Chapter 34

Thirty-Four

Rhoswyn

T he ruins of the fort sit on a hill high above the remnants of the village, the entire scene cast in shadows by the pale moon above. Between the burnt-out buildings, translucent figures glide aimlessly, the colour they had in life leeched from them in death until they’re pale facsimiles of what they looked like before. Their homes must’ve been torched recently, since they’re still here and not in the Otherworld, though the damage to the fort above looks older. I’m keeping my vision relaxed, as Cressida taught me, but every once in a while, I slip up, focusing on something real, and the ghosts disappear for a second.

Drystan and the others stride forward, but Jaro and I hang back, watching as the spirits take note of his presence, then flee.

He was right. They avoid the Lord of the Wild Hunt like he’s come for them, hiding behind collapsed walls and the blackened stumps of felled trees as he passes. But when Jaro and I enter the outskirts of the village, they start to creep forwards.

So the draw of a necromancer must outweigh the fear that comes with being around a member of the Host. That makes sense, I guess. Annis, the necromancer I met on Samhain, was insane despite being a member. Yet, as we draw closer to my dullahan, they shrink back again.

What is it about him that scares them so much? I want to stop and experiment more, but I don’t. This is going to take a lot of concentration, and if I fail, my Guard will argue that I shouldn’t try again.

Keeping my gaze relaxed, I reach for Danu inside me. She rushes forward at my call, magic filling me until I manage to direct it to my throat.

“If you can fight, come with me.”

The order visibly quells the spirits, the young and the frail wilting back. About a dozen or so fae are dragged to my side by the force of my power, some clutching pitchforks, others battered weapons.

They’d tried, I realise sadly. When the Fomorians came, these fae had tried to defend themselves with what little they had.

The spirits start talking all at once, but remembering Cressida’s advice, I hold my hand out for silence.

“Don’t speak.”

Their eyes plead with me, beseeching me to do a hundred things until my heart aches for them. Unfortunately, I’ve read Cressida’s mother’s journal cover-to-cover twice. I remember all too vividly her account of trying to fulfil every single one of those unspoken wishes. A last word to a beloved spouse here; settling issues with their estate there. Eventually it became too much, snowballing until she couldn’t sleep without requests constantly being whispered in her ear.

“The dead are dead,” she’d written. “Their influence on the living should be no greater than their memory allows. Any interference on our part is unnatural, and only ever leads to more grief.”

In light of that account, the autumn queen’s advice to use the spirits as tools and nothing more seems well founded. I’ll borrow their strength for this battle, then leave them to rest until Samhain.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to apply the same level of detachment to my Guides or those I knew before death.

Jaro has no clue about the little horde of dead fae surrounding us, but the instant Bree dashes forward and slits the throat of a sentry, his golden shield wraps around us. Reminding myself to wait is the hardest part. The danger urges me to do something .

Jaro’s hand rests lightly on my arm, and I jump, turning to look at him guiltily. My hand slips into his, and his warmth grounds me as he offers me a reassuring look.

He may not be able to see what I’m doing, but it’s clear he can read my nerves. I wish it wasn’t so obvious.

The next sentries are gathered around a brazier halfway up the hill. Caed takes out the one closest to us while Prae takes out his companion, perfectly in sync. The two Fomorians are well practised at this. Everyone is. Except me.

“It was always going to be this way,” Maeve reassures me as she appears on my other side. “First battle’s always the hardest, kid, but I can’t say they get much easier, either.”

I acknowledge her statement with a heavy sigh, but my mouth is too dry to answer properly. Not when Drystan has drawn a sword from somewhere. That means things are about to begin. No turning back now.

The portcullis is dented and warped, hanging drunkenly over the remains of the Fort’s outer wall. There are a handful of guards assigned to it, and my heart gallops as they spot us, kicking and stuttering like it wants to burst free of my ribs.

Jaro pulls us to a stop, but the others continue forwards. Swords clash and alarms fill the night. Right. I have a job to do. Danu’s magic surges through me and into the spirits around me, giving them physical form.

“Take back the fort.” My voice cracks under the strain of the magic flowing through me. There are perhaps two dozen spirits here, almost equal to the number Cressida had me practising with in Illidwen, but already I’ve held them for some time. “Don’t let any harm come to my people.”

They move past me in a rush of cold that makes Jaro shiver, but I’m not done.

This close to the fort, there are more fallen fae warriors, and I send my power to them too, including them in my orders. Suddenly, a party of almost fifty warriors is heading for that wickedly spiked gate, surging through it.

Jaro’s axe is out, but he doesn’t need it as we cross the threshold ourselves, emerging into a courtyard painted with blood and fire.

“You got this?” Maeve asks, her eagerness plain on her face, and I nod, sending a little more magic her way.

I’m a vessel, a conduit, and nothing more.

