Rhys and Cassian looked after him, then at the armadas now engaged in outright bloodshed. Our father was down there—our father, who I had never seen wield a weapon in his life—
The firebird rained hell upon the ships. Literally. Burning, molten hell as she slammed into them and sent their panicking soldiers to the bottom of the sea.
“Now,” I said to Rhys. “Amren and I need to go now.”
The chaos was complete. With a battle raging in every direction … Amren and I could make it. Perhaps the king would be preoccupied.
Rhys made to shoot me back down to the ground, where Amren and Elain were still waiting. Nesta said, “Wait.”
Rhys obeyed.
Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”
I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”
Nesta ignored him. “The king is probably waiting beside that Cauldron. Even if you get there, you’ll have him to contend with. Draw him out. Draw him far away. To me.”
“How,” Rhys said softly.
“It goes both ways,” Nesta murmured, as if my mate’s words moments before had triggered the idea. “He doesn’t know how much I took. And if … if I make it seem like I’m about to use his power … He’ll come running. Just to kill me.”
“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.
Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”
To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.
“No,” Rhys said.
Nesta snorted. “You’re not my High Lord. I may do as I wish. And since he’ll sense that you’re with me … You need to go far away, too.”
Rhys said to Cassian, “I’m not letting you throw your life away for this.”
I was inclined to agree.
Cassian surveyed the depleted Illyrian lines, now holding strong as Azriel rallied them. “Az has control of the lines.”
“I said no,” Rhys snapped. I’d never heard him use that tone with Cassian, with any of them.
Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta. “You gave everything, Rhys. You went through that hell for us, for fifty years.” He’d never addressed it—not fully. “You think I don’t know what happened? I know, Rhys. We all do. And we know you did it to save us, spare us.” He shook his head, sunlight glinting off that dark, winged helmet. “Let us return the favor. Let us repay the debt.”
“There is no debt to repay.” Rhys’s voice broke. The sound of it cracked my heart.
Cassian’s own voice broke as he said, “I never got to repay your mother—for her kindness. Let me do it this way. Let me buy you time.”
“I can’t.”
I wasn’t sure if in the entire history of Illyria, there had ever been such a discussion.
“You can,” Cassian said gently. “You can, Rhys.” He gave a lazy grin. “Save some of the glory for the rest of us.”
“Cassian—”
But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”
Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”
And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …
Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.
Rhys’s body strained with the effort of not going after them as they soared for a copse of trees far behind the battlefield. “He might survive,” I said softly.
“No,” Rhys said, flying us down to Amren and Elain. “He won’t.”
I had Rhys move Elain to the farthest reaches of our camp. And when he returned, my mate only pressed a kiss to my mouth before he took to the skies, spearing for the heart of the battle—the heaviest fighting. I could barely stand to look—to see where he landed.
Alone with Amren, she said to me, “Shield us from sight, and run as fast as you can. Don’t stop; try not to kill. It’ll leave a trail.”
I nodded, checking my weapons. The Seraphim were soaring overhead now, wings bright as the sun on snow. I settled a glamour around us, veiling us and muffling our sounds.
“Quickly,” Amren repeated, silver eyes churning like thunderclouds. “Don’t look back.”
So I didn’t.
CHAPTER
73
The Cauldron had been nestled in a craggy overlook.
The Weaver had done her job well. Key guards and posts were little more than wet, red piles of bone and sinew. And I knew that when I saw her again … she would be even more blindingly beautiful.
Amren’s power flared again and again, breaking through wards in our path until we reached Stryga’s wake. Whatever spells the king had laid … Amren was prepared for them. Hungry for them. She shattered them all with a savage smile.
But the gray hill was crawling with Hybern commanders, content to let their underlings fight. Waiting until the killing field had sorted the grunts from the true warriors. I could hear them hissing about who on our side they wanted to personally take on.
Helion and Tarquin were two of the most frequent wishes.
Tamlin was the other. Tamlin, for his two-faced lying. And Jurian. How they would suffer.
Varian. Azriel. Cassian. Kallias and Viviane. Mor. They said the names of my friends like they were horses at a race. Who would last long enough for them to face off. Who would haul the pretty mate of the Lord of Winter back here. Who would break the Morrigan at last. Who would bring home Illyrian wings to pin on the wall. My blood was boiling, even as my bones quaked. I hoped Bryaxis devoured them all—and made them wet themselves in terror before it did.
But I dared look behind us once.
Mor and Viviane weren’t coming to this camp anytime soon. They held off an entire cluster of Hybern soldiers, flanked by that white-haired female I’d seen in the Winter camp and a unit of those mighty bears that shredded apart soldiers with swipes of their enormous paws.
Amren hissed in warning, and I faced forward as we began to scale the quiet side of the gray hill. No sign of Stryga, though she had stopped here, at the base of the hill atop which the Cauldron squatted. I could already feel its terrible presence—the beckoning.
Amren and I climbed slowly. Listening after every step.
The battle raged behind us. In the skies and on the earth and in the sea.
I did not think … even with Drakon and the human army … I did not think it was going well.
My hands bit into the sharp gray rock of the hill’s cliff face, body straining as I hauled myself up, Amren climbing with ease. Nesta had to lure the king away soon, or we’d be face-to-face with him.
Movement at the base of the rock caught my attention.
I went still as death.
A beautiful, dark-haired young woman stood there. Staring up at us, squinting and sniffing.
A smile bloomed on her red—her bloody mouth. She smiled in my general direction. Revealing blood-coated teeth.
Stryga. The Weaver had waited. Hiding here. Until we arrived.