A tear snakes down my cheek as I press away the dead male, keeping him anchored to my body so he doesn’t reappear yet. With trembling hands, I section the links of my chain with blood, then grab a length of it and run toward Dante.
I jump onto his back and slap the chain around his neck. As we smash into the icy ground, I shout at Gabriele to blow Tavo onto Lore’s beak.
“Tavo?” I hear him whisper.
“Yes! The man next to you is Tavo! I have the real Dante!” I grab a handful of the Faerie King’s braids and thrust his head into the ice until blood gushes and he stops squirming.
“FALLON!” Gabriele shouts. “Behind you!”
How does he know where I am? Did the gory puddle give me away, or—Merda, I’ve reappeared!
Before I can look over my shoulder at the danger he’s spotted, Tavo punches the throne into my friend’s legs, making him stagger, and then, without wasting a single second, he tips Meriam.
His aim is so perfect that even from my vantage point, I can tell that her chest will meet my mate’s beak.
I scream and leap off Dante, then run, but I’m too far.
I’m too far.
Gabriele jerks to his feet and pounds into the gold throne, pitching it away from my mate. Tavo roars, and with a violent stroke, he swings his iron blade.
Eighty-Five
Another shriek burns my lungs as Gabriele’s head sails away from his shoulders. Like Bronwen’s, it seems to fall in slow motion.
“You monster!” I bang into Tavo with such velocity that he teeters . . . right onto my mate’s beak.
Before he can unpin himself, I wrench the iron blade from his fingers and plunge it through his blackened heart. His mouth parts around a soundless gasp, and he blinks. Twice.
Then, like a doll who’s lost its stuffing, his body sags, and his eyes empty of life. I’m tempted to leave him pinned to Lore for all to see, but the idea of his blood coursing into my mate’s mouth revolts me, so I grip his jacket and toss him to the ground.
So many tears run down my cheeks that they blur the carnage. I wipe them with the back of my hand, but they keep coming. Though I’m aware there are more soldiers to impede and a king to murder, I crouch beside Gabriele’s head and shut his lids, croaking a prayer for his soul to find peace. Words will never suffice to express my gratitude and affection, but words are all I can give this hero for now.
“Nipota?” My grandfather’s gentle voice pulls my stinging eyes away from my friend.
I find him standing over Dante, one boot stamped on the Faerie’s back like a hunter standing over his prized stag. All around him are scattered motionless bodies.
Lifeless, I realize as I approach on legs gone so numb, it feels as though I float.
While I avenged Gabriele, Justus Rossi planted his sword through every beating chest, impressing ruby blooms onto crisp white jackets. He’s drenched in blood. It mattes his hair and forks down his haggard face; clouds his eyes which are filled with rage but also with heartbreak.
When I reach him, he holds out his sword. “Will you do me the honor of ending this war with my sword?”
Without hesitation, we swap weapons. Adrenaline steadies my grip as I clasp Justus’s sword and lift it, twirling the blade that’s glazed in so much blood it glistens red like the rubies inset in the hilt.
“I want to look at him when I end him,” I murmur.
I don’t miss the grunt of pain that escapes Justus as he hinges at the waist, fists the Faerie King’s white uniform, and flips him over.
Dante’s spurs clink against the ice, and the chain I choked him with clatters, jolting his eyes wide.
Good.
I want him to see me win.
I position the tip of the sword over his heart and murmur, “Long live”—I lean all my weight into my arms—“the Crows.”
Eighty-Six
