“Not ever,” I hiss.
Epilogue
LORE
I’m no stranger to rage but never has it blistered my heart like tonight.
Around me, the valley is littered with corpses, the earth saturated with Faerie blood, the sky gashed by the dregs of my wrath. I’ve killed before, but never so many.
Every last Nebban soldier that sprang out of the Racoccin woods to attack us has fallen. Some on this battlefield; others in the forest as they beat a hasty retreat, pleas of mercy trembling upon their lips.
I showed no mercy. None of my people did.
After all, the Fae robbed me of my single most precious possession.
As my boots squelch against the blood-soaked mud, I imagine Fallon grumbling that she belongs to no one. Instead of ferrying a smile to my lips, it floods me with such vehemence that I take it out on the sky and land.
My Crows swerve and dip as I whip the mountain with my tempest. The enormous trunk they felled almost slips from their talons. Somehow, perhaps because they’re used to my storms, they manage to fly through the wet gusts.
I watch as they reach the cavern. As they slam the wood into the obsidian wall blocking the entrance. The din matches the furious bangs of the scarlet muscle barely contained by my iron armor.
Cathal stands beside me, silent in his anger. I realize that I, too, haven’t voiced many words. The last ones I propelled into my people’s minds were the warning Fallon managed to slip me before our mind link went dark.
Again.
If only I’d sought her out earlier when she hadn’t answered my invitation to nap.
If only Erwin hadn’t insisted on one more round of practice with our swords.
If only I hadn’t listened to Cian’s entreaty to preserve the staircase for his wingless mate.
If only I’d freed the horses Fallon’s friends rode up on.
If only I’d heeded Bronwen’s advice and headed to Shabbe to break the curse.
The obsidian barrier groans as it finally tips and smashes into the ground, cracking into chunks that glitter like a rug of glass shards.
Fallon!The foolish tendrils of hope that she’d hear me once we tore down the door unravel as her silence lingers. With her name poised on my cold lips, ready to flock from my lungs, I take a step forward.
Cathal flings out his arm to stop me. “We wait, Lore.”
I shove his arm and stalk forward. I’m done waiting.
My friend streaks in front of me, more smoke than flesh, and plants his boots wide. “You take one more step, Lorcan Ríhbiadh, and I will carry you to Shabbe this very night.”
I glare at him but stop advancing.
We don’t possess many weapons—we’ve never had need for more than our talons and beaks—but thanks to Antoni and Vance, we’ve begun to amass a sizeable arsenal. Firearms that shoot iron bullets, hallucinogenic powder they’ve nicknamed ‘dust,’ and liquid salt that can be injected into veins or mouths, depending on the need.
I’ve had all three brought into the valley tonight.
Connor sets fire to a burlap sack filled with ‘dust’ that his son snatches with his talons and hurls into the grotto. There’s no explosion. After all, it’s no cannonball. But there is smoke. At first, only a lavender trickle escapes, but that trickle swiftly thickens into a cloud of glittering purple.
If Fallon is in the cavern, this will not hurt her.
Behach Éan?I whisper into the void that stretches between us.
My lids slip closed when her beautiful voice doesn’t irradiate the gathering darkness between my temples. But then a dull cough comes, and my lids snap open.
