The snakes aren’t slowing me down.
I grimace as I lean low against my horse’s neck, urging it on, but even the occasional snake that whips through the air and strikes me, bounces off so quickly it’s almost comical.
No longer able to remain fully present in the moment, my mind lashes furiously at this question.Why? Is it because I still carry the winged crown in a pouch at my waist? It almost has to be.
I wheel around at the mouth of the coliseum and see the carnage as it lays out in front of me. Men down—maybe dead, maybe dying—as the serpentine horde of the skrill sear the field with their poison.
And I have the power to stop it, I think. I must stop it—all of it. Even if it means I break my bond with Gent forever, I must.
The thought of never connecting with Gent again is agonizing…but even worse is the realization I might never see Fortiss again. Never feel his steady presence beside me, never look into his eyes and see that quiet certainty that somehow makes me feel protected and powerful at once. If I die on this battlefield without giving my all—or if the Protectorate is crushed because of my own weakness…no. I owe Fortiss more than that. I owe myself more than that.
After all the times I’ve been asked to put the greater good ahead of my own interests and rebelled against it, deciding not to step up and step out for the greater good, this isn’t something I can rebel against.
This is the way of the warrior, a kind of death I had never expected to face.
I want to scream—to rage. But instead, I draw in a shaky breath. If this is to be my last act as myself, before I lose everything I’ve come to cherish, I allow myself one moment more to remember Fortiss’s touch, the warmth of his smile, the certainty I feel when we stand together. Whatever comes next, no one can take that from me.
I pull the winged crown out of the pouch at my waist, and before I can decide otherwise, I jam it over my head.
Even as I do, the sky snaps tight. And on the far horizon now stands three enormous, implacable beings—a fell wind rushing toward us as they spread their arms wide. The Sahktar.
Deep on the other side of the battlefield, Rihad roars with joy—his voice so loud, I hear it pound against my skull.
“No, no, no!” I gasp.
Rihad turns sharply toward me.
No!Panic suddenly swamping me, I wheel my horse around and ride like mad into the coliseum, where with the added strength of the crown, I pray that I can release Gent to fight with us and for us—and, if I’m being honest, with and for me.
But I can see at a moment’s glance that Gent isn’t there. And it’s not simply a matter of a magic I can’t fight through. The chains are there, the blood still staining the fields of the coliseum, but my mighty Divh is gone.
“Gent,” I gasp, a pit of despair opening inside me.
A hundred possibilities assault me, each worse than the last. By putting on the crown of wings, did I just lose him forever? Did I free him to serve my father once more—is that even possible? I lift my face toward the heavens and cry out with all the rage, despair, and loss that fills me up and flows out from me, but this battle is not done. I can feel the presence of the Sahktar as they rush across the open plains, swooping toward the coliseum.
Then I’m through the doorway and out again, my left arm punching into the sky as I shout for any and all Divhs who would come to fight, by the power of the winged crown.
For a long second, nothing happens.
Then the skies open up and there is only screaming.
Chapter 48
Abattalion of Divhs screech across the skies, either barreling into the flying skrill or searing them out of the air with gouts of flame. More great beasts drop to the earth, but as they land heavily, the ground seems to break into pieces below them, and an entirely new wellspring of snakes erupt, shooting skyward and spinning out in a furious mass.
Meanwhile, the Sahktar press toward us, blackening the earth. Any Divhs that get close enough to them to be a threat immediately fall, victim to the killing vapor that fills the shadow creatures.
Men, horses, and Divhs are overrun for a moment in this swarm, and I wheel around in horror to see Rihad standing now separate from the others, his arms lifted high as his mouth extends into a grotesque howl of obscene joy. On the opposite edges of the battlefield, the Sahktar raise their arms as if in solidarity, and a new horde of skrill emerge from their depths—larger and more horrible than any that have come before, winged and fanged.
Then a cluster of spinning balls of light burst out of the depths of the coliseum and race past me, angling toward Rihad. They wink out of view and appear again half a battlefieldaway, repeating the move once more until they appear directly in front of the former lord protector. They smash into him unceremoniously, and I don’t know who’s more surprised—him or the hummerlets.
As he falters, though, the first wave of the new horde shatters into nothingness, simply disappearing. Then Rihad rights his stance and the hummerlets scatter.
The moment Rihad raises his hands again, the screaming fury of the skrill mounts anew, but that brief break is all I need to understand my course.
I need to get to Rihad.
No sooner do I press forward then a lumbering Divh, some sort of half-bear, half-bull creature, roars into my path and swings around, completely covered in the glistening bodies of the skrill. There’s no way for me to avoid the punishing blow of his fist, and I’m lifted bodily out of the saddle as my horse scrambles away. I crash into the ground so hard, my sight flashes away to utter blackness, then roars back again with fire and pain.
