Destined for the Fae King (Courts of Faery #3)

Chapter 43

T here’s no time to worry or second-guess before we’re shifting. My feet land on lush ground. A forest cloaked in night appears around us, bits of flame burning on grass and shrubbery. A few dark masses lie unmoving. Cries ring out in the distance. I blink, trying to adjust my sight to the dimness when a groan of pure agony emanates from a few feet away.

A figure in golden armor kneels on the ground, body hunched over in the grass, hands grasping their head as they rock and writhe in pain.

My heart skips a beat then stops altogether before jolting into a gallop.

“Lysandir!” I lunge toward him and drop to my knees at his side, letting the spear fall between us. Then my hands are on him, trying in vain to discover where he’s injured as he rocks and holds his head like it might split in two.

“Where are you hurt? What’s happened?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond.

“It’s the magic settling on him,” Tharin says, coming to crouch beside us.

“The magic? ”

“The king’s magic.” Tharin places his hand on Lysandir’s back. “Lysandir is the King of Fire now.”

Lysandir is… A tear wells up from nowhere and slides down my cheek. The king is truly dead then.

“Mira.” Lysandir reaches out and grabs a fistful of my dress.

“I’m here.” I caress his armor, not that he can likely feel it.

“No,” he groans. “You must go.” Lysandir plants his hands on the ground but struggles to push himself up, almost like the weight of a beast sits upon his back.

“I’m not leaving you here.” I grab his arm and try to help him sit.

He stiffens under my grip. “The spear.” He twists his head to stare at me in horror. “My mother?”

“Is fine.”

His whole body sags in relief.

“She sent me here to help you.” I grab the spear, and with Tharin’s help, we get Lysandir to his feet.

“The battle nears,” Tharin says urgently. “I can shift you both away.”

“That would—” Lysandir’s attention shifts past his friend toward the something in the distance. Before I can glimpse it, he shoves me behind him and pulls his sword free. Tharin whirls and does the same.

“We must go.” Tharin snaps. “Now!”

“No.” Lysandir growls. Waves of magic pour from him, creating a corona of fiery light.

I lean around Lysandir and stare at the wavering shadows beneath a thick grove of trees. A gasp lodges in my throat as I spy figures stalking our way. Several stop, but one advances, stepping out into the small clearing we occupy.

The light from a smoldering bush shines on the figure’s black armor. Spikes protrude from the shoulders and upper arms. Long, pale hair shimmers like a banner from under their dark, fearsome helm and falls in a cascade down their back. They carry two objects, one a long sword dripping red with blood, the other, a golden helm decorated with a crown of flame.

The sight strips the heat from my body. I clutch the spear tight to my chest.

I know who stands before us.

I feel it in my bones. Hear it in the discordant whispers of the ancient spear in my hands.

The Unseelie King tosses the helm toward us. It bounces once and rolls to a few feet away. I try not to look too closely at the blood smearing the metal or to speculate at its source. Though somewhere inside me, I know.

A cry of alarm rings out behind us. I twist to see figures in gold and red advancing. Our allies. But I feel no relief at the sight of backup.

“Your king is dead.” The resonate voice of the Unseelie King snares my full attention. “Killed for the atrocities against my people. Cede this city to us to compensate for the loss of our innocent, and I shall let you take your people and leave, new Fire King.”

I clutch the spear a little tighter, my fingertips digging into the shaft.

“You killed my brother!” Lysandir snarls. “You think I’ll walk away?”

Lysandir… I bite my wobbling lip as I stare up at him. I ache to reach for him, to hold him close, but I won’t compromise him in this moment.

“If you know what’s good for you,” the Unseelie King replies, his deep voice even and calm. “Your brother started this by attacking my people. You can stop it or continue the bloodshed. ”

A humorless laugh spills from Lysandir. “You starting this by killing a human in our territory. One of my brother’s potential brides, no less! You think he wouldn’t retaliate?”

The Unseelie King shifts his stance and takes a half step back. “Killing a human?” he echoes. “My people know I forbid violence against humans.”

