Page 158 of A Reign of Roses
And then I saw it—
The sea of glowing red dots. Pairs of two.
The eyes of the Hemolichs.
So fast—
So much faster than I thought any raven could fly.
And somanyof them. Rows and rows and rows. Bedecked in simple, mismatched armor. Some bare-chested altogether despite the cold. Some with blunt weapons. Some with none.
And at the helm: Aleksander.
Eyes steadfast and conquering and whollysavageas he stalked to the front of his legions. Long white hair rippling in the winter wind.
Aleksander, who offered his men only one singular nod before they took off, thousands of them hurtling and roaring in unison. Tears burned in my eyes as the very ground beneath me shook with their weight. A riotous tidal wave of Blood Fae, prepared to pull Lazarus and his armies asunder.
And I thought I might have laughed—thought I might have actually barked out an incomprehensible cackle as I finally witnessedfearin the eyes of the soulless Fae soldiers who surrounded me.
Fear as our allies rolled in like an avalanche unleashed across a mountainside. Surging, snarling, roaring their determination. Fear as red-eyed Fae, as agile as they were lethal, tore through Amber and Garnet men with their bare, unarmed fists. Unleashing wild, ruthless lighte, cutting down silver-clad men, every Fae spear and wheelspoke shattering easily under their carnage-heightened power.Every drop of blood only making them stronger.
Our salvation descended on the battlefield as furious as a swarm of hornets and as powerful as the quaking of the earth.
Kane’s gaze, one eye bloodred and face half-burned as it was, found mine through the fray. And it shone pitch-black with victory.
The Hemolichs had come.Aleksanderhad come.
Triumph sounded in my ears and jolted through my bones. Triumph, and hope. I blinked away the wet relief that clouded my vision and wrapped my hands more tightly around my blade.
If we were very lucky, and very,verysmart, maybe—just maybe—this might be a fair fight.
44
Kane
It was hardly a fairfight.
The savage Hemolichs were untouchable. Wild and ruthless, tearing heads from spines with their bare hands. Drinking the blood, growing stronger…All the while precise Onyx warriors unleashed havoc on the legions of Amber and Garnet men. King Gareth’s mortal soldiers hadn’t stood a real chance against my battalions.Black, baleful artillery crashed into their weaker, poorly forged weapons. Golden armor fell like marigolds wilting in heat.
And together…an undulating wave of men charged the creatures convening on Shadowhold’s gates. Hundreds of razor-sharp arrows shot on Lieutenant Eardley’s command, and that savage blood lighte, their sheernumbers—the salamanders were no match for that kind of violence. The Hemolichs used the Onyx men’s arrow wounds to strangle the beasts with their own blood.
The salamanders fell within minutes. All of them—minutes.
My chest nearly caved at the onslaught of reinforcements. HowAleksander had come so quickly, I didn’t know, and didn’t care. They were here. They’d saved us.
A Fae soldier before me, down one helmet and bleeding from his temple, charged, and I swung the Blade of the Sun, grunting as he deflected the blow. He parried, advancing on me. Clipped my breastplate. My shoulder.
Lunging to swerve from another blow, I allowed ribbons of thorny shadow to flow from the weapon and down the miscreant’s throat. The Fae choked and sputtered, falling to his knees, his neck bulging and engorging with shadows as he heaved for air that would never come.
War cries at my back, blistered skin across my shoulder healing steadily, I ran for the Fae encampment.
I hurtled past the body of a mercenary—greenish scales already turning gray, long split tongue lolling outward—past torches that had been lit by both sides as the last dregs of sunset muted to black and drowned us all in darkness, past horses on their hind legs, Garnet soldiers falling on swords.
I’d only made it a few more feet when a high-pitched shrieking split my eardrums. The unexpected sound did something traitorous to my heart, and I found I’d clutched at my chest. It was the cry of a strix.
Not Acorn, please Gods—
My eyes scanned the trees above and landed back in the direction of my keep. There, high in the sky, amid clouds and snow and rich, heavy moonlight, was the rounded face of a strix, once-scarred eyes now clear and bright. That low brow and those thick gray plumes and wild wingspan…Shrieking and yowling. Not in pain but in fury—
