Gods, Iwantto fight! But the exhaustion of healing Hel blurs my vision, turning my limbs to water.
Vexx takes me toward Alexus. What in gods’ death?
He sits crumpled on his knees, head hanging low, swaying like a tree in the wind. Heavy chains tether him to the dry and wintry riverbed.
Behind the links of his fetters, his tunic is torn open, the scarredtorso beneath now marked by a reddened welt shaped like a bursting star across his chest.
The general lets go of me, and I collapse in the snow, battling the oblivion that will soon sweep me into utter darkness.
Vexx looms over me, blocking the sunlight, and nudges my chin with the toe of his boot. “Come, now. Surely you want to say goodbye.”
Alexus lifts his dark head, and I meet his glimmering green gaze, tears rolling from my eyes. “I will come for you,” he promises, his voice ragged. “Trust me,Raina. Iwillcome. No matter what.”
General Vexx drops to one knee between us, glancing from Alexus to me with an arrogant smirk.
He unsheathes the God Knife. “Somehow, I think Un Drallag’s wrong.”
The last thing I see before oblivion finally takes me is Vexx, driving the God Knife into Alexus’s heart.
Rowena and I hurry downstairs, donned in our coats and scarves.
Early this morning, shortly after the prince escaped the construct, I used the dregs of my strength to construct a veil around Winterhold. The other Witch Walkers are helping to fortify the magickal barrier, and yet it wavers, the threads swaying like rickety scaffolding caught in the wind.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I fight to steady the veil, just as I fought for the construct, trying with all my might to weave the loose threads back into the main structure. I’m so worn down that the effort almost takes me to my knees.
As pain ricochets through my temples, I catch myself on the newel post. The world spins as Rowena wraps her arm around my waist and blots my nose with a handkerchief quickly drawn from her pocket.
The white linen comes away stained with blood, bright as my crimson coat.
The same thing happened when the construct collapsed this afternoon.Hard as I tried, I couldn’t maintain the structure after the prince disrupted it with magick long enough to find a way through.
I desperately wanted to keep the soldiers he left behind trapped to prevent them from aiding him here at Winterhold. But the blood came, then the stabbing pains through my skull, then I could barely think, and suddenly, thousands of complex weaves broke apart in my mind as easily as a hand through a spider’s web.
Now I can no longer locate anyone. Not the prince. Not Raina. Not Alexus.
Not without the construct.
“I don’t think I can hold the veil much longer,” I warn Rowena, tears rolling from my eyes. My muscles tighten almost violently as I try again to reinforce the magick.
“I know, dear.” She presses her cool cheek against my fevered face. “You’ve done all you can. Now I must get you to safety. King’s orders.”
I picture the underground tunnel that travels north from the castle, leading to a clandestine exit near the northern forest. The village’s infirm and elderly, and the children and their mothers, are already there, secure in an underground safe house, where they should be.
But in no world can I imagine myself inside that tunnel, running from this battle. Colden and I were supposed to face this together, not apart. And while I know I’m weakened, and I know he only wants me to survive this, I can’t believe that I’m a liability.
Shaking my head, I look into the eyes of this remarkable woman who’s like family to me. “Ican’tleave, Rowena. Protecting this village is why I’m here.”
I gave up my life for this. My father believed I had a higher calling and that I needed to stay here and learn to become the best witch I could be. I didn’t leave the people I love or work to build my magickal skill every day for the last eight years to sit back and watch Winterhold—or my king—be taken today.
Rowena’s wrinkled eyes soften. She slips my braided hair over my shoulder and wipes the blood and tears from my face. “Let the king and the others defend us now. There are more fighters here than just you.”
“You sound like Colden.” I try to smile, but it falters as shouting resounds outside.
My throat constricts painfully.
I cannot—will not—let this battle happen without me.
Nodding, I say, “You’re right. We should go. I’m steadier now.”
