CHAPTER 21

QUEEN MALINA

My arms are coiled around