Eerie and annoying, sure, but it is keeping me awake. In the back of my mind, I know that’s important. If I fall asleep now, I might never wake up again.
Fear slams into me, and it doesn’t belong to anyone else. It belongs to me.
Is this how Dad felt when he was dying? His magic also failedwhile a battle raged around him. Did he throw his body between my brother and danger because it’s all he had left to give? And did something in Callum break forever when he saw Dad fall, knowing his magic wasn’t strong enough to save him?
My fingers shake, but I’m not cold anymore. Cradled against Malach’s chest, barely able to keep my eyes open, I’m a liability.
My heart shudders.
There’s nothing romantic about dying; it’s fucking terrifying.
Something crashes into Malach’s side, but he doesn’t let me go. His spike of fear gives me the energy to face what we’re up against, and I peel my eyes open.
“Can you hold the sword?” Malach asks. His voice is a low rumble, tight with the strain of keeping us both in the air. “I need you, Ciprian.”
I blink rapidly and wrap my fingers around the hilt. “I don’t know how to use this,” I admit. My voice is barely louder than a whisper, and my palms are sweating despite the frigid air.
Malach grunts. “Nothing to it, really. Stick the pointy end in our enemies.”
For some reason, his blunt instructions go a long way toward calming me down.
Pushing my fear away, I open myself up to the emotions raging on the battlefield below us and find a ten-course meal. So many flavors of fear: foreboding, horror, shock, dread, hysteria—they’re all there for the taking—giving me strength when their courage fails.
A moth dives toward us, showing off a maw full of jagged teeth framed by a nasty, tri-hinged jaw.Disgusting.I could have gone my whole life without knowing there were jaws that could do that.
The monster flaps its wings and coos at me.
“Creepy bastard.” I use a pinch of fear to show the moth a nightmare of me dropping the sword. It makes a weird clicking sound—I think the fucker is laughing at me, then swoops in for the kill.
I ram the sword into its mouth, and since I’ve now executed the full extent of Malach’s instructions, I go off book and thrash the blade around. It’s gross but effective. The moth shifts into a man and falls to the ground, his dead weight smacking into several of the shadowy figures beneath us.
“Nice job,” Malach says.
The sword is soaked with blood. It drips off the blade and falls on the frontline, raindrops mined from the depths of hell. I don’t have time to think about how revolting that is before the next aerial assault comes our way.
I grip the hilt with both hands. It’s slippery now, and I’m worried I’ll drop it if I’m not careful. When I swing this time, I clip an armored bird. It squawks and retreats, one wing flapping awkwardly.
Malach and I are being stalked by three other winged monsters, but they’re keeping their distance. A flicker of triumph rolls through me, then I look down and blink. How would they react if the ground couldn’t be trusted?
I focus on the minds below us. It’s easy to identify Celine, Alistair, and Luca—I could find them in a crowd of thousands. Riven and Hyacinth are harder, but not impossible.
Once I’m confident that I’m locked in, I take a deep breath and drop a basic nightmare.
The ground crumbles, the frozen soil and rock giving way beneath them.
I don’t risk much. My pool of magic is shallow, a fucking kiddie pool if I’m being honest with myself, but I toss in a touch of vertigo for emphasis and watch as multiple redheaded veydran—what thefuckis up with that?—topple like dominoes.
The advantage tips the scale in our favor. Riven and Hyacinth reach the portal, bursting through the final line of veydran. Celine, Alistair, and Luca are only a few feet behind, moving as a unit and refusing to let anyone get between them. Only three veydran and one hooved monster stand between them and the portal.
Hope ripples through me. We can do this. Wearedoing this.
Celine opens her mouth and shouts something. Beams of light explode from her chest.
There’s a beat of nothing, then screaming, terrible screaming, overpowers everything. Malach adjusts his grip on me; his fingers digging into the numb skin behind my knees. The screams die off one by one as Alistair snaps their necks.
It’s awful, something I never want to see or hear again, but my heart leaps in my chest, flipping, bouncing, and doing fucking back handsprings as all three of them enter the portal’s perimeter.
I pump one fist into the air and let the sword hang by my side.
