“The bridges are finished, and the elven army has crossed the ford,” Brin explained.
“They came with hardly a warning,” Moya said. “Hundreds pouring over the chasm, both beautiful and terrible, wearing shining gold and shimmering blue. With them came whirlwinds and giants. Nothing can stop them. They’re coming still.”
Boom!
“They’re here,” Moya said, looking out through the archway into the sitting room as if she could see them. “That would be them hitting the bronze door downstairs. Tegan and Harkon are trying to hold it with a handful of men.” She looked at Persephone. “Gavin Killian and Bergin are with them.”
Persephone didn’t know why Moya told her about Gavin and Bergin. Maybe she felt it would be comforting to know that men of Dahl Rhen were defending her. At the sound of their names, Persephone remembered her home of long ago and far away, a world of another time that was only a year lost. She saw the stone table and Mari between the braziers at the foot of the lodge steps. She recalled the summer fairs where Bergin served honey mead, barley ale, and strawberry wine and the dark winter nights when Gavin told his ghostly tales around the lodge’s fire, scaring Habet into adding more wood than was needed. That whole existence was gone. Even its memories were being hunted down and erased.
I came to tell the chieftain we’re going to die. Suri’s voice came back to her, eerily innocent, spoken in that detached-from-reality manner that had so confounded Persephone.
Who’s going to die?
All of us.
All of whom? You and I?
Yes—you, me, the funny man with the horn at the gate, everyone.
Persephone had thought the girl was merely looking for food. She also believed Suri was lying. Persephone had been wrong. The only thing Suri had lied about was the possibility of hope—that heeding the counsel of the trees could help. Persephone had done everything Magda had said, but none of it had saved them.
Suri had been right. We’re all going to die. You, me, the old woman. The young girl. The people outside. Everyone.
Raithe had been right. They couldn’t win, but he had been wrong, too. Even knowing how it turned out, Persephone would have still chosen to stay.
Death is inescapable. Everyone spends their days, buying unrealized dreams. I gambled mine on hope, not for myself, but for all those who would follow.
The Kype rocked as something powerful impacted its base. Dust fell from the rafters, and out in the sitting room, a golden cup fell from its seat on the stone molding and rang on the floor.
“I’m so scared.” Brin hugged Persephone tightly, pressing her head against Persephone’s side. “Will it hurt terribly, do you think?”
“No, child,” Padera answered for her. “The Fhrey are not ones for sport.”
“She’s right,” Persephone assured, although she had no idea if it was true, and she knew Padera didn’t either. “It will be quick, and we’ll all be together again. Your mother and father, Mahn, Reglan—”
“Melvin and my boys,” Padera added. “Been too long since I seen them.”
“Maeve?” Brin said hopefully.
Persephone nodded and brushed the hair from the girl’s eyes.
“Farmer Wedon, Holliman, the Killians…” Moya listed them as if making sure to invite everyone to the after-party.
“And Aria.” Persephone glanced at Padera, who managed to find a smile in those lips after all.
And Raithe, Persephone thought. Would they really all be there?
The door of the suite opened, and Moya’s bow stretched.
“Nyphron!” Brin shouted, warning her off.
The leader of the Galantians entered with a half-dozen men, as well as Vorath, Eres, Grygor, and Tekchin.
“Brace the door!” Persephone heard Nyphron shout.
Tegan and Tekchin carried Harkon into the bedroom. The Melen Clan chieftain was bleeding from several wounds, the most obvious being a gash in his skull that ran a stream of red into the man’s eyes. All of them were covered in blood. Even Tekchin.
“Did you…?” Moya asked him.
He threw an arm around Moya’s neck, pulled her to him, and gave her a long kiss. “No,” the Fhrey said with a pronounced tone of disappointment that bordered on self-disgust.
“They certainly helped.” Tegan jumped to the Galantian’s defense as he used his sword to cut into the foot of Persephone’s bed sheet. “Pardon, Madam Keenig.”
“Take the whole thing if you need it.” Persephone’s heart was pounding. Seeing the blood made the nightmare real.
“We have bandages on that table,” Padera pointed out. “Needle and thread, too.”
Tegan looked over.
“Give me that thing!” Harkon yelled and stole the cloth from Tegan’s hands and began to wipe his face.
“You can worry about seeing later,” Tegan growled and took the cloth back, pressing it against the wound. “Need to dam this bloody river you have flowing.”
At the bedroom door, Grygor peeked in.
“You made it,” Padera said.
The giant grinned at her.