This is how I'm going to die. Not in glorious battle but cowering behind a broken shield while my enemies laugh. The fae riders are taking their time. One nocks another arrow, aims for my leg to cripple me. They want me alive but broken. Just when I think it's the end for both of us—
A woman appears.
The fae riders immediately drop to one knee, heads bowed.
It's the witch from the sky. Eirik Bloodhound's mistress. Crimson drapes her form, red cloak over scarlet dress. The rich color is stark against her long golden hair. Her skin is flawless like porcelain untouched by sun or imperfection.
"Leave us," she says to the riders without looking at them.
No one questions her.
The riders rise in unison. Steel slides back into sheaths. One of them casts a lingering look at me, hungry and resentful, but none dare disobey.
With sharp whistles and curt gestures, they mount. The Night Herons peel away from their circling pattern and fall back into formation around her.
In seconds, they are airborne.
The downdraft of their wings kicks ash into the air and drives me back a step. Smoke swallows them as they climb, returning to the larger battle where Svenn still carves through their ranks.
Now it's just her and me.
And Coral, trembling behind me with two arrows still in her flesh.
I keep the broken shield up even though we both know it's meaningless. My arms shake from holding it. Blood runs hot down my thigh from the arrow graze.
"Put that down," the witch says. "You're embarrassing yourself."
"Stay back."
She laughs, melodious and sweet.
Above us, Svenn continues his rampage. The sky is more shadow than light now and wyvern bodies fall like rain. The remaining riders are in full retreat. But Svenn follows them into the distance, lost in the hunt.
"Your monster is magnificent," the witch says, watching him leap impossible distances to catch fleeing prey. "I've never seen anything like that."
"He's not a monster."
"No?" She tilts her head, genuinely curious. "Then what lives in his blood that allows such transformations?"
There's no way she should know about Svenn's true nature and origin. "How do you know that?"
The witch turns her attention back to me and the weight of her gaze makes my skin crawl. She takes a step closer. I try to step back but my legs won't listen.
"I know many things, little queen," she says with a knowing smile. "I know you're exhausted and every thread of power you pull tears something inside you."
She's right. My hands won't stop shaking and my vision swims at the edges. I've used too many strings today.
"Leave," I tell her. "Your forces are retreating. The attack failed."
"Failed?" She smiles and gestures at the devastation around us. "Aelfheim is ash. Thousands dead. Your western frontiers erased from existence. I'd hardly call that failure."
"Svenn is killing your riders," I tell her.
"Yes, he is." She doesn't sound concerned. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Another wyvern falls in the distance, torn nearly in half. The witch watches with appreciation.
"Tell me something," she says, turning back to me. "Are you ever afraid of him? Your monster husband?"
