Page 88 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
I’m shrieking, trying to free his neck from the shadowy noose, but I can’t feel the shadows, can’t grip them.
More shadows curl around us, binding our legs together, dragging us back down. We crash to the earth, me on top of Fin, and I hear bones snap somewhere deep inside him.
I want to scream, but the sound won’t come.
The first shadow withdraws from Fin’s neck, leaving a scarlet line across his throat. Blood slides slowly from the cut. He chokes, more blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. Pieces of his beautiful wings drift down around us like flakes of blue snow.
The Rat King is standing in the broken mouth of his lair, leaning on his scepter.
Fin’s eyes are closed. Not dead—not yet—but perilously close to it.
An incandescent fury roars through my blood.
I’m still clutching my whip, and it’s still glowing pink. Like my sweet Fin’s hair. In fact, the angrier I get, the brighter the weapon seems to glow.
On impulse, I drag the whip through the shadows wrapped around my legs. They vanish with a hiss.
I climb to my feet, not caring that I’m dressed in nothing but black ribbons. The icy morning breeze tosses my hair as I stand over Fin, gripping my glowing whip.
“You want him?” I shout at the Rat King. “Come and get him, if you dare.”
With an angry growl he takes a step forward, planting his scepter with a thud upon the ground. His shadows flood toward me, crawling along the earth, slithering through the air.
Seething, my teeth gritted and bared, I slash the shadows to pieces, one after another. Every tentacle of darkness he sends toward Fin, I destroy. Days of travel have hardened me, made me stronger. My whip snakes out, over and over, destroying the dark magic until the Rat King screeches with rage.
“Archers!” he cries out.
“The Sugarplum Faerie took out most of them, Majesty,” calls one of the soldiers.
“Find some more,” snarls the Rat King. “The rest of you, go get me that human woman!”
They’re coming for me, a fresh flood of guards. I view the scene as if I’m soaring above it all, looking down at myself—a lone figure braced over the body of her lover, while enemies pour across the meadow toward her—lethal, inexorable.
When the first rat-soldier reaches me, I brandish the whip, slashing off his muzzle. I slice the next one’s head clean in half, split another one open at the belt. I wield my weapon like I wield a brush, painting lines of searing pink and splashes of crimson blood on the canvas of the snowy ground.
I scream, and I slash, and with Fin’s pale, unconscious face held in my mind, my whip glows more violently. I’m no longer the girl in the corner, the one who watches. I’m not the prey in the forest or the girl in the cage.
Because of Fin, I’ve surpassed everything I used to be, and I’ve become something else. A force of destruction.
I don’t know how long I fight—only that my arm is weakening, muscles softened and shaky. Parts of bodies are piled up around me. I have killed more living things than I ever thought possible.
The stream of soldiers coming out of the lair is thinner now, a mere trickle. The Rat King is stomping and screaming his impotent rage. He snatches a huge sword from a nearby soldier, and holding it in two paws, he barrels toward me.
I take one step to meet him. Lift my trembling arm.
And pitch forward onto the stack of steaming bodies.
Before my consciousness fades, I see shadows unfurling around me.
Darkness, burying me alive.
26
We’ve been riding hard for four hours, pursued by the Unseelie.
Whenever they dive toward us, I throw something from Fin’s satchel—anything to distract or repel them. I tried the mayhem spell—its burst of cacophonous light and sound confused them temporarily, but they soon caught up again. I’ve used deflection spells, glare bombs, high wind, hailstorm, and probably two dozen others. Some missed, or had no effect. One of them took down two Unseelie in a knot of lightning and screams.
Yet still the remaining Unseelie pursue us.
