It lunged.
I shoved Cordelle aside just in time as the fae’s sword slashed through the space where he’d been standing. My blade was out before I took my next breath, the edge sparking against its blade as I parried the first strike.
Cordelle raised a warding shield, but it flickered weakly. The Blood Fae twisted around me, moving like smoke and shadow, striking hard and fast. We traded blows, but it was faster than it should’ve been, its body pulsing with dark, old magic.
Just as it stepped back for a killing strike, aroarshook the ground.
Zola plummeted from the sky, her massive silver form blazing in the moonlight.
She landed hard behind the Blood Fae, wings flared wide and mouth already open.
The fire was instant, white-hot and blinding.
The fae didn’t even scream.
It was gone before its body hit the stone.
I turned, panting, but my relief was short-lived.
Cordelle had slumped to the ground, one arm clutching his side.
Blood.
“Cordelle!”
I rushed to him, just as a scream tore across the grounds.
“CORDELLE!”
Ferrula.
She sprinted toward us, eyes wild, her voice ragged as she dropped beside him and cradled his face in her hands, shouting his name again and again as if willing him to stay conscious.
And for the first time tonight, I felt true fear settle in my bones.
The wards had failed.
Meri’s footsteps pounded across the Ascension Grounds, her healer’s robes flying behind her like wings as she sprinted toward us—toward Cordelle, who lay bloodied and pale in my lap. “I sensed his pain.”
But before she could reach him, two castle guards stepped into her path, swords half-drawn.
“That’s close enough,” one said, voice clipped, eyes flicking from her to the prone form behind Ferrula. “We need express approval for any healing on Thrall Squad members.”
Meri skidded to a stop, fury etched in every line of her face. “Those orders were rescinded. You want to check your facts or let someone die while you play politics?”
“Then get your superior to sign off,” the second guard said, unmoved. “No contact without permission.”
Ferrula’s eyes focused on them, the kind of look that promised death.
In one fluid motion, her blade slid free from its sheath and came to rest against the throat of the nearest guard.
Her green eyes blazed, her voice as cold and final as steel.
“If you don’t let her through, I will behead you and deal with the fallout later.”
The first guard hesitated.
The second paled.