“Then you don’t have the control of them that you think,” Lysandir snaps. “Only days ago, your people entered our land, killed a human woman, and injured one of our court’s chief advisors. Do you deny it?”

“I do deny it. Why would we harm a human?” He gestures to those behind him looming among the trees.

Human. Human. Human . Each use of it grates against me, boiling the emotions I’ve tried so hard to hold in check, until I can’t stay silent.

“Bailey!” I shout, stepping to Lysandir’s side. “Her name was Bailey. And she was innocent and kind. She deserved better!”

“Mira.” Lysandir throws an arm out in front of me, trying to block me from view, to no avail.

The full weight of the Unseelie King’s regard falls on me, and it takes everything I have not to shrink back in fear. The world seems to hold his breath as the Unseelie King looks from me to Lysandir.

“Last chance, Fire King. Cede and flee or stay and atone for your crimes,” he says. I catch the barest hint of a smirk as he glances back at me. “I’ll even see that your human remains unharmed in my court.”

Lysandir erupts, sending a blast of flames straight at the Unseelie King. His roar of fury follows with it. The blast of heat blows my hair back and rolls across my skin. I wince, pinching my eyes shut until it passes. When I open them again, Lysandir has rushed forward and meets the Unseelie King in a clash of swords that rings out like a gong. And suddenly both sides are racing toward each other, the Court of Fire coming up from behind us and the Unseelie slipping out of the forest. Tharin steps into the spot Lysandir vacated, his sword up to protect me, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re in the middle of a battlefield.

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as I glance around. Panic has my breaths coming short and quick. Lysandir leaps back, then clashes with the Unseelie King once more. He moves with swiftness and grace that would be the envy of the best human swordsman, but even I can see he’s unmatched against the power of the Unseelie King.

From out of nowhere, a sudden quiet surrounds me, and then I hear the whispers I missed amid the chaos. The words are strange, a language I do not know and could not begin to recite, but I know what they ask of me all the same.

Use the spear. Protect your people.

With a hard shove, I plant the butt of the spear on the ground and call to the voice with all of my soul, Shield them. Protect them.

The moment I think it, a burst of magic rolls out from me in a shimmering wave. It flows over the members of the Court of Fire, enclosing them in a dome of pale, glittering light. The nearby Unseelie are shoved back, even the Unseelie King.

Lysandir shifts back to stand just in front of me and glances over one shoulder. I swear there’s pride in his gaze, clouding out his worry.

“I’m with you,” I promise.

Beyond the shimmering wall, the Unseelie King has let his sword dip and lays an open palm against my shield. I feel as he pushes against it. Not pain but a soft pressure, an awareness, reaches me through the shaft of the spear .

And that’s not all the spear tells me. It lets me know something else too, an advantage I don’t think the Unseelie have grasped.

“Light them up, Lysandir,” I say.

His eyes widen ever so slightly before a vicious grin spreads across his face. He turns back toward the Unseelie King. “With pleasure.”

Lysandir unleashes a fireball that soars through the air straight at the Unseelie King. It slips through the barrier without incident. The king barely raises his sword in time, holding it blade out in front of himself. The ball of fire strikes it and splits into a rain of sparks that the Unseelie King ignores.

Damn magical sword. It’s true then. He did find the sword that was thought to be lost.

The other warriors of our court catch on. Fire races by me toward the Unseelie, who scramble to defend. When the heat buffets me, I no longer fear it. I embrace it instead, savoring the sting, the sweat that runs down my skin. Hope swells within me as the Unseelie begin to retreat. Some of our troops rush past the barrier to chase those escaping, and I push out my awareness, making the barrier larger.

Pressure comes again as the Unseelie King plants his feet and pushes back against the magic. It retreats as he does, stepping back as Lysandir stalks his way, shooting bursts of flame with one hand, sword at the ready in the other.

The Unseelie King raises his sword. My brows pinch in confusion at his aim until he slams the blade against the barrier.

I cry out at the sudden impact as tremors race up my arms and through my chest.

“Mira!” Lysandir shouts back at me.

