Page 78 of A Fate so Cruel

He dodged a sword then broke the male’s arm at the elbow.

Seven.

Rion concentrated on the ground at his feet and all the wriggling things beneath. He crushed them, then his magic found the arms of two warriors closing in.

He crushed them, too.

Eight.

Residents began flicking on their lights. Blinds moved in the windows and a door cracked open.

Most were horror-stricken when they saw bodies littering the street. Warriors writhed in pain, clutching limbs they’d never use again.

But others were angry, so angry they did something Rion never expected. Clad in nothing but their night clothes, battle cries fell from their lips as they rushed toward him. Some carried makeshift weapons, an umbrella, a candlestick, the leg of a chair. Others drew traditional blades.

He stopped counting.

Rion ducked around their magic and untrained movements, reining in his sand to prevent it from lashing out.

He ducked around a broom handle and didn’t even bother moving when someone threw a book at him.

Rion backed away, ready to flee, but then the warriors were back. Not Selina’s. He didn’t recognize a single one of them. Which meant the governor himself had set this up. Or perhaps the attack was from the rebel faction.

He cursed when a knife sliced across his left arm. Not deep and certainly not enough to incapacitate. But they were getting too close.

Civilians. Fae who’d likely never held a weapon in their lives were willing to risk everything to rid the world of his existence.

He swallowed the pain building in his chest as he danced and dodged around their movements.

Maybe this was why Alec was trying to eliminate him. If this many people wanted him dead, if this many joined the rebels—

Rion couldn’t bring himself to hurt them. They were mothers and fathers with children and families of their own. They were just doing what they thought was right for the world.

At his expense.

Using his magic, Rion shoved them away. They’d suffer with a few bruises come morning, but nothing life-changing. Not like the assassins who’d be lucky if they woke up at all.

Rion ducked around a sharp piece of wood and punched the male in the stomach. The last of Rion’s blades flew from his hand when two assassins followed up.

He broke another male’s arm, then heard a female’s ankle shatter when she hit the ground at an awkward angle. Rion grimaced and prayed she wouldn’t have a limp for the rest of her long life.

Sharp pain pierced though the back of Rion’s arm and he spun to find a knife embedded in the skin. He ripped it out and let it fly.

Blood trickled down his fingers, but four more were upon him, charging while wielding both magic and weapons.

Two villagers cried out as they rushed from his other side. Rion ducked away from flying knives and heard the civilians cry out when the blades sank into them instead. He didn’t have time to check if the wounds were fatal.

Rion blocked another kick to his face, gripped the male’s ankle, then sent him flying sidelong into three of his companions.

Vines raced across the ground from all directions and caught his legs. They crawled up his body in a frenzy, securing his limbs and binding him enough that he toppled to the ground.

Feet rushed forward and for a split second, Rion wondered if it would be easier to just let it happen. But Saoirse—he’d witnessed her grief first hand with their mother’s disappearance and again after their father’s death.

If she lost him, if she lost Alec—

Rion screamed, letting the roar echo through the night as his magic spun. He shot it out in a violent wave that knocked everyone, civilians included, to the ground. The particles attacked the vines binding him, freeing his hands and legs in seconds. Those on the ground scrambled back to their feet.

Hatred shone in their eyes. Such deep hatred for a complete stranger.

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