Queen of Blood and Vengeance (Secrets of the Faerie Crown #4)

72. Guinevere

72

GUINEVERE

She’d always known her death would be bloody. She was a warrior. Even her title as Terrestrial Heir had been earned through bloodshed. But Gwen had not expected it to come so soon. Eight hundred years, maybe even a thousand.

At least she would die fighting.

The mixed human and fae formation she’d put together held for the first two hours. But they broke in the third. Maybe if she’d had three months, instead of three weeks. They fought so well. A human whose name she scarcely remembered fell back, only for a wind-wielding elemental to step up and battle the succubus before it fell upon her and began to feast. But another of the monsters pushed in from the side, sinking its sharpened fingers into the elemental’s flesh. The rush of air faded with its wielder. The human regained her feet, but now she was surrounded on three sides.

Gwen slashed through one succubus, removing its head. She reached for her belt, for the amorite-swirled knife sheathed there. But her hand stopped, cocked halfway behind her head, as a succubus ripped out the human woman’s belly, spilling her innards on the red floor of the valley.

She spun in the other direction so she would not have to watch it devour her.

Behead with her sword. Stab with the amorite knife, but only a mortal wound. Keep fighting. She had to keep fighting. If she stopped, if she let herself fall, then the cause was lost. The humans would flee.

For every one succubus that fell, it took a dozen humans with it. Gwen had known the cost from battling in Baylaur. But at least there, she’d been protecting the living, focused on getting them to safety. Here on the battlefield, she lost track of the why and the who. She just killed. And killed. And killed.

But not enough. They’d met at the midpoint of the valley. But the succubus gained ground every hour. Relentless. They did not tire. They did not pause. Gwen spun to stab a succubus that tried to take her from behind, only to find the mountains mere yards from where she stood.

This was the end.

The communication crystal was with Sylva. She’d given her brief instructions on how to use it, but Gwen knew that the possibility of the human woman being able to access the crystal’s magic was slim. The crystals worked on intent. Gwen was the intended recipient of any messages that Veyka, Arran, or Cyara might send using their crystals.

If help was coming, it would have arrived by now. Gwen knew that.

If Veyka had not opened one of the portal rifts, she was not going to now. Maybe the queen was dead… she was going to sacrifice herself to banish the succubus. She could have tried and failed, and been lost in the process. Gwen’s heart clenched at the thought. Arran would never come back from losing Veyka. Never.

The humans fought valiantly, the elemental fae, both soldiers and commoners, among them. But it was not enough. The succubus would push them back against the mountains, and they would all die.

Gwen looked down the line of warriors remaining, marking the faces of those still standing. Not far from her stood the female elemental whose brother she’d killed for harming the human child in Eldermist.

There was no defiance left in the young female’s features. The rags she’d worn the first time Gwen met her were in an even worse state now, splashed with the black bile of the succubus. It was too far for Gwen to see if the female trembled.

Gwen met her eye and inclined her head. She tried to infuse every bit of strength in that one exchange. She could not offer hope. But she could share the little strength that was left to her. Gwen lifted her sword and turned to face the enemy. In her periphery, she watched the ice-wielder lift her hands and turn as well.

But just as the next wave reached them, light and water and fire began to rain down from overhead.

Gwen’s head snapped up, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Tiny creatures hung off of the mountainside. They were too far away to read their features—no, they truly were that small. Half of Gwen’s size, maybe. They moved quickly, the motions of those new to a fight, fresh bursts of magic raining down up on the succubus, slowing them. One zoomed overhead, and Gwen got a look at the pointed ears peeking out from a head of fiery orange hair.

Fae… but unlike any she’d ever seen. They were a rainbow of colors, brilliant blue and deep burgundy red all the way to a black so dark it would have matched her dark lioness. And some of them were airborne. Not as shifters, but they had wings attached to their back. Not unlike Cyara, but smaller.

Not fae, she realized. Faeries.

The Faeries of the Fen had come to fight.

But this battle was nearly over, and Gwen recognized the feeling of defeat. But with the faeries overhead, the humans that remained might live to fight another day.

“Retreat!” Gwen screamed. Around her, humans and fae alike started to disengage and pull back. Too many couldn’t—they were already bleeding to death on the ground, their throats ripped open by blackened jaws.

Gwen shifted into her dark lioness form and lifted her head to the sky, roaring loud enough that it echoed across the valley. More heads turned; more soldiers turned and ran. The faeries covered their retreat from the air, the small, winged legion sending down bolts of lightning, blasts of water, and wickedly pointed arrows.

It was enough, just barely.

The dark lioness patrolled one end of the line to the other, roaring and ripping apart the succubus as they tried to follow. But the mountain was the one place that the human and fae forces had an advantage. They succubus scrambled, not caring for the pain of scrapes or falls, but they didn’t take care with their footfalls, didn’t think critically about climbing through already churned up mud and clay. They slid back and back. Eventually, they’d make the summit. Gwen could only hope that by then, what remained of her scattered little army would have made it to the next mountain.