Page 150 of Fortune's Blade

But I had, I realized, lying there in shock and awe, instead of getting up and helping him! I surged back to my feet, slightly dizzy from the blood loss, for she had bled me well. But my hand was steady as I picked up my weapon and leapt back into the fight.

Athena grabbed up a second sword, and used it to parry us both. But she was going to need a third arm, because the redheaded witch was back, seeing her chance and taking it, throwing bolt after bolt of blazing power at the beleaguered goddess. Or a fourth, because my mother appeared, herself bloody and battered, and dragging one leg behind her before one of her creatures picked her up.

And together, they led a charge of the frost giants across the field from her perch on one icy shoulder.

The remaining yeti creatures broke and ran, crashing into the gods behind them, who had not come to their leader’s defense. They weren’t leaving, but they were backing off, were giving us room, were staring at something behind us, I didn’t know what. And then I did, when I turned my head and saw that Athena had lived up to her reputation for being the cunning side of war, the thinker, the planner.

And she had planned this well. For, while she was keeping our attention elsewhere, a group of gods had flanked us and made it to the portal, which they were now streaming through. We were fighting a battle that didn’t matter except as a distraction, while the real war was about to begin on the other side!

But then three things happened at once, almost too fast for me to follow: Athena laughed, her eyes sparkling, knowing that she’d won; Mircea took the moment of her distraction to strike, plunging his sword deep into her neck while a smile still curved her lips; and the Pythia, who I had almost forgotten about, emerged from under the outcropping of rock, and made a gesture in the air while facing the portal.

A gesture which, I assumed, must have released the slow-time spell she had cast on the dragons on the other side. Because they suddenly burst forth, spewing fire and seeming half crazed, and fell on the first creatures they found on the other side: the gods. And the ensuing battle was almost as fierce as ours.

But I didn’t get to see how it progressed; I didn’t see much at all as I was too busy stabbing great Athena in the side, in the back of the knee where the greaves left her unprotected, in the stomach. And looking up to see my father gnawing on the neck wound he’d made, so that she couldn’t close it, draining her of power even as I helped to punch her full of holes. All while trying to stay out of the way of the redheaded witch, who was still circling, and firing blast after blast into the massive body, shaking it to the point that I missed several strikes as it twitched out of the way.

But I had help, because Marlowe, tiny Marlowe, suddenly appeared, and what he lacked in size, he made up for in fierceness. Crawling up the body unnoticed by anyone but me, with one of the yeti’s spears in hand, he reached the screaming face of the goddess. And plunged the weapon straight into one of her eyes, before being flung what looked like half a mile away as she thrashed in pain, as she arched up, as she gave Mircea the perfect opportunity.

Not my destiny, after all, I thought dizzily, as he jerked back, as he grabbed his sword, as he brought the massive weapon down. And screamed his defiance as the head of great Athena went bouncing across the dirt. And as the gods, menaced on all sides, did something that I had never expected.

They broke and ran.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Dory

“Then what happened?” I croaked, trying to sit up in bed. I had woken up back in the beautiful bedroom at Lord Rathen’s court half an hour ago, feeling like death and probably looking worse. Someone had taken the mirror away, I noticed, so I couldn’t be sure, but the very fact that it was missing was ominous. But I had quickly forgotten to care, because I was so enthralled by the story Ray had been telling.

And was suddenly not telling as Louis-Ceare pressed me back against the pillows, and made me drink some more of the vile stuff Claire had concocted. It was the grossest thing ever, and I could swear I felt it moving on its own as it slithered down my throat. But I swallowed it anyway while watching my shifty looking Second.

Who wasn’t meeting my eyes.

“What?” I demanded.

“You must tell her,” Lord Rathen said gravely, causing me to look between the two of them in confusion and mounting alarm.

“Tell me what?”

Nobody said anything, which was a first. I’d been out for two days, apparently, during which my dhampir resilience and Claire’s brew had somehow pulled me back from the brink. And had finally woken up to find my bed ringed by people with a story to tell, since Ray had kept his mental link to Dorina even after she was pulled away from him.

He had seen most of what happened in that other world, and had been getting me up to speed with occasional input from the others. Not only with what had occurred while I was unconscious, but about their whole mad journey across Faerie. And I thought I had been having adventures!

Dorina and Ray had left me standing.

“Could we have a moment?” Louis-Cesare asked, and everyone took that as permission to go. It concerned me that people like Tanet, Claire’s brother with a temper as fiery as his hair; Lord Regin, with his arm in a sling and half of his torso bandaged, because he had been injured so badly that even dragon healing abilities were taking their time; and Antem, who had gotten us out of hell despite having to fight his way through the Steen’s forces to do it, were suddenly scrambling to get out the door.

“What the hell?” I croaked as Lord Rathen, with apparently more fortitude than the rest, bent over my hand.

“My gratitude, my lady,” he told me. “And . . . my regrets.”

He left and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with Louis-Cesare, Ray and Claire, the latter of whom was fussing about, winding some bandages and deliberately not looking at me. Which would have troubled me more, but a coughing fit took me, and hurt enough to leave me gasping. Collapsed lung from one of my own broken ribs stabbing me, or so I’d been told.

I only knew that it hurt like a bitch.

“Here, take some of this,” Louis-Cesare said, and held a glass of water to my lips. It was better than Claire’s foul brew, but it made me angry that that seemed like a herculean task to drink it, to the point that I was panting again afterward. But I did it, because I was damned if a cup of water was going to defeat me!

“I have yet to find anything that can,” he said softly and kissed me.

That was very nice, and would have been nicer if his lips hadn’t been so tentative, almost as if he was afraid I’d break.

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