Page 111 of The Realm That Falls to Her

“Do we still have time?” I ask.

“I think so, but she’s already started to connect with Interra. We need to hurry.”

I look across the battlefield, taking in the writhing mass of dark iron that makes up Evanthe’s soldiers, relentlessly striking up against the fae. I may have evened the odds a bit, but if I leave now, more of our allies will die.

“Ella, everyone will be destroyed if we don’t stop her,” Ruskin says. Of course he knows what I’m thinking, and what he says is true. Still, it’s an effort to make my feet move, knowing I’m leaving our allies behind to die.

“Tell me where to go,” I say to him.

“She’s on the other side of the lake, by the mouth that runs in from the mountains. We can portal there from the bank.”

Ruskin and I climb up onto Parsley, and we begin our journey through the battlefield. I clear as many of the iron soldiers as I can on the way, but I can feel myself slowing, and eventually Ruskin puts his hand on my arm.

“You need to save some strength.”

We ride on. All around us, bodies lie trampled underfoot, limbs peeking out from beneath piles of crumpled metal. The battle at Cavalil was a skirmish compared to this, and the bloody, brutal reality of it is impossible to compare to anything else I’ve experienced. The crows are already here, finding quieter spots to land and eat their fill, while the bitter smell of dark magic and blood fills my nostrils.

My eyes land on a familiar head of curls to our right.

“Destan!” I shout, as my friend rams an iron soldier’s helmet so hard it goes flying.

He dodges the soldier’s counterattack and rides over to us.

“You’re going to Evanthe?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes, she’s by the lake, on the mountainside.”

He looks like he wants to insist on coming with us, but I think he knows we would argue against it. We can’t afford to bring a bystander Evanthe could use against us.

“Destan,” I say, as an idea occurs to me. “The humans shouldn’t be here, and they’re being slaughtered. Prince Gawain is leading them, though I’m sure he’s only here on his father’s orders. Could you get to him and try to convince him to surrender?”

He raises his eyebrows. “What makes you think I could get him to do that?”

“He saw you with us in the castle; he knows you’re a friend of ours. If you told him they won’t be harmed if they give up the fight, he might listen.”

Destan shrugs. “All right. I’ll try. Good luck.”

We leave our friend behind as Parsley gallops towards the lake. Once on the banks, Ruskin portals us across to the other side, where the mountains stretch up above us—a silent, ancient audience to what’s about to unfold.

“This way,” Ruskin murmurs, leading me up a slope past a small waterfall. The rush of water hides the sounds of our footsteps, but it also means we don’t hear the hoofbeats on the trail up ahead.

“Stop there,” Albrecht says, and I look up into the mean, black eyes of my once betrothed. He’s wearing armor of cold iron and brandishing a sword that likely hasn’t seen a shred of action in the last decade, unless you count executing a servant in a fit of pique.

The king grins at us stupidly, as if we’ve walked into his perfectly laid trap.

“Get down on your knees, Blackcoat,” he orders. Both Ruskin and I ignore him.

“Where’s Evanthe, Albrecht?” I ask, relishing the fact that this man no longer has any power over me.

He squints at me, the recognition slow to come.

“Is that the Gold Weaver? Well, well, I wondered what this thieving bastard had done with you. I hope you’re not expecting me to take you back, girl. I won’t touch some other man’s spoiled goods. Besides, I have better prospects ahead.”

I feel Ruskin tense beside me.

“Did the queen promise you riches?” I ask. “Whatever it is, she’s lying to you, you know.”

Albrecht sneers. “Fae can’t lie, and that’s no way to talk about my future bride.”

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