“What is she talking about?” Alaric tightens his hold on Arwen’s hand and looks at Soren. “What is she—”
“Our stepbrother is on his way, you see,” Melité says sweetly. “And he will want to see you all when he arrives. Efnysien was so very happy when I told him we’d be paying a visit.”
At the wordEfnysien, Arwen gasps and goes pale as the blood rushes out of her face. The girl in Vaughn’s arms has a less sedate reaction. She begins to struggle anew, doubling the intensity of her flailing. He grunts under the effort to contain her, his muscles flexing.
“Quit.” He flexes harder. “It.”
The ground beneath the Iron Isle gives an ominous rattle.
Melité laughs then, throwing her head back with abandon. Ifyou can call what she does a laugh. The sound is grating, almost mechanical. It tapers off as suddenly as it began when her inky eyes cut to me. “He would be here to greet you himself, if not for your little trick with the wind. We were not supposed to be here for two more days.” Her gills flare. “No matter, though. His scouts knew to look for us thanks to me. They’ve had us in their sights since we passed into Dymmerian waters this morning. Even now, he is hastening here to greet us. He should arrive quite soon.”
Skies above.
“Melité,” Soren hisses, striding for his sister. “What have you done?”
“What have I done?” she spits, black fully overtaking her eyes. “What haveyoudone? Hmm? Casting out your own kin. And for what? Forher?” Her attention moves to Arwen, who is trembling in her thin nightgown, one hand white-knuckled as it grips her husband’s, the other clutching the throwing star as though she’d like to hurl it at her sister’s face. “Precious, perfect Arwen. Everyone’s favorite. Everyone’s obsession.”
Arwen flinches.
Melité’s next laugh is bitter. “No more. After what I have done for him,Iwill be his obsession.Iwill be the one deemed worthy of his affection, his praise. His love.”
Soren’s hand flashes out and he grabs Melité by the throat. “It was you. You who told him how to access the portal network. You who instructed him when to strike during the wedding.” His fingers tighten, compressing her gills. “Why? Why would you betray us? We are your family.”
Her black orbs glare at him, brimming over with hatred. “You have never been my family. Efnysien is my family. And my future. The Shadowfall is coming for you all, and with it the end of everything you hold d—”
Her vile words choke into silence as Soren squeezes her windpipe. He shakes her so hard her head snaps back. I think he will choke the life from her as we watch. The pure wrath suffusing his expression makes my heart fail.
“Soren,” I call, stepping closer to him. “Leave her. She is not worth it.”
“Rhya’s right, brother.” Vaughn’s voice carries back to us as he makes his way toward the stairs. “We need to go. If what she says is true, we don’t have long before company arrives.”
Soren releases her with a disgusted snarl. “You have chosen your side in this war. You will live to regret it.”
“But I will live,” she wheezes, gripping her throat delicately. “Unlike all of you.”
With that, she raises her arm up toward the sky. A silent signal. For what, I do not know…until the whoosh of two dozen torches being illuminated at once washes across the flagstones. In a blink, the entire courtyard is ablaze with light. We are surrounded by guards on all sides, their mottled skin even more inhuman in the flickering of the torches as they step forward. There are more of them than I can count. And, if Melité is to be believed, others are on their way.
Efnysien among them.
“Alaric, get Arwen out of here,” Soren barks. “Follow Vaughn up to the ramparts. Now.”
They do not hesitate, for this is no suggestion. It is as kingly an order as I have ever heard him give. I watch Alaric ushering Arwen toward the stairs, his hand firm on hers. Just ahead of them, Vaughn struggles to haul the Earth Remnant across the flagstones, his low oaths booming.
“Keep this up, quakes,” he mutters over a feminine growl, “and I’ll have no choice but to knock you out.”
The answering flash of viridescent eyes is undaunted.
Soren’s focus never shifts from Melité, even as he speaks. “Rhya…”
“Right here,” I say, stepping up beside him. Our shoulders brush as I jerk the whip free from my belt, feeling steadier with its golden handle cupped in my palm.
“I’ll take the left half,” he mutters. “You take the right.”
We are plainly outnumbered.
But when has that ever stopped us before?
I feel the surge of Soren’s maegic—thinner than usual, but still strong enough to summon a globe of water capable of bowling over three men at once. Electricity sparks down my arm as I summon my storms to the forefront of my mind. The gathered charge feels weaker than I’m accustomed to. Diluted or no, the first crack of my whip sends a whole line of guards scurrying backward like cockroaches in the light. I grin as I watch them fleeing from me.