Page 55 of Heir of Autumn
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Sylvain struggledto get to his feet, then stumbled again. I caught him, his body like stone in my arms.
“Mother,” Sylvain rasped, staring at the bizarre apparition that stood before us.
Dry was the first word that came to mind. The second was sharp. Cruelly sharp.
Queen Aurelia had been infected by the Withering, the plague reducing her extremities to twisted, spindly branches. Instead of going sallow her puckered skin had turned brittle and brown, like a dying leaf. The enormous blades she wielded took on a similar color, shaped like leaves, the edges serrated.
With her bulging eyes, slender limbs, and massive sickles, Queen Aurelia more closely resembled a mantis, one carved out of desiccated wood. Her ornate crown remained on top of her head, sitting on the tangled, matted mass of her hair, the Withering making a mockery of the Amber Pavilion’s rightful ruler.
How things had gone from bad to worse in such a short span of time I couldn’t comprehend. And then I remembered how quickly Sister Dolores had succumbed to the Withering herself, back at the Convent of Infinite Sorrow, how every drop of moisture had left her body in an instant.
“Sylvain,” I muttered. “We need to go. We have to lead her away from Yvette, away from anyone else she might harm.”
His lips quivered, but his words never came. He nodded weakly.
“Clear the way,” I shouted, racing out of the room and into the nearest corridor, making as big of a fuss as I could muster.
Funny how I’d been so concerned about decorum when I first arrived, but being boisterous would only help us both warn everyone else in the palace as well as draw Queen Aurelia’s attention. Something that I wouldn’t have wished for in the best of times, but now? Gods, truly nothing was stopping her from launching one of her blades to cut me cleanly in half, straight down the torso.
Sylvain stumbled after me, paler and more listless than I’d ever seen him. Satchel hung back, zipping to and fro in the room, a fly buzzing around the queen’s head. Excellent. He was making a spectacle of himself, blowing raspberries and making more rude gestures and noises, all directed toward Queen Aurelia.
The Queen of Autumn opened her mouth and emitted a horrific screech. Oh, Satchel got her good and pissed, all right. She hovered a foot, two feet off the ground, then sped right for us, a leaf blowing in the wind. Satchel yelped, then zipped one last time, matching my pace as he flew alongside me, not far from my head.
“Holy crap,” I stammered, grabbing Sylvain’s arm. “I didn’t know your mother could fly.”
“Neither did I,” he answered. “It must be the Withering’s effect, somehow.”
Sylvain was running harder, almost abreast of me now. Good. He was gradually returning to his senses, his princely upbringing overwriting the frightened boy who was worried for his mother. He had to act for the safety of his people, as the only royal of his house left standing and with the benefit of lucid thought.
Gods, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. I might not have had the most positive of experiences with Yvette and Aurelia, but I definitely wouldn’t wish death upon either one of them.
“This way,” Sylvain said, fully overtaking me, guiding us into a large, familiar room.
It was the queen’s audience chamber, where we first met her, where her throne awaited. I could grasp some of Sylvain’s thought process in this — that maybe luring his mother onto familiar ground would jostle something in her Withered mind, give us hope of breaking through to her. But that didn’t work with Sister Dolores, either.
“Duck!” Sylvain shouted, throwing himself at my back. We fell into a sprawl across the floor.
Satchel blinked out of existence, zipping himself to safety. From behind us, two enormous leaves whirred like the blades of a helicopter, zinging over our heads and embedding themselves in the far wall to either side of the queen’s throne.
I shuddered as Sylvain helped me to my feet, as I studied the huge gouges in the wood carved by the queen’s blades. Even in her altered form Aurelia seemed to remember her royal station, narrowly missing one of the most important symbols of her power.
This was exactly what Aphrodite had warned us about. First humans, and now the fae? How long until the Withering evolved to claim the gods themselves?
Sylvain clenched his fist, summoning leaves from outside the palace, clothing himself in armor. But would it be enough against the might of the Queen of Autumn? He extended both arms, one closing around a sword, the other conjuring a shield of leaves.
He was putting up a strong front, the prince standing where the princess and queen had fallen. But I could sense the despair within him. I swallowed my terror as more of Queen Aurelia’s blades flew at us, gigantic golden leaves colliding with the deep green of her son’s shield.
I slammed my hand against his back, lending him my power. The contact only gave me a deeper sense of his sorrow. Sylvain’s movements were sluggish, with none of the fluidity I’d come to recognize in his form, how he would normally wield his leaves and his power.
His heart wasn’t in the fight. And how could I blame him? It was up to me to upset the balance of power between queen and prince. The longer we dragged this on, the greater the chance that Aurelia — or Sylvain himself — would become gravely injured.
I had to do something. I could summon the unicorns — but didn’t the sisters say that only a few of them might answer even if I called on them? And what was I thinking, anyway? We wanted to help Queen Aurelia come to her senses, not actually kill her.
My hand flew to my medallion. I needed something stronger than my eidolons. I’d called on the guardians before, and not only in times of great duress. This was how we prepared for the battle with the dragon waiting in the bank vault.
I closed my eyes, trusting Sylvain to keep me safe for as long as I needed to manifest the guardians. Beside me, leaves rustled. Bark and branches creaked. Above me, the ruffling of feathers, the beating of great wings. I opened my eyes.
