Page 115 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Two monsters grab the top of my right wing and gauge their nails in at the root in an attempt to scrape it off the bone. Seth’s lightning cooks them through before they succeed, and they fall to each side of me with resonant thuds.
Another wave hits the ground, now focussed on Seth. They want me dead, but he’s an obstacle to that, and they don’t discriminate.
I blink my eyes open. He looks so fierce, battling my demons, taking care not to burn me with his magic, fighting for me whenall hope is lost. No wonder Percy had developed a soft spot for him. If he was alive, my Faeling would have faced these beasts head-on before letting them kill me, much like Seth is doing now.
Stab. Kill. Repeat.
His stamina is impressive.
His tolerance to pain even more so.
The wet sound of chubby bodies hitting the ground—the absence of the familiar crunch of broken glass—pulls me out of the haze. I dismiss my wings, the feathers shimmering back to the ether, and take in the scene before me.
“Are there more?” Seth stands tall over my prostrated body, eyes wild, searching the black and purple sky for the next wave. But there’s no more wings beating on the wind. No demented laughter. Just silence.
Blood, bite marks, and lacerations cover his body, and his breath is rushed. “Is that it? Are they dead?” he croaks.
I gape at the mess of mangled bodies—a hundred cupids strewn across the broken slab of the arena in twisted positions, oozing dark, tar-like blood. Eyes glassy. Guts spilling. But no shattered glass. “You… How? What did you do?”
“What do you mean? I killed them.”
I stand up and shake one with my bare foot. Its plump black flesh wiggles under the tip of my toes. By Eros, he’s right. They’re dead.
He holds out his hand. “Let’s get out of here, alright?”
He killed them. My demons. My monsters. I slip my hand in his, clutching Percy’s body with the other, holding my poor, lifeless Faeling close to my heart. “Alright.”
Chapter 38
Forsaken Fortress
DEVI
The obsidian passage ripples within the confines of a dark, oval-shaped onyx slab. It’s a void meant to take us to Zepharion in the blink of an eye. No address needed, no skill or runes required. Just one step forward.
It’s a step I’m not sure I’m strong enough to take. I grip the burial shroud wrapped around Percy’s small body. It hurts to hold it, yet it would destroy me to let it go.
I wove it from my own plucked feathers and a dozen braids cut from my head, and I inscribed his name in dark ink. Spring Fae are never buried in wood, glass, or metal caskets—only fabrics. We return to the earth faster this way. The nutrients from our decaying bodies nourish the plants and trees that feed us and shelter us, creating new life.
Nature gives birth to us and welcomes us back in death. That’s how it should be. I’ll bury my Percy at the heart of the Secret Springs, where the two Amouran rivers converge, just the way he would have wanted.
But to do that, I have to live on, and travel through this tenebrous passage.
I’ve never seen one before, let alone used it. The Shadow King is the only one who can create them, and he does so reluctantly, since the comings and goings allowed by an obsidian passage are separate from the sceawere and therefore beyond his influence and power.
“You’re sure this thing leads to Zepharion?” I ask Seth, wary of such magic.
He hasn’t left my side since we left the arena. He hovers like a big bear, unsure where to put his hands, which gives an accidentally clumsy quality to his demeanor. One moment, he’s got a hand on my shoulder or on the small of my back. The next, he steps away to give me room. Then he drifts close again, fingers flexing at his sides, like he’s not sure what they’re meant to do, or how to help.
Again, his hand grazes my spine with butterfly touches.
“Yes. It’ll take us directly into my father’s private study,” he says.
My brows lift. “Convenient. If it’s so easy, why didn’t Luther use it to attack Deiltine? From what I’ve heard, he’s not the kind of man who scares easily. Especially not from someone like Alaric Rayne.”
Seth tilts his head, considering the question. “My father was a bit paranoid, and warded his study with a blood lock he bought from an old witch of the Red Forest. I suspect Luther never got inside the study to begin with.”
“How did your father manage to get Ferdinand Nocturna to build him a private, unregistered passage? The previous Shadow King didn’t lift a finger unless he was getting something out of it.”
