Page 111 of The Blood Crown

“Ven doesn’t want you to use the relic we possess,” Nira picked up her own blade, her lean legs eating the distance across the black stone as she took her place. “But if you are all that stands between us and the demon princes—what hewantswon’t matter.”

Aurelia looked down at the blade, dread digging icy claws into her skin.

She straightened her spine, hefting the weight of the sword between her hands as Nira gave her a nod.

Her shoulder barked in protest as she tried to raise the tip of the blade even five inches before it clattered back to the ground.

Jaw clenched, she tightened her grip around the pommel, wrists burning with the weight as she struggled to lift it again.

She glanced up to Nira, the female’s sheet of onyx hair whipping in the chilled wind, lean arms crossed over her chest, as if she’d expected as much.

“That’s why we train.”

Nira remained ruthless as the morning bled away into afternoon—making Aurelia lift the blade, level the blade and hold it steady for seconds, then minutes, until her arm was shaking and her shoulder felt like it had been set on fire.

They’d been at it for hours before the Wraith Commander finally allowed her to rest. But even when Nira barked at her to rise once more, taking up the broadsword in her blistered grip—Aurelia felt nothing but gratitude toward the female.

High strike, low strike, arc the blade up.

The movements were clumsy, slow. Humbling after all of the work she’d spent on the Ledge becoming swift and sure.

She repeated the sequence in her head, a distraction from the burning ache of her muscles. So much, that she didn’t hear the sound until Nira gripped slender bronze fingers around her arm to still her hand.

The Wraith’s sheet of ebony hair swayed as she turned her head toward the noise.

Horns.

Wraiths were stationed at the battlements, dark shadows piercing the daylight leading up to the black gates. And beyond, at the very edge of the wards, where the pines crowded together in the darkened forest—

A lone, pale figure.

The white-blond hair sent a wave of fear crashing over her.

But as the male came into focus, her eyes registered the familiar face. The warm smile . . .

“Lanthius—” Ven whispered as he stepped beside her, a grin spreading across his face as he crossed the expanse of narrow bridge between himself and the Allokin spellmaster.

Ven parted the shimmering veil of the wards, his hand clasping the blue-grey forearm of his friend. From behind them, Karro, Seth, and Nira emerged from the black fortress—shock written clearly on all of their faces.

More figures flooded from the pines, some of them familiar. Lanthius’ apprentices and other spellmasters who had helped stave off the attack on the human realm. But others came forward as well.

Silver cloaks snapped in the winter wind that tore through the mountainside, coming to flank the blue-robed spellmasters.

Allokin Soldiers—and at their center, a fiery-haired male.

“Prince Agius?” Ven murmured, his voice laced with disbelief. “Have the Triarchy changed their minds?” he asked, dark brows furrowed as Lanthius stepped through the wards, parting them to allow the rest of their party through.

The prince clasped Ven’s arm. “Let’s just say—I’ll either return a hero or a traitor,” Agius said, the stoic expression on his handsome face turning boyish for a moment as he grinned. “Let’s make sure it’s the first.”

Chapter 57

Prince Agius rubbed a slender grey finger across his bottom lip, the mannerism making him seem far older than the smooth skin of his unlined face belied.

“The numbers are against us,” he murmured. His tone detached—pragmatic, as he considered their doom.

Seth stepped beside the red-haired prince. “The King of the Void has sheer numbers—that much is true. But the demons are mindless—obeying the will of their princes.”

“The wards will hold them for a time,” Lanthius considered, “but the princes’ magick is growing along with the rest of ours.”

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