The soldiers grunt, crying out as a wave of wraiths surround them. I dig my fingers into Autumn’s soil. The thorns around my arms shiver and thrash, new vines breaking off and spilling into the earth, burrowing deeper, growing.
“It’s not too late,” I whisper to myself. Not for Ezryn. Not for Dayton. Not for Farron. Not for Billy and Dom, and every Autumn soldier fighting to defend their home.
With a deep growl I rise, bringing my briars with me. They burst from the earth, consuming each of the wraiths surrounding us.
The Autumn Guard murmurs a collective thanks, but my gaze is set ahead. To Perth Quellos. To my mate.
“Farron,” I whisper, “I’m coming.”
83
Farron
Didithappentome too? Did the frost creep over my body and steal my will? For I can’t move; everything in me feels cold.
Cold as my mother’s dead body in my arms.
I’m screaming. I know that, like I know that the sky is blue and I need air to breathe. But it’s a distant thing. There’s a battle: ice and cries and blood.
My mother is dead.
“Get out of here, Farron! Go!” Someone’s voice. A familiar voice. A voice I love. He wants me to leave. He thinks I’m in danger. Maybe I am. But what does it matter at this point?
My army is falling. The frost has come. And my mother is dead.
“Farron.”
There’s another voice. Ah, maybe I was wrong. I’m not overtaken by the frost; I’m simply lifeless. I know this voice, and there’s no way it would be here on the battlefield. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Farron, I’m here.”
It’s so sweet, this voice, like a small drop of sunlight over the ice inside me.
“Farron, look at me!”
I open my eyes. “Rosalina?” Something cracks. I blink, and the breath hitches in my throat. She’s here in front of me, dressed in the golden armor of Autumn.
She looks down at my mother’s body. “I’m so sorry.”
“Get out of here, Rosie!” That other voice. I look up to see Dayton, blood streaking down his cheek. His sword clangs against Quellos’s ice spear. He lands death strike after death strike, but nothing kills the cursed vizier. “Take Farron and go!”
I’ve left him to fight Quellos alone. Gently, I place my mother on the ground and grab Rosalina’s shoulders. “What are you doing here? You have to get out of Autumn.”
She lifts her chin in defiance. “I fought my way to you, Farron. I won’t let you do this by yourself.”
“Look around you! The battle is lost.”
“No, it isn’t.” She grabs my hand and pushes something into it. A scroll. “Not while the High Prince of Autumn still has strength in him.”
Slowly, I unravel the scroll. A great burst of energy seeps from it, blowing back my hair and sending cold shivers through my skin. “This… This is from a grimoire.” I barely get the words out: “This is a death spell.”
“Take it from me.” Rosalina runs a hand along my jaw, causing me to look up at her. “Not everything that looks evil is evil. Embrace what you are, Farron.”
I inhale deeply and draw my eyes over the words. She wants me to use a death spell…
Why shouldn’t I? Autumn is the death of life. That’s what everyone says. It’s what Quellos fears. That Autumn should bring the end of all things, that it should leach and drain and steal.
And yet…
