“I will not leave you here alone.”
“I am not alone.”
And I am not. I can sense Penn closing in on us, drawn by the surge of maegic and the sound of screams. Even now, he is running across the ramparts on the opposite side of the courtyard, coming down the switchback set of steps that mirror those Vaughn has just ascended.
“Skylark—”
“I’m going to kill you!” Arwen bellows at her half-sister, fighting against Soren’s arms with nearly as much violence as the Earth Remnant had displayed. Harpina hovers close by her flight leader’s side, her sleek silver bow twanging again and again as she covers them with unshakable focus.
“Go,”I repeat firmly.
He finally complies, lifting Arwen into his arms and sprinting up the steps, Harpina shadowing. Arwen bellows the whole way, her screams not fading until they are on the ramparts, out of sight.
I keep myself planted between the stairs and the remaining cluster of soldiers as they scurry into a fresh formation, surrounding Melité on all sides. Relief crashes through me as I spot Cadogan, Jac, Farley, Mabon, and Penn barreling down the opposite staircase, only to pull up short on the stone landing when they spot the shocking scene below.
“Right on time,” Melité hums. As her voice lifts to call out, her siren song spins through the air like smoke. “Cadogan, my love. Come to me.”
His handsome face contorts into a lovestruck mask as she pulls him into her thrall. I cry out to stop him, my voice carrying across the courtyard. Penn reaches for him. So does Mabon.
But it is too late.
Too late.
All we can do is watch in horror as he complies with her orders—taking a step out into empty air, plummeting from the landing onto the courtyard. His body hits the flagstones with a sickening crunch.
He does not get up.
Fresh grief explodes through my body. My scream is swallowed up by the collective roars of the Ember Guild. Everyoneerupts into motion at once—Farley firing arrow after arrow, straight for Melité’s heart; Jac reaching for his battle-axe as he pounds down the steps; Mabon’s heavy crossbow twanging as he fires indiscriminately at the clustered guards.
Penn reaches the ground first, his face a mask of wrath. The blade in his hand blazes red, though its color is more muted than usual. Thankfully, he does not require maegic to fight like a daemon. He cuts a path through the soldiers, cleaving bodies in two, driving his sword home again and again and again until the flagstones are awash in rivers of clotted black blood.
I cross the courtyard in a single bound, vaulting through the air to Cadogan’s crumpled form. My tears fall in a torrent onto his bloodied face as I gently roll him onto his back.
Please, gods, please do not be dead.
His handsome features are fractured irreparably—straight nose gnashed, full lips torn, expressive eyes swollen shut. He breathes, but barely. His chest rises and falls in halting shudders that tell me his ribs are likely broken. His legs are both bent at unnatural angles, as is one arm.
“Cadogan,” I whisper.
“Is he alive?” Jac is suddenly there, crouching at my side. He reaches out as if to touch his friend, but pulls back before making contact. “Ace, is he alive?”
“He’s alive.”
There is a short silence. “Will he stay alive?”
Our eyes meet. His, like mine, are glossed with tears.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, hating the tremor in my voice. “But if he’s to stand any sort of chance, you need to get him out of here. Get him back to the ship.” My gaze swings around until it lands on Mabon, who is still firing bolts at the guards. “Mabon! Get over here and help Jac carry him up the stairs.”
He rushes toward us instantly.
“Farley!” I yell up to him on the landing, where he is still shooting off arrows. “Go with them! They need cover.”
He nods, never taking his eyes off the courtyard as he nocks back another arrow and sends it sailing straight through the heart of a mottled guard.
I bend forward and brush my lips against Cadogan’s forehead before Jac and Mabon hoist him into their arms. Farley shadows their progress toward the stairs, his arrows finding marks without reprieve. I do not even have the luxury of watching the four of them go, for Penn is still battling in the thick of it, his red-hot blade whirling so fast I can hardly keep it in my sights as he hacks a path straight toward the half-siren.
She is, I notice, no longer laughing or taunting. She actually looks a bit nervous as their ranks drop below twenty for the first time. Penn continues to cut them down, his blade vicious as it clashes and parries, the tangs of swordplay rebounding against the stone walls. I join him, battling at his back whenever he charges forward to engage new enemies, my wind currents knocking inbound arrows and bolts off course before they can graze him. My whip cracks out again and again, lightning to accompany the thunder of his strikes, turning the mottled soldiers to steaming skeletons.