I brace my feet and the spear, readying for another blow. “I’m fine. Get him! ”

With another roar, Lysandir engages the Unseelie King again, blending fire and blade, staying just inside the safety of the barrier.

The sword strikes against my shield again, and though I’m ready for it, the blow has me wobbling on my feet. My muscles cry out in protest.

The barrier flickers.

Please. I close my eyes and will the protective bubble I’ve created to strengthen and grow once more. Another blast of flame races by me, nearly singeing my skin.

Lysandir cries out.

My eyes fly wide. My stomach drops. A new smear of red mars the Unseelie King’s blade, but Lysandir is still on his feet, still fighting. His next blow has the other king lurching backward and growling in pain.

“Stop her!” the Unseelie King yells.

It could mean anyone, but the pit in my chest says he means me. I glance around for danger, as does Tharin, who has sent a few blasts of fire toward the enemy but hasn’t left my side. Finally, I spot a flash of pink—a most unusual color for a battlefield. A lithe warrior in lightweight, black armor darts through my barrier, and I know they’re not friendly.

The way they—she—moves is like dance, springing this way and that until she’s nearly upon Tharin, her twin short swords unsheathed and gleaming in the light from the burning shrubbery. But he’s seen her too and is more than ready.

“Focus on the shield!” he calls to me.

And though I try, I can’t help looking between him and Lysandir. Tharin moves to intercept the newcomer. She must be the null we’ve heard about. No one else could so easily slip past without causing so much as a twitch against my barrier. Was she the one who killed Bailey? The thought has my shield flickering, doubt nagging at me. An enemy, to be sure, but somehow I don’t think she did it. This warrior answers to the king. If he denied it, it would not have been her to carry it out.

Tharin is quick, even more than I would have given him credit for. The Unseelie woman may have two blades, similar to the two cat ears on her head, but its not enough to unbalance or unsteady the skilled warrior. He’s the prince’s—no, the king’s—guard for a reason.

Another hit crashes into my barrier, and I’m taken unaware. I fall. My knee slams into the ground, and I yip in pain but cling to the spear. The shimmering shield flickers like a bad screen, so I stay there, clinging to the spear and doing all I can to shove my will, my desire for protection, into the magical object.

But my shield has shrunk, and I can’t seem to make it bigger anymore. Sweat rolls down my body, and it’s not just from the flames.

That sword the king wields is harming the power of the spear.

I search the area nearby and finally find Lysandir again. He’s locked in a sword fight with the Unseelie King once more, but this time, he’s outside my barrier.

Get back. Come back to me, I yearn to cry but hold my tongue.

A sharp hiss fills the air near me. Tharin and the Unseelie woman have closed in, just a few short feet away. She reels back. Blood drips from a wound on her arm.

Tharin twirls his sword in a taunt. She snarls but refuses to flee. Tharin presses his advantage and rushes her. The clash of metal rings out as she blocks once. Twice. But on the third time, Tharin hits her arm again, and she cries out.

“Katiya!” The Unseelie King roars.

Like I thought, she’s not just another warrior in his horde. She’s someone to him .

And Tharin knows it too. He knocks the blade from her injured arm with a quick swipe of his sword. Katiya darts away, but Tharin is faster, shifting in front of her. He swings. She dodges. But not quite fast enough. His blade slices along the thin armor on her side, and she cries out in agony. Katiya hits the ground hard, clutching at the bleeding wound.

The next bellow from the king shakes the very ground. He rears back with his sword and then leaps into the air over Lysandir’s head. The move is so fast a scream barely has time to form on my tongue. Lysandir ducks and whirls, ready to meet a strike from behind, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the Unseelie King aims the tip of his blade at my shield and lands against it with the full force of his jump.

The blow to my shield strikes like a punch to my chest. One moment, I’m upright; the next, the wind has been knocked from my lungs, and I crash to the ground, pain radiating along my head and back from the impact. Stars dance before my vision.

Lysandir cries my name. Someone else screams. Tharin lets out a bellow.

