Page 125 of The Forbidden Fae King

“Shields up and run for the temple’s entrance!” Aldrin roars as the knife falls to the ground. He grabs me around the waist and forces me to move. “I want you as far away from me as possible. You are not their target.” He growls into my ear, and tosses me toward Drake’s open arms.

Throwing blades fly toward us, peppering our shields. Each impact sends a violent jarring through my body. Even the fae grunt as their defenses are struck. Some knives shimmer like starlight and others crackle in bursts like lightning.It looks so much like my grandmother’s magic that I share a panicked look with Caitlin. We could never guess which fae court her powers came from.

My head spins as we flee down spiraling staircases. Each time werun under one of those arches, Silvan leaps up at the front of our pack and rings the massive bell at its center. My head feels like it will shatter from the vibrations of their tolling.

By the time we arrive at the mouth of the temple, multiple bells sing out of sequence. The chanting voices cut off with an abruptness. Aldrin calls a halt on the huge balcony that wraps around the temple. Thousands of interwoven branches create the platform that could hold a hundred people and the surrounding railing. There must be a dozen ancient trees feeding branches into the structure.

The great doors of the temple slowly open, light spilling out from them.

Every fiber of my being screams at me to run. We are too exposed here, but I trust Aldrin’s instincts.

I turn toward the temple’s entrance, huddled by Caitlin’s side. She grips my arm so tightly it hurts, like she is afraid that if she lets go, she will lose me again. Surely Aldrin intends for us to seek refuge within the temple. My legs almost give out when near fifty robed figures glide out of those doors and surround us completely.

Chapter 32

Aldrin

Isigh a breath of relief as we are enveloped by the Worshippers for Peace. The assassin’s blades of light still slam into our shields, and they must be mad, present in large numbers or truly desperate, if they are willing to awaken the temple precinct.

“We make our stand here.” I growl.

The air hums and the hair on my arms prickle, as the Worshippers for Peace thread their magic in layers upon our shields. We form a single dome that arches over all of us.

They don’t ask a single question.

They don’t care who we are and who our enemy is.

All the Worshippers for Peace see is that we are being attacked, and they will fight for our right to peace. Their temple gives refuge to any who ask for it, criminal or not.

The enemy’s onslaught keeps cracking our shields, trying to find a way in, and it takes focus to keep building up this defense.

“We don’t know how many of them there are,” Silvan barks. “They could overwhelm even the worshippers.”

“Can’t exactly turn our backs and run,” Klara says. “Not when their blades can weaken and penetrate our shields, and we cannot heal the poisons on their tips.”

A chant rises from the Worshippers for Peace, now arranged in a full circle around us. The balcony beneath our feet groans and shudders as thick branches rise out of the railing encircling it, from the very platform itself, and a cage grows over us.

A strangled cry leaves Keira. I glance over my shoulder to make sure she is okay, then turn to the onslaught above us.

An assassin leaps through the air, base jumping toward a closing gap in the branches above me. His inky robes fly out behind him in tendrils, and shadows twist and twirl around him. He moves so fast, cloaked in darkness itself, it becomes incredibly difficult to track his movements.

I grab hold of brambles and pump my magic into them, whipping out the huge, woody arms toward the assassin. Trying to snare them in my trap. The assassin darts around and through it easily.

This is their strength, flying about in open spaces with such speed they are difficult to catch.

I throw those spiky branches at him again and again, recruiting more foliage until there are a dozen whipping cords for him to weave through. He lands on the canopy directly above me, and slices the ward between us with his longsword, shattering it instantly. The assassin moves too fast for the Worshippers of Peace to close the gap in our wooden cage. For me to drop one thread of earth magic and create another.

The assassin throws a knife at my chest, readying another.

I pluck the first out of the air with a swiftly growing vine, which shrivels to dust immediately as its flesh is pierced. I don’t have the space to wield my sword.

I throw a dagger at him, but the assassin is gone and back again, dodging the knife easily, getting ready to toss another of his own. I try to grab him with the dozens of brambles around the assassin, but they shatter with a roaring intensity, and a sharp gust of air sends hundreds of spikes into his body.

Keira and Caitlin each hold an arm stretched out toward him, the echo of the weave still connecting a line of magic from them to the brambles. They pooled their power.

The assassin’s body slides off the side of the cage and free falls into the bowels of the city.

I take in a jagged breath. It all happened within a few heartbeats.

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