I draw my sword and lean out from the thornback’s spine, catching the soldier across the shoulder as he thrusts. My blade bites through the gap between his pauldron and breastplate. He drops.
Isla throws fire from her palms. A bright, hot stream that catches an icefae in the chest as he comes at us, hands held high. The magic he was weaving dies with him as he goes down in a heap.
“On your left!” she shouts.
I twist. Two icefae with swords are coming at us from the ground, trying to cut the thornback’s legs. I swing low and hard, taking one across the face. The second ducks under my stroke and thrusts his blade upward. I throw my weight sideways to avoid it, and the tip scores along my thigh instead of burying itself in my stomach.
The pain is bright and immediate. I grunt and bring my sword down on the back of his neck.
He doesn’t get up.
“You’re hurt.” Isla is looking at my leg, at the dark stain spreading through my trews.
“It’s shallow. Don’t worry about me.” It hurts like all hell, but it’s not deep enough to matter. “Watch the left side. I’ll take the right.”
She nods and turns away from me, her hands already bright with fire. Shadows curl between her fingers too, dark and quick, threading through the flames. She’s using both sides of her bloodline, and gods, she is something to witness.
But there is no time.
The shifterfae continue to cut through the icefae ranks. Hy-weres bring down soldiers by the dozen. A dragon lifts an entire cluster of guards into the air and drops them from a height no armor can survive. The catlike creatures work in pairs, one drawing a soldier’s attention while the other takes them from behind.
But there are losses on the shifterfae side too. A dragon takes a spear of pure ice through its wing membrane and crashes to earth, crushing three hy-weres beneath it as it falls. The armored boar creature takes a concentrated blast of ice magic and freezes solid where it stands, mid-charge, a monument to the icefaes’ power. Hy-weres lie broken across the battlefield in growing numbers.
Snow watches all of it from her carriage until three dragons come at her; she brings them all down with the mere swat of her hand. They are flung away, but she doesn’t kill them. They fall dazed. I’m sure they will be back in no time.
Then she steps down from the carriage.
Her feet touch the frozen mud, and frost blooms outward from the point of contact, spreading in delicate, lace-like patterns across the ground. She walks into the battle like she’s crossing a ballroom floor. Her gown trails behind her, untouched by blood or filth.
Hy-weres charge at her. They are all teeth and muscle and fury.
Snow raises two fingers and flicks them sideways.
The creatures are flung twenty feet through the air and land in a broken heap. They don’t rise but are still breathing. Again, she didn’t kill them. I’m sure she could have.
I think she is toying with them.
Like a cat would play with a mouse.
Another shifterfae rushes at her. Snow doesn’t even look at it. She waves her hand, and a pillar of ice erupts from the ground beneath the creature, launching it skyward. It comes crashing back down thirty feet away, groaning.
Two more attack together. She throws one into the other and walks on.
There is a trumpeting, and a whole squadron of riders on black steeds arrives. Their armor is dark. Their plumes are black. The crests on their breastplates catch no light because they’re carved in shadow.
Shadowfae.
My own people, thundering toward us on warhorses bred for exactly this kind of carnage.
“No,” I whisper. They’re riding for Snow.
They hit the far edge of the battlefield at a gallop and cut through the shifterfae flank with swords drawn and shadows swirling in thick, dark clouds.
The hy-weres try to regroup. The dragons wheel overhead, uncertain, their flames useless against shadow that eats light. The formation begins to buckle.
If something isn’t done soon, all of this will have been for nothing. The shifterfae will be ground between the icefae and the shadowfae, and Snow will walk away without a scratch.
“Stay here,” I tell Isla. I sheathe my sword and grip the bone spike, preparing to climb down.
