She shoved him, tried to push him toward the gate, into the throng of Sidhe racing for freedom. “Yes,” she hissed, but he didn’t budge.
Gods damn him.
Reynnar’s hand wrapped around hers. “I would sooner carve my own heart out than leave you to face this alone.”
“I won’t be alone,” she said, thinking of the others—Avis, Dario, Dominic. She had allies.
But his grip on her hand didn’t loosen. “No. You won’t.”
Aoife ran up to them, her face flushed. “This is the last of them.”
A group of about twenty Sidhe shuffled into the Void, glancing back before sprinting toward the rift. Aoife reached out and grabbed Reynnar’s hand, trying to pull him along. Her brows furrowed when he didn’t move. Instead, he drew her close, his hand cradling the back of her head as he murmured something against her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek, followed by another. After a moment, she nodded, her face tight. She released him and turned to Elara, pulling her into an embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft against Elara’s hair, before pressing a kiss to her cheek. She glanced back at Reynnar. One last look, then stepped into the rift and vanished.
Elara’s voice wavered as she turned to him. “Please, go. Aoife—she needs you. She loves?—”
Reynnar raised a brow. “My sister is needed in Tír na nÓg.” His mouth twitched. “She knows the stakes, and if she had a problem with it, she’d have told me—with her fists if necessary.”
Elara blinked, processing his words.His sister.
She exhaled slowly, her chest tight, fighting the urge to beg him one last time to leave. But she knew Reynnar—once he’d made up his mind, there was no changing it. So she took his hand, gripping tightly, and together, they ran.
The ground lurched beneath them,a deep, ugly shudder that rattled Elara’s teeth and sent a thin rain of dust whispering down from the ceiling. Every impact ahead echoed through the tunnel like a warning she didn’t want to hear, the stone carrying the violence straight into her chest. The fight had already pushed halfway theAelfhenge, faster than it should have, faster than she’d let herself think about while they ran.
Her breath burned. Her legs burned. Fear crept in anyway, curling tight and cold beneath her ribs, no matter how hard she tried to outrun it.
Reynnar’s hand tightened around hers before he pulled her back so suddenly she stumbled, boots scraping stone as they skidded to a halt.
“What’s the plan?”
The plan. Right. The plan.
Her mind raced, her breaths quick and uneven. “I need to get to the king. Close enough to drive this through his heart.” Elara lifted the blade. “He’s strong. It won’t be easy.”
Reynnar released her hand, a hint of a grin breaking through the tension on his face. “Then we make it easy. I’ll cut through his guards, clear you a path. And if the bastard tries to run, I’ll be right there, shoving him back into place.” He tapped his fist against his chest with a quick, decisive nod. “You just focus on getting that blade where it needs to go.”
Elara nodded, even though there wasn’t a trace of confidence anywhere in her. This wasn’t a plan—it was barely even an idea, and they both knew it. But Reynnar gave her one of those steady, assessing looks.
“You’ve got this, Eilíara,”he said, “I’ve watched you do the impossible before. You’ll do it again.”
Elara took a steadying breath, gritting her teeth as her hand tightened around the blade.
Reynnar’s grin widened, a flash of fangs glinting.“Stay close to me.”
They sprinted down the tunnel, feet pounding against stone, the clash and roar of battle growing louder. The air buzzed with cracklingDraoth, scorching her lungs with each breath. As they rounded a corner, a burst of fire erupted in front of them, colliding with a wave of earth that shot up from the ground, sending rocks and embers flying in every direction.
Reynnar yanked her aside just in time, both of them ducking as a blazing shard of stone whizzed past her head.
They exchanged a brief glance, their breaths uneven, then plunged forward, weaving through the fray. The battle churned around them—bodies pressing in from all sides, bursts of fire, water, and stone cutting through the darkness in blinding, erratic flashes.
Elara screamed as a figure burst from the smoke—a soldier with a wicked grin, his sword already swinging toward her. She ducked on instinct, clumsy and panicked, nearly tripping as she twisted away. Her grip slipped on the dagger’s hilt, palms slick with sweat, and she barely managed a wild upward swing, the blade grazing his arm.
He snarled, shoving her back, but Reynnar lunged between them, grabbing the man and ripping him away, his hands finding the soldier’s throat as his fangs tore into flesh. The soldier’s gurgled howl faded quickly, his body slumping to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
Reynnar spared her a brief, wild grin before charging into the next wave.
Her vision swam, her breaths shallow and ragged as she tried to keep up. Everywhere she looked, there was motion—a flash of silver, a spray of blood, a blur of bodies colliding and falling. A soldier spun toward her, eyes narrowed as he chanted under his breath, tendrils of earth twisting up from the ground. She swung the blade desperately, aiming low, feeling the resistance as it cut through his leg. He crumpled to the ground with a grunt, but not before a jagged rock whipped past her, tearing through her sleeve.
