Whoosh!
A giant eagle soars into view, chasing after the serpent.
It tips to the side, its majestic chestnut-brown wings carrying it safely out of the fireball’s path.
My eyes widen to see the insignia on the eagle’s saddle. It belongs to members of the Iron King’s guard.
The Iron Fae are here, too?
The eagle’s female rider stands upright in the saddle, holding her bow and arrows, her balance impossibly steady despite the rapidly changing position of her bird as it evades the fireball the Ember Fae cast at her.
The fireball hits the tops of thepalm trees behind her—the flames consuming leaves and wood and leaping along the sand, and it’s only by luck that the villagers are running in the other direction.
With the Iron Fae here, fire isn’t all the villagers need to fear.
The Iron Fae take their name from their ability to craft iron metal into weapons of extreme pain and control the arc of those weapons through the air.
The woman riding the eagle holds three arrows to her bow, each one with a tip that, even from this distance, glows crimson-red. They can only be covered in iron dust.
As I run, my tunic rubs against the scar across my upper right rib, a reminder of the torment of an iron blade.
Just as fire burns fae flesh, so too does iron.
If this woman’s arrows carry powdered iron, they will explode on impact, scattering the iron particles to the wind and into the village. A horrifying harm. Even her own people won’t be immune to it if she doesn’t control the blast.
She must not care.
If she did, she wouldn’t risk using such a weapon here, just as the Ember Fae riding the serpent doesn’t hesitate to prepare another fireball that will inevitably hit innocent victims—or, if he’s clumsy, his own brethren.
I haven’t stopped running, can’t stop, despite the tears of hot rage blurring my vision.
These highborn fae have brought their war to this peaceful village. The fae who live here…people I’ve come to care about…will pay a terrible price.
Worst of all, there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it.
My father trained me in basic defensive combat, but I’m not as strong as a highborn fae, and I certainly can’t reach the warriors in the air.
Frustration is a scream in my throat as I sprint through agap between the trees and into the main village, where my boots pound the pebbled path.
In the distance, the fireball soars high into the sky, its trajectory arching toward the villagers’ homes this time.
I wish I could block my ears as screams of terror crescendo behind me.
This fire.These screams…
They remind me of the fire I don’t remember, the story of the day I was born. Those flames consumed a cottage and broke my mother’s heart, burning the white roses she created to celebrate my birth, destroying her connection to me. But they saved her from the danger I brought into her life.
I stumble, but right myself, racing toward the nearest two buildings, only to pull up sharply.
My heart leaps into my throat as I find myself facing three white-haired fae.
Two men and one woman, each wearing silver armor bearing the royal crest of the Frost King, block my way.
Oh… Damn.
Fear claws its way into my soul. Warriors from each of the three kingdoms are now here, and I don’t know for certain if it’s because of me or if something else has brought them to this village.
All I can be sure of is that their hatred of each other is limitless. They will destroy too many innocent lives in their bid to kill each other.
