Heir of Fire (58 page)

Oh gods. “You are the Valg,” she breathed.

Th
e three things inside those mortal bodies smiled. “We are princes of our realm.”

“And what realm is that?” She poured her magic into the shield behind her.

Th
e Valg prince in the center seemed to reach toward her without moving an inch. She sent a punch of
fl
ame at him, and he curled back. “A realm of eternal dark and ice and wind,” he said. “And we have been waiting a very, very long time to taste your sunshine again.”

Th
e King of Adarlan was either more powerful than she could imagine, or the most foolish man to ever live if he thought he could control these demon princes.

Blood dripped onto her tunic from her nose.
Th
eir leader purred, “Once you let me in, girl, there shall be no more blood, or pain.”

She sent another wall of
fl
ame searing at them. “Brannon and the others beat you into oblivion once,” she said, though her lungs ­were burning. “We can do it again.”

Low laughter. “We ­were not beaten. Only contained. Until a mortal man was foolish enough to invite us back in, to use these glorious bodies.”

­Were the men who had once occupied them still inside? If she cut o
ff
their heads—­that torque of Wyrdstone—­would the creatures vanish, or be unleashed in another form?

Th
is was far, far worse than she had expected.

“Yes,” the leader said, taking a step toward her and sni
ffi
ng. “You should fear us. And embrace us.”

“Embrace this,” she snarled, and
fl
ung a hidden dagger from her vambrace at his head.

He was so swi
ft
that it scraped his cheek rather than wedging itself between its eyes. Black blood welled and
fl
owed; he raised a moon-­white hand to examine it. “I shall enjoy devouring you from the inside out,” he said, and the darkness lunged for her again.

•

Th
e battle was still raging inside the fortress, which was good, because it meant they hadn't all died yet. And Celaena was still swinging Goldryn against the three Valg princes—­though it grew heavier by the moment, and the shield behind her was beginning to fray. She had not had time to tunnel down into her power, or to consider rationing it.

Th
e darkness that the Valg brought with them continued to strike the wall, so Celaena threw up shield a
ft
er shield,
fi
re
fl
aming through her blood, her breath, her mind. She gave her magic free rein, only asking it to keep the shield behind her alive. It did so, gobbling up her reserves.

Rowan had not come back to help. But she told herself he would come, and he would help, because it was not weakness to admit she needed him, needed his help and—

Her lower back cramped, and it was all she could do to keep her grip on the legendary blade as the leader of the Valg princes swiped for her neck.
No
.

A muscle twinged near her spine, twisting until she had to bite down a scream as she de
fl
ected the blow. It ­couldn't be a burnout. Not so soon, not a
ft
er practicing so much, not—

A hole tore through the shield behind her, and the darkness slammed into the barrier, making the magic ripple and shriek. She
fl
ung a thought toward it, and as the
fl
ame patched it up, her blood began to pound.

Th
e princes ­were closing in again. She growled, sending a wall of white-­hot
fl
ame at them, pushing them back, back, back while she took a deep breath.

But blood came coughing out instead of air.

If she ran inside the gates, how long would the shield last before it fell to the princes and their ancient darkness? How long would any of those inside last? She didn't dare look behind to see who was winning. It didn't sound good.
Th
ere ­were no cries of victory, only pain and fear.

Her knees quaked, but she swallowed the blood in her mouth and took another breath.

She had not imagined it would end like this. And maybe it was what she deserved, a
ft
er turning her back on her kingdom.

One of the Valg princes ripped a hand through the wall of
fl
ame separating them, the darkness shielding his
fl
esh from being melted o
ff
. She was about to send another blast at him when a movement from the trees caught her eye.

Far up the hill, as if they had come racing down from the mountains and had not stopped for food or water or sleep, ­were a towering man, a massive bird, and three of the largest predators she had ever seen.

Five in all.

Answering their friend's desperate call for aid.

Th
ey hurtled through the trees and over stones: two wolves, one black and one moon-­white; the powerfully built male; the bird swooping low over them; and a familiar mountain cat racing behind. Heading for the darkness looming between them and the fortress.

Th
e black wolf skidded to a halt as they neared the darkness, as if sensing what it could do.
Th
e screaming in the fortress ­rose. If the newcomers could destroy the soldiers, the survivors could take the tunnel and
fl
ee before the dark consumed everything.

Sweat stung Celaena's eyes, and pain sliced into her so deep that she wondered if it was permanent. But she had not lied to Rowan about saving lives.

So she did not stop to doubt or consider as she
fl
ung the remnants of her power toward Rowan's
fi
ve friends, a bridge of
fl
ame through the darkness, cleaving it in two.

A path toward the gates behind her.

To their credit, Rowan's friends did not hesitate as they raced for it, the wolves leading the way, the bird—­an osprey—­close behind. She poured her power into the bridge, gritting her teeth against the agony as the
fi
ve rushed past, not sparing her a glance. But the golden mountain cat slowed as he charged through the gates behind her, as her chest seized and she coughed, her blood bright on the grass.

“He's inside,” she choked out. “Help him.”

Th
e great cat lingered, assessing her, and the wall, and the princes
fi
ghting against her
fl
ame. “
Go
,” she wheezed.
Th
e bridge through the darkness collapsed, and she staggered back a step as that black power slammed into her, the shield, the world.

Th
e blood was roaring so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear when the mountain cat raced for the fortress. Rowan's friends had come. Good. Good that he would not be alone, that he had people in the world.

She coughed blood again, splattering it on the ground—­on the legs of the Valg prince.

