He’s right. I am the rightful High Queen. I am of Wrena’s line. I have a well of power in me that continues to grow, and I grow stronger every day.
Show them.
My boot heels strike the cobbled streets as we fly toward the square. Rage courses through me, and my magic churns as the screams grow louder and the scent of blood grows stronger.
But it stutters when I come to a stop at the end of the alleyway.
Three bodies hang from the gallows, their feet floating as they gently sway from nooses. Below them, three more lay face down in still pools of blood, arms reaching out, as if they were slain while trying to save those above from their fate.
They swing in a rhythm known only to them. I’d like to think it’s to the tune of a beloved song, or maybe the ghost of an “I love you” to their partner as they thought of their goodbyes.
Innocent people executed—mypeople executed. People with families, with dreams, with jobs, and favorite foods and colors and laughs and dog-eared books. For what? Having an opinion that doesn’t match Marik’s?
A hand grazes my shoulder. “I’ll cut them down,” Asmo says. “Use your wind to slow their fall.”
He stands beneath the first body—a female with tight black curls that tumble to her waist. With a slash of his shadow sword, she falls. The magic that once felt so difficult to summon bursts through me and slows her landing. Asmo catches her with ease and lays her down gently.
When all three are down, I walk to those lying in pools of their own blood. The blood has turned tacky and sticks to the male as I flip him. He looks like he’s sleeping, his long eyelashes resting against lifeless cheeks. I turn the other two over and commit their features to memory. I will not forget.
I step to the gallows and summon fire, resting my hand on its wooden platform. The blaze takes hold, and my flames lickand bite and consume the structure within moments. Heat radiates from the writhing mass of smoke, and I move away.
From the alleyway, the gallows appeared huge, like some monster that might scoop me in its meaty fist and hang me with the crook of its finger. But up close, it feels more like a stray dog that can be scared away. Like it was just a terrifying shadow that’s actually nothing at all. Something that can be beaten. Destroyed.
Just like Marik and Cora.
“Princess,” Asmo says, a warning and a reminder.
“I know.” If we don’t get moving, more people will die.
My throat burns as I scan their features once more—a crooked nose, high cheekbones, a birthmark in the shape of a leaf—before turning to the square.
It’s chaos. Cambions and the Cursed race through the streets while creatures resembling massive bats fly through the sky. Elemental, Fae, and streaks of dark magic zing through the air, finding purchase against their victims or striking the buildings around us. Glass shatters, wood splinters, and blood spills.
Citizens stand their ground against witches and cambions, clutching anything that can be used as a weapon—broken chair legs, wooden stakes, frying pans.
Across the square, Lower House members dressed in fighting leathers spill through another alleyway, weapons and hands raised. Amaris leads them. She wastes no time, slashing the back of a cambion’s neck with her sword.
I narrowly avoid the ball of black magic that flies toward me. It hits the ground with a hiss, charring it upon its contact. A raven-haired witch stares at me from the roof of a bakery, her telltale black aura writhing around her.
I grin at her in invitation.
She leaps from the roof, landing on her feet with an otherworldly grace, and immediately begins her attack. I barely get my shield up, but every blow slowly eats away at it. She doesn’t let up, a grin splitting her face as each one lands. Asmo is right—I can’t attack her from inside my shield.
She fires another shot. I drop the shield and duck, summoning wind and fire, sending itblazing toward her. She leaps out of its path with a giggle, then fires at me again. I dodge it. I funnel more magic into the path of wildfire, but it’s too slow to catch her.
She turns back to me, hand raised to attack again. But she doesn’t get the chance.
Asmo slams his hands over her ears and sets her ablaze. Her shriek dies as her body slumps against him.
One witch down.
Across the square, two Lower House hybrids fight another witch. Although they’re hurling fire at her, she dodges each blow with effortless speed, while somehow still hurling strikes at them. Her back is turned to us. Good news for us, bad news for her.
“Want the honors this time?” Asmo asks me, a smirk on his face.
I don’t bother responding. I sprint toward the witch and leap, my palms already on fire. I wrap my hands around her and force my flames down her throat. Her body collapses, and I tumble with her.
Two witches down. Eight to go.
