Page 210 of Wings of Ash & Flame
One arm trembled. She dug deep, summoning the will to honor at least this last promise. The hybrids seemed to delight in her suffering, savoring the struggle of their prey.
Their attacks were synchronized. Never a killing blow—only finely sharpened nails slicing shallow cuts across her skin. Tiny rivulets of blood beaded, suspended against her flesh. She paid them no mind.
Any that tried to spray spider silk at her elbows, she batted away.
A snarl tore from one of them. Raising her blades high, she struck—only for a hybrid to slit the tender skin above her knuckle.
A sharp burn flared where its claw connected, different from the numbing cold spreading everywhere else.
“There are so many of us,and only one of you,” the one still dripping with Professor Ross’s fresh blood rasped inside her mind. “Eventually,you will fall like all the rest.Our venom will slow your heartandparalyze your limbs.Your blood carries something our master hungers for.”
It hovered close.
The cool kiss of steel brushed her ankle. Shifting her daggers into one hand, she adjusted her footing. Quicker than lightning, she pulled the blade from her boot and hurled it. “Savor this.”
She didn’t look away until it sank into the flesh between the hybrid’s eyes. Black blood bubbled from the wound. Thecreature collapsed with a resounding clatter. Vicious satisfaction coursed through her, dark and hungry for more.
At least now Professor Ross could enter Umbra’s gates knowing his life had been avenged, his murderer given the same fate.
Next was the larger bat, salivating at her pain.
Whatever restraint the others had exercised before shattered at the death of one of their own. They descended like a swarm of locusts, blotting out the faint light of the decayed nebula.
Alaire’s blades cut through flesh, wing, and bone. Again and again. She fought with the cold efficiency of someone who had already accepted her fate. Dawson’s training had given her this one last gift. To honor her fallen protector.
She shifted between offensive strikes and defensive stances, using the cavern walls to her advantage, never lingering long enough for them to overwhelm her.
Steel flashing, blood pouring, she stood defiant—fighting to keep her promise.
She carved through a leather wing, refusing to think about the last time she’d feel Dawson’s arms around her, bicker with Caius, laugh with Archer, or see Kaia’s brilliant smile. Most of all, she refused to dwell on the sourpuss phoenix who found joy in her discomfort.
The numbness spread to her torso.
A curved talon pierced her upper shoulder. Heat flared through the cold, snapping her back to raw awareness. Still fighting, she sliced coarse fur and thick membrane.
Around her, hybrids carved the same geometric symbols she’d seen hanging above into the ground.
She shoved against the air, desperate for connection—only to slam into an invisible wall. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, on the cusp of something?—
A devastating blow cracked against the knob of her spine, sending her lurching forward. She caught herself on her hands, then rolled to protect her front. Another strike landed against her ribs. She groaned, fists digging into dirt.
A webbed foot, larger than the rest, pinned her right hand, then her left, kicking her blades far out of reach. She was weaponless. Magicless.
“You will beg for death long before the end,little queen,” the leader crooned. The fire inside her turned to ice—ice-cold fury, harder and more dangerous than mere flame. A fury that would shatter everything it touched.
Forty-Eight
Darkness was all there had been—and all there ever was.
The slices against her skin burned, but worse was the venom seeping into each wound, slowing her limbs, making her thoughts slog through thick fog. Pain, though, was something she welcomed. It had always been easier to hold onto than grief.
As the feeding intensified, something deep within tugged her toward what she most needed to remember.
Her mother’s melodic voice tumbled over her, briefly wrapping around her like a warm blanket before flitting away. Fighting to stay conscious, Alaire latched onto the rhythmic cadence of the old fable. It thrummed through her, spinning round and round until it drowned out her own ragged breathing and the familiar tightness in her chest. Her mother had always said that all stories, even fables, were rooted in truth.
“Lysia was beloved by all in Elithian. Her light helped the realm flourish. After all, the sun is the brightest star of them all. But balance in all things was required.”
Balance. The word echoed in her skull.
