27
Tarrah
It looked like the end of the world. Ash rained down from a scarlet sky, and the screams of dying fae seemed endless. Warriors with charred arms stumbled past, their eyes wild with fear and their mouths limp from the utter torment storming through their broken bodies.
Tarrah fell to her knees. She couldn’t bear to run any longer. This was it. The end of everything. Even if some survived, the shadow fae army was decimated. Thousands had died. Her quest had been burned up with them all. It was over, and it had barely even begun.
“Unseelie,” she whispered at the sky. “Why have you changed your mind? Why have you turned your back on me?”
“All right. Enough of this.” Nollaig tightened her grip on Tarrah’s arm and hauled her to her feet. She stood directly in front of her, and then slapped her hard right on the cheek. It stung, but it did little to push the pain away.
“He abandoned me,” Tarrah whispered, her eyes burning from her unshed tears. She could not remember how it felt to cry.
“He sure did. And you want to know why? Because he’s not a kind and worthy god. He doesn’t deserve your unwavering loyalty.” Nollaig leaned in, her whisper full of ferocity. “And do you know whatyoudon’t deserve? You don’t deserve to die because you trusted the wrong god.”
Tarrah squeezed her eyes shut. Nollaig was trying to help her, and for that, Tarrah was grateful. But her words were like a dagger in the gut, pushed in and then twisted sharply. Tarrah had dedicated her entire existence to Unseelie. She did not know who she was if she was not his loyal servant, the special fae entrusted with his most important visions. She had led the shadow fae army in their return to Findius. She had gotten the king his Seat of Power. How had all that been a lie? How could she have been wrong?
The only thing in the world she had left was Teutas.
“I have to find Teutas,” she whispered, grasping Nollaig’s hands. “Please. We need to find him and get him to the safety of the caverns.”
“If that’s what’s going to get you moving again, then that’s fine with me.” Nollaig nodded. “Teutas was assigned to the front line of the eastern side. We’ll find him there.”
They took off through the camp together. They passed so many ashen bones of former warriors, of former friends. It was impossible to tell how many had died. Most were nothing more than a pile of charred remains. Tarrah didn’t even try to count the piles. She didn’t need to. The barren, ashen landscape was enough to tell her that most of the army had been lost.
And some were still dying.
A new bolt of lightning ripped across the sky. Thick black clouds spit large flaking mists onto the tents spread out on the northeastern corner of the camp. Tarrah ran. That was where Teutas was. His tent was one of those shivering in the wind beneath the churning clouds spitting out snow-like ash.
But this was no snow, Tarrah knew, even if she had never seen a single fleck in her life. It was death.
“Tarrah, no!” Nollaig shouted from behind her. “We cannot go that way!”
“Teutas!” she screamed back, but her voice got snatched up in the wind and tossed away.
Nollaig charged after her and grasped at the loose sleeve beneath Tarrah’s grey scales. The material got caught between her fingers, but then it ripped away. Tarrah kept rushing forward. She would not be stopped. A newfound strength solidified her bones. For the first time in a long while, her mind was clear.
She had to find Teutas.
“Tarrah, we will die if we go into the storm,” Nollaig shouted again.
Tarrah didn’t care. She raced ahead of Nollaig, reaching the cluster of northeastern tents just as another crack of angry lightning snapped through the sky. It lit up the night, drenching everything in white. She spotted Lorcan and Reyna in the center of it all. The Shieldmaiden gestured wildly as the Ruin drifted down on top of them.
She opened her mouth to shout their names, but her eyes were caught by movement at the edge of her vision. Several figures were stumbling through the camp. She twisted toward them, gasping at once. Teutas, eyes wide, cheeks blanched, was hobbling straight toward her. He was surrounded by several more warriors. Not a single one of them moved with the strength and dexterity she knew they had.
“Teutas?” she called out, taking a step toward him. But Nollaig grasped her shoulder and pulled her back. A black flake fell onto the ground just before her feet, and it sizzled, scorching the dirt.
“We need to go, child. We are far too close to the storm.”
“But Teutas,” Tarrah cried out, tears bursting from her eyes. “He needs help. He’s—”
“He’s gone, Tarrah,” Nollaig said softly. “He cannot be saved. Look at him. He’s already been hit by it.”
“NO!” Tarrah screamed, and then threw herself forward. Nollaig clamped down harder on her arms, dragging her back. Tarrah thrashed against the hooded fae, desperately trying to reach her lover’s side. Her future lover’s. The male Unseelie had shown to her. The one he’d promised would cherish her, fight for her, and give her his seed. Unseelie had given her visions of the two of them in love, forever entwined. They’d never even had a single kiss.
The Ruin cannot take him from me!
Suddenly, Teutas stumbled to a stop, catching sight of Tarrah. He gave her an odd smile, and then spread his hands wide. At once, his arms began to disintegrate. His grey scale armor turned to ash, drifting away on the harsh and bitter wind. Darkness spread across his body, reaching up to his chest like fingers of death. Slowly, every single part of him transformed. His eyes were last. The terror in them was the last thing Tarrah saw of Teutas Rains.