And yet finally I feel like I’m doing something to help. Every clash of the ghostly weapons against the Fomorians’ is proof that I’m not a damsel anymore. But I can’t let the elation hit me. If I let go, even for a second, everything will burst.

My miniature army is invulnerable as my power flows through them, solidifying their weapons, but not their bodies. I can feel all of them like they’re extra limbs. Heavy and draining. There’s iron here too, brought by the Fomorians, and my head begins to pound on top of everything else.

“Rosie,” Jaro murmurs, and I shake my head.

“I’ve got it.” If everyone could stop talking to me, that would help me concentrate.

“Rosie, your nose is bleeding.”

What? The spirits flicker for a second, but I shore them back up, drawing more power from Danu to compensate.

“I’ll deal with it later,” I reassure him absently, squeezing his hand.

Got to focus now. Can’t let go. Mustn’t let go…

Something slaps sharply at my cheeks, and a snarl rises from beside me.

“It’s done! Let go, little queen.”

Caed? Why is Caed yelling at me?

“Rose,” Maeve sounds sad. “Pull back and ground, kid. You’re channelling too much power.”

Ground… ground what? Wait? When did Jaro’s hold become supportive? My thoughts are a foggy soup in my head, slow and sluggish.

“Rose, fucking drop the ghosts, now.”

Caed sounds furious, but I’m shocked when Jaro agrees with him. “You’ve got to let go. We won, Rosie.”

“Come on, dragonfly. We’re all here.”

More hands are touching me, dragging me out of my hard-won focus and back to reality. What they’re saying crashes into me like a wrecking ball as Drystan joins the group.

“Rhoswyn. Enough.”

The snap of his voice is what does it. I release the spirits, and my legs give out from underneath me. I can’t even figure out who’s caught me. My eyes are open, but sight is beyond me.

Ground it, ground it, ground it. I chant the words in my head as I reach desperately for their bonds in my chest. Danu’s power is shoving at me, demanding to be set free, and when I finally force it out to my Guard, they all curse.

My body goes limp, and I curse as a familiar tingling fills my extremities.

Before I know it, I’m waking up surrounded by black wings, the huge feathery appendages forming a shield between Bree and I, and the argument taking place beyond them.

“That was a complete disaster,” Drystan is ranting. “She may have helped us clear the fort, but she damn near killed herself doing it.”

“We wouldn’t have managed it without her.” Jaro is clearly trying his best to keep calm, but it’s not working if the dark growl lurking beneath his words is anything to go by.

“I thought the Nicnevin was supremely powerful,” Prae interrupts. “So what happened?”

Drystan’s voice is coming closer now, and the crunch of his footsteps on leaves makes me certain he’s pacing. “Who knows? Could be the iron. Could be the strain of such a powerful gift. She’s still fae, after all. Fae bodies do have limitations.”

“It’s probably the lack of her mating bonds,” Jaro mutters. “All that power without an easy way to ground it…”

“Whatever it is,” Drystan interrupts. “She’s not doing it again.”

“Well, that’s fucking great,” Caed mutters. “But you’re forgetting one thing.”

The smell of smoke wafts from Drystan’s direction as he growls. “Educate me, Fomorian.”

Goddess, I can almost see them in my mind’s eye, thumping their chests at one another. The thought is exhausting enough that I almost choose to fall back into the embrace of unconsciousness.

Caed’s smugness tells me I’m right. “Rose is going to want to do it again.”

“Is that right?” Bree whispers in my ear, and I glance up guiltily, not realising he knew I was awake.

“We won?” I ask, just as softly.

His green eyes flash with some unnamed emotion as he nods.

“Then, yes. I want to do it again. I can only get better with practice.”

“There will always be iron,” he reminds me. “And you could’ve died.”

“I need to work on using my gift.” I reach a hand up to stroke the black hair from his face, giving him plenty of time to pull away. “I can only improve from here, right?”

“Are you determined to drag me to an early grave?” Drystan demands, and I realise belatedly that I forgot to lower my voice.

Bree’s wings snap open, and I wince at the bright light of the dawn streaking through the trees. We’ve returned to camp, and if the dampness of my hair is anything to go by, someone has washed and dressed me.

All of them are staring down at me with varying expressions of relief and exasperation. Drystan blinks, striding away with a curse, and I grimace as I realise my fainting has broken my control over my aura.

“Sorry,” I mutter, scrambling to fix it.

My head feels sore, and my limbs ache, but otherwise, I feel better than I expected. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Bree murmurs. “But perhaps you should give Drystan a few more to calm down before you approach him on this one, dragonfly.”

I can see the wisdom in that, at least. I’m not really up to a fight, and from the looks of things, my Guard is a little too emotionally raw to come at this with any kind of objectivity.

“Fine. But we will be discussing it.”

Whatever steel I achieve in my tone is ruined by my yawn. I snuggle further into Bree’s arms, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Sleep,” he says. “We’ve got a little way to travel until the next shrine, and then maybe an hour after that to the next fort, and you need the rest.”