She barely moved before he slammed her into her own
fl
ames, and she hit the magical wall beneath, as hard and unforgiving as if it ­were made of stone.
Th
e only way into the fortress was through the ward-­gates. She swiped with Goldryn, but the blow was feeble. Against the Valg, against this horrible power that the King of Adarlan possessed, the army at his disposal . . . it was all useless. As useless as the vow she'd made to Nehemia's grave. As useless as an heir to a broken throne and a broken name.

Th
e magic was boiling her blood.
Th
e darkness—­it would be a relief compared to the hell smoldering in her veins.
Th
e Valg prince advanced, and part of her was screaming—­screaming at herself to get up, to keep
fi
ghting, to rage and roar against this horrible end. But moving her limbs, even breathing, had become a monumental e
ff
ort.

She was so tired.

•

Th
e fortress was a hell of yelling and
fi
ghting and gore, but Rowan kept swinging his blades, holding his position at the tunnel mouth as soldier a
ft
er soldier poured in.
Th
e scout leader, Bas, had let them in, Luca had told Rowan.
Th
e other demi-­Fae who had conspired with Bas wanted the power the creatures o
ff
ered—­wanted a place in the world. From the devastation in the bleeding boy's eyes, Rowan knew that Bas had already met his end. He hoped Luca hadn't been the one to do it.

Th
e soldiers kept coming, highly trained men who ­were not afraid of the demi-­Fae, or of the little magic that they bore.
Th
ey ­were armed with iron and did not di
ff
erentiate between young and old, male and female, as they hacked and slaughtered.

Rowan was not drained, not in the least. He had fought for longer and in worse conditions. But the others ­were
fl
agging, especially as soldiers continued
fl
ooding the fortress. Rowan yanked his sword from the gut of a falling soldier, dagger already slicing across the neck of the next, when growling shook the stones of the fortress. Some of the demi-­Fae froze, but Rowan nearly shuddered with relief as twin wolves leapt down the staircase and closed their jaws around the necks of two Adarlanian soldiers.

Great wings
fl
apped, and then a glowering, dark-­eyed male was in front of him, swinging a sword older than the occupants of Mistward. Vaughan merely nodded at him before taking up a position, never one to waste words.

Beyond him, the wolves ­were nothing short of lethal, and did not bother to shi
ft
into their Fae forms as they took down soldier a
ft
er soldier, leaving those that got through to the male waiting behind them.
Th
at was all Rowan had to see before he sprinted for the stairs, dodging the stunned and bloodied demi-­Fae.

Darkness had not fallen, which meant she had to still be breathing, she had to still be holding the line, but—

A mountain cat skidded to a halt on the stairwell landing and shi
ft
ed. Rowan took one look at Gavriel's tawny eyes and said, “Where is she?”

Gavriel held out an arm. As if to stop him. “She's in bad shape, Rowan. I think—”

Rowan ran, shoving aside his oldest friend, shouldering past the other towering male who now appeared—­Lorcan. Even
Lorcan
had answered his call.
Th
e time for gratitude would come later, and the dark-­haired demi-­Fae didn't say anything as Rowan rushed to the battlement gates. What he saw beyond almost drove him to his knees.

Th
e wall of
fl
ame was in tatters, but still protecting the barrier. But the three creatures . . .

Aelin was standing in front of them, hunched and panting, sword limp in her hand.
Th
ey advanced, and a feeble blue
fl
ame sprang up before them.
Th
ey swiped it away with wave of their hands. Another
fl
ame sprang up, and her knees buckled.

Th
e shield of
fl
ame surged and receded, pulsing like the light around her body. She was burning out. Why hadn't she retreated?

Another step closer and the things said something that had her raising her head. Rowan knew he could not reach her, didn't even have the breath to shout a warning as Aelin gazed into the face of the creature before her.

She had lied to him. She had wanted to save lives, yes. But she had gone out there with no intention of saving her own.

He drew in a breath—­to run, to roar, to summon his power, but a wall of muscle slammed into him from behind, tackling him to the grass.
Th
ough Rowan shoved and twisted against Gavriel, he could do nothing against the four centuries of training and feline instinct that had pinned him, keeping him from running through those gates and into the blackness that destroyed worlds.

Th
e creature took Aelin's face in its hands, and her sword thudded to the ground, forgotten.

Rowan was screaming as the creature pulled her into its arms. As she stopped
fi
ghting. As her
fl
ames winked out and darkness swallowed her ­whole.

53

Th
ere was blood everywhere.

As before, Celaena stood between the two bloody beds, reeking breath caressing her ear, her neck, her spine. She could feel the Valg princes roving around her, circling with predators' gaits, devouring her misery and pain bit by bit, tasting and savoring.

Th
ere was no way out, and she could not move as she looked from one bed to the other.

Nehemia's corpse, mangled and mutilated. Because she had been too late, and because she had been a coward.

And her parents, throats slit from ear to ear, gray and lifeless. Dead from an attack they should have sensed. An attack
she
should have sensed. Maybe she
had
sensed it, and that was why she had crept in that night. But she had been too late then as well.

Two beds. Two fractures in her soul, cracks through which the abyss had come pouring in long before the Valg princes had ever seized her. A claw scraped along her neck and she jerked away, stumbling toward her parents' corpses.

Th
e moment that darkness had swept around her, snu
ffi
ng out her exhausted
fl
ame, it began eating away at the reckless rage that had compelled her to step out of the barrier. ­Here in the dark, the silence was complete—­eternal. She could feel the Valg slinking around her, hungry and eager and full of cold, ancient malice. She'd expected to have the life sucked from her instantly, but they had just stayed close in the dark, brushing up against her like cats, until a faint light had formed and she'd found herself between these two beds. She was unable to look away, unable to do anything but feel her nausea and panic rise bit by bit. And now . . . Now . . .