Then hands are on me, feeling for injuries. Lysandir says something, though I can’t quite make it out, but I feel his nearness, savor it. I blink, my vision returning. As it does, I see glimpses from where my cheek lays against the cool ground.

The Unseelie King deflects a blow from Tharin. Half the length of his sword is blackened. It makes an odd sound when struck. Katiya throws something at Tharin, and he backs away, coughing. The Unseelie King scoops Katiya into his arms and speeds away.

“Mira!” Lysandir cups my cheek in his palm and turns my head toward him. “Where are you hurt? ”

Everywhere. Each breath is a harsh rasp, but they come. I can wiggle my fingers and toes. I’m going to be bruised like crazy, but I don’t think anything is broken, at least nothing major.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say. “He’s getting away.”

Lysandir looks back over his shoulder. Warriors from the Court of Fire have closed in around us, offering protection.

“Maybe for the best,” he mumbles.

He meets my gaze, and I read the things he doesn’t say. Because he might not have won. Even with my shields, the Unseelie King was a formidable opponent, one he was not prepared for.

Lysandir looks to the surrounding fae and shouts, “Medic!”

“I’m fine,” I protest again and attempt to sit. My breath comes easier now. “But you’re not.” Blood leaks down his arm.

A fae I don’t know drops to their knees beside us. They lay a hand on each of us before I can ask what’s happening. Magic shivers under my skin, and suddenly my aches and pains fade away. They drop their hand from me, but healing Lysandir takes longer.

I grab the spear where it fell on the ground beside me. It looks none the worse for wear, but the whispers of power I heard and felt from it before are quiet.

“Almost had her.” Tharin wipes at his face as he joins us. Whatever the Unseelie woman used worked to distract him but doesn’t seem to have had any lasting effect, thank goodness. “Should we pursue?”

“To the borders only. No farther,” Lysandir commands.

Immediately, Tharin begins barking orders at the others.

The sun has begun to rise, brightening the sky and casting a muted light over everything. Smoke rises from the fires caused by magic. Some of the fae rush to put them out, seeming to suck the flames away and extinguish the smoldering embers .

“You’re safe. You’re okay.” Lysandir says, maybe more to himself than to me.

“I am.” I lift the spear just a bit and try to push my awareness into it. It flares weakly but then sputters out. “But it’s quiet now. I… I didn’t break it, did I?” Oh gosh, if I destroyed the spear, what does that say about me?

“It’s fine.” Lysandir curls his hand around mine over the spear. “All magic must recharge. Mine. The spear. It likely just needs time.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

We’re an island of stillness in a sea of activity. I glance around but quickly avert my gaze as I spy a few unmoving figures in the distance. Instead, I focus on Lysandir. His bleed has stopped, and though he still breaths heavily, I know he’s okay.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Let’s hope the Unseelie have fled for now.” His expression turns somber. “This night has seen too much death and bloodshed.”

My heart aches for him. I lunge forward, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging his armored form. “I’m so sorry.”

He trails his fingers through my hair and holds me close. I hear his breath catch, and I nestle a littler closer, offering whatever support I can. When my father passed, there weren’t any words that made it better. People feel the need to say them, I think, to offer support however they can. After all, didn’t I just do the same? But the thing that actually helped was closeness. Mom was too distraught, as were my brothers, but Selena held me close, an arm wrapped around me as I cried on her shoulder. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Just being there was everything. I can be that for Lysandir now. Someone to lean on when all the world feels like its crumbling and shifting .

We cling together like that for a while until Tharin comes back and drops to one knee beside us. He places a hand on Lysandir’s shoulder. “The Unseelie King and his host have fled past our borders. We’re sweeping the area now for any others.”

Lysandir’s cheeks are dry when he raises his head to look at his friend, but there’s a weariness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Already, the crown sits heavily.

“Good. See it done.” He rises to his feet and pulls me with him. “I will take Mira to the capital. You’re in charge until I return.”

The thought of him coming back, of leaving me somewhere else, makes me ill, but I swallow down my discomfort and stay silent. He’s a king now. His responsibilities are bigger than me, and I won’t make them even harder by adding my fear to his burden.