My stomach drops.
No.
All I can think is that it didn’t work; Estel detonated the bomb but wasn’t able to transmute the energy. Or perhaps she was caught before she could.
I’m transfixed as I watch the light grow, awaiting with cold dread for the end.
But the end doesn’t come.
Instead, the light retreats, pulling back to a single point in the sky. Its radiance shifts from a blinding golden hue to a collection of shimmering white particles. Then, with another wave of vibration, the particles blast outward, spanning in every direction until it curves up, out, and toward the ground. For a moment, the light of the sun is hazy, filtered through a dome of shimmering particles surrounding all that I see.
Then it’s gone.
Invisible.
But not broken, for I can feel it humming all around.
Estel’s enchantment is complete.
48
As a fox, I make my way down the bluff, following a violet tether in my mind’s eye. Shifting into my fox form is the only way to make the journey bearable, with the bullet still lodged in my thigh. I summon my fire again and again, which helps keep me conscious, but at this point, I’ve lost a lot of blood. On three legs, I hobble down the hill, the violet tether pulsing like an artery, guiding my every step.
Only when I reach the first buildings of the port town, does the silence reach my awareness. There’s no gunfire. No blasts. No shouts. And yet the evidence of battle lies all around, blood and bodies and discarded weapons. I refuse to look too closely, not wanting to recognize any faces amongst the dead and, instead, fixate my attention on that violet tether, padding after it on silent paws.
When I reach the main street near the docks, I finally see movement, hear sound. The first thing I hear are whimpers, cries, mingling with the hollow ringing in my ears. Then I begin to pick up strands of solemn conversation. The fae are here, gathering the dead, tending to their injured comrades.
What’s strange, however, is the presence of humans. Humans that were not fighters. A dozen or so men and women, dressed in the clothing of regular townspeople, weave about the fae, kneeling next to the broken, conversing with the strong. Those who kneel have boxes at their sides. Boxes full of cloth, blades, bottles, and herbs. They’re healers. Nurses, perhaps. And yet, they wear no uniform, no insignia to represent a specific medical practice. I furrow my brow. These people are…helping us? Of their own accord?
Of course, not all fae receive them with warmth. Nearby, a white wolf lies on his side, the bottom half of his body coated in blood. It takes me a moment to realize the wolf is Flauvis. Despite his injuries, he snaps his teeth when a human woman tries to come near. She holds her hands out in a sign of peace, saying something I can’t hear, but Flauvis only bares his teeth. Part of me wants to go to him, shift back into my seelie form and inspect his wounds. But there’s someone else I need to see. More than anything in the world.
Following the tether, I continue padding down the street, skirting around bodies as I reach the site of the first disabled tank. I hazard a glance at the beach, which makes me pause. The shore is littered with debris and the remnants of the ruined tanks. The three landing ships, now crushed as if squeezed by an enormous hand, sink into the channel beyond the row of stones that make up the new wall. There are more dead here, but the living gather too. On one of the docks, I spot human soldiers, survivors of the battle. They cluster at the center of the dock, just before the pair of stones that flank it. More of the human healers move about there, tending to the injured.
Evie.
My heart hammers at the sound of my name. The feel of it. A lump rises in my throat, a sensation so human I’m thrust from my fox form. With a cry, I stumble to right myself on my good leg, then return my attention to the violet tether, feeling it pulsing stronger now.
I limp forward. One step. Another.
Evie.
Faster I move, summoning my flames to burn the pain from my leg, fueling my pace as I continue down the street, past melted guns, more broken bodies, shattered cobblestones, mangled roots.
“Evie.”
My breath hitches in my chest, a sob building there alongside it, as my mate steps into view. His breastplate is gone and there isn’t a part of him not covered in blood, but he’s standing. Standing on two feet. Standing and alive.
I rush forward, but he’s faster, closing the distance between us and shrinking the tether that links us with every step. Then finally, he’s here, wrapping me in his arms. I press myself into him, cry into his chest, let my weight sag into his.
“I was so worried you were gone,” I whisper.
He strokes my hair, lips pressed against my forehead. “I was. For just a second.”
I lift my face to study his, assessing every scratch, cut, and bruise beneath the dirt and blood. “What happened?”
“I was shot in the side, and another soldier struck me in the back of the head.”
My eyes go wide. “Struck you?” My fingers tremble, yearning to reach for the back of his head, but terrified of what I’ll find.
