Page 197 of Fallen Nocturne

My shadow wings beat once, twice, and I’m airborne. Freedom surges through me with the power of the Fallen. The wind tears at my face, but I keep my eyes on Rhianelle.

She sits straight-backed before Landon, silver hair streaming behind her. I can see the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders, but not defeat.

Her kingdom is burning. Lilith nearly destroyed her. The realm of the dead almost kept her.

Still, Rhianelle flies toward the next impossible thing.

Toward a prince who may kill her before she speaks a single word.

Let them come.

Every prince, every army, every ancient thing that crawls from the shadows to challenge Rhianelle. I will be there with her until the very end.

Part V

Until the end of Eternity

Chapter 28 Svenn

We pass over the battlefield and the devastation below tears the breath from my lungs.

I’ve lived through centuries of war. This is nothing new to me. I’ve walked through fields of the dead and through cities burned to ash.

But I know this is a first for Rhianelle. I watch her face as she takes in the scene below. Grief washes over her features. Her eyes go wide and her mouth parts on a silent breath. Even from here, I can see the tremor running through her.

She’s seeing her kingdom die.

I follow her gaze downward.

The battlefield stretches for miles. What was once probably farmland or forest is now churned into mud. The ground is covered with bodies. Elven silver armor lies mixed with fae scarlet, orcish iron, and dwarven steel.

No one is winning.

Fires burn everywhere as the few remaining wyverns on both sides breathe flames indiscriminately, setting friend and foe alike ablaze.

The screaming reaches us even up here. A constant roar of agony, rage, and terror.

I see Blaire.

She’s on the front lines, fighting desperately. Her armor is stained red. She’s not wielding a weapon. Instead, she’s using her borrowed magic to create shields of light, protecting clusters of elven soldiers from incoming arrows.

The girl is exhausted. I can see it in the way her shields flicker. A fae arrow punches through, striking an elf in the chest. She can’t keep this up much longer.

Vayne, the orc prince who pledged his allegiance to Aelfheim, is on the front line too. Mavren Aeldrath Malgorth fights him with his blade raised. The Orc King of Myrkheim.

They’re dueling. I know Vayne is a skilled fighter. I fought him once in Tavan. But Mavren is bigger. Blood streams down Vayne’s face from a cut across his forehead. His armor is dented and his movements slowing. The watching orcs cheer for them.

My gaze shifts again, drawn by a familiar scent.

Lady Siofra. The elven lady who trained Coral. Who stood as Rhianelle’s protector, her mentor, her friend. She’s on the ground and she’s not moving. Arrows bristle from her back, her beautiful hair matted with blood and mud. Beside her is Darstan. The taciturn knight who rarely spoke.

Darstan is gone too, with just as many arrows in him. They fell together, it seems. Their hands are clasped together, fingers intertwined. They must have been on the front line and the first ones hit when the assault began. Even at the end, neither abandoned the other. They held the line for the kingdom they had sworn to defend and met death hand in hand.

I hear a broken, wounded sound.

Rhianelle.

She’s seen them. Her face crumples, and tears stream down her cheeks, whipped away by the wind almost as soon as they fall.