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 soun
ds 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.
Chapter Twenty-One
PHAEDRA SLUMPED AGAINST the trunk of a tree, and sighed, glancing at the carnage surrounding her. Overhead, the sounds of the Dark Fae retreating filled the air, and while the Warrior Fae were in hot pursuit, she was too exhausted to lend a hand.
From the bank of the river, Arrian approached her, now washed clean of the blood that had been staining his hands, neck, and face. She’d already washed up, removing the evidence of the enemies she’d killed, before collapsing beneath the tree.
Dropping to sit beside her, Arrian issued a sigh. “They destroyed the forest. Almost every inch.”
Her heart sank as she glanced at the world beyond the borders of Inador. While many of their trees and structures still stood, the fire beat back by the Riverleafs and their command of the river, the forest in the distance hadn’t fared as well. A cloud of smoke and ash hung in the air, the singed limbs of destroyed trees thrusting upward like gnarled fingers. She could only imagine how it would look close-up—a wasteland of charred earth and gutted forest.
“We failed,” she whispered. “Kalodan is escaping with the blood magic Phoenix, and the forest has been burned away.”
Reaching up to lift her chin, Arrian kissed her lips tenderly. “We did not fail. Look.”
Following his gaze, she spotted the Nymphs, who approached the river to wash the grime and ash from their faces. The Satyrs and Fauns joined, many of them smiling and chatting amongst themselves. Their relief at having survived touched Phaedra’s heart. The innocence of these creatures had driven them to Inador for protection, and this day, they had been protected.
Phaedra smiled. “I supposed we didn’t fail. We kept them safe, and Inador has been spared.”
“What is it you humans say about silver linings?” Arrian teased. “This is war, Phaedra. We will lose some things, but we will gain others. All there is for us to do now is carry on until the prophecy has been fulfilled. Then, this world can begin to heal itself.”
Kissing him again, taking her time and allowing herself to savor the moment, Phaedra sighed. “You always know just what to say.”
“One of my many endearing qualities,” he quipped, leaning into her for another kiss.
The air around them began to shift and hum, announcing the presence of a teleporting Faerie. Jerking away from her, Arrian surged to his feet, prepared to fight it off if it proved to be one of the Dark Fae. His shoulders sagged in relief as Rothatin and Jocylene appeared in a flash of brilliant light.
After releasing Jocylene from his hold, Rothatin swiftly drew his silver spear from its place in his belt, commanding the double edges to appear. Jocylene pulled on the earth at her feet, then spun in a circle, eyes wide and desperate as if she was prepared to attack.
Realizing that calm had fallen over Inador, Rothatin frowned and lowered his spear. “What’s happened?”
“We beat them back, and they’ve begun retreating,” Arrian replied, eyeing him with a confused frown. “Where have you been?”
“Jocylene?” Phaedra called out, rising to her feet as she noticed the tears streaking Jocylene’s dirty face. “Honey, are you okay?”
Ignoring her, Jocylene rushed Rothatin, grasping his arm with both of her hands. “We have to go after him!”
Giving her a grim glance, Rothatin’s hard expression softened a bit. “Jocylene, we cannot—”
“We have to!” she screamed, slamming her palms into his chest. “You promised me vengeance!”
Taking a hold of her shoulders, Rothatin gave her a rough shake. “And you will have it! But going after Kalodan now would be foolish. Even if he’s retreating, he has the Eendi to defend him while he makes his escape. He has the blood magic Phoenix, and he could incinerate you before you got close enough to harm him.”
Tears wet Jocylene’s face, her cheeks reddening as she seemed to fight against the fury causing her entire body to tremble.
“I want him dead,” she growled from between clenched teeth.
Rothatin nodded. “And so do I, but it’s been a long day, and you’ve had quite a shock. You need rest, Jocylene. We’ve won for today, Mollac is secure and Eranna is dead.”
Phaedra gasped, shock gripping her as she tried to make sense of their conversation. Had they gone to Mollac? How did they know Eranna was dead? There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but now didn’t seem the appropriate time to ask as she watched Jocylene drop suddenly to her knees in the grass. Ragged sobs began to pour from her, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if trying to contain it all.
“What in the name of the gods is going on?” Arrian asked Rothatin, his voice a low whisper as Phaedra knelt beside her friend and attempted to comfort her.
Jocylene fell against her, clinging to Phaedra as she wept, the force of her cries pricking Phaedra like the edge of a knife.
Rothatin’s face was so full of pain and misery as he looked on, watching Jocylene cry as if her heart was breaking, that Phaedra wasn’t certain which of them she felt sorriest for.
At least, until he finally spoke, shedding light on the reason for Jocylene’s grief.
“It’s Eli,” he murmured, turning away as if Jocylene’s pain was too much for him to witness. “He’s dead.”
The room he sat in was cold—colder than the others in the castle. The chair he rested on was hard and uncomfortable. Yet, Malachi could not force himself to move from the place he occupied, beside the small stone slab holding Eli’s dead body.
Perhaps it was the aura of death, which gave this room its frigid chill, or maybe it was the memory of watching a man he’d come to think of as a friend die. Whatever the case, the chill had settled as deep as his bones and Malachi could not seem to chase it away.
The battle had been won.
The forces from Damu had arrived just in time to turn the tides of the fight. Their sheer numbers and the power they displayed had sent Eranna’s army running for the hills—exacerbated by the spreading awareness that Eranna had abandoned them. Not long after the Damunians began chasing Eranna’s army back toward Zenun, the Phoenix had flown down from the mountaintop bringing word of Eranna’s destruction.
Bittersweet relief put an odd taste in his mouth as he thought of all they’d lost and gained. They had won, and Desdemona’s claim to the throne went unchallenged. Eranna had lost her hold on Mollac. The kingdom was safe again, and he could bring his son home.
But, he had lost Desdemona in the process. She had sacrificed herself for Mollac, and he had given her up for the same reason. Princess Jocylene had lost her mate, and Fallada had lost one hell of a dedicated fighter. Eli had devoted himself to the side of good, sacrificing his own life to save the queen’s.
Losses and gains, which left Malachi wondering if the things they’d lost were worth the things they’d gained.
The door to the room opened, and he sensed her before he even saw him, drawing a sharp breath as her scent tickled his nostrils. Keeping his eyes lowered, he rose to his feet as she entered the room.
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