He blinked, and could have sworn the eternal pitch winked in return.
Tiernan reared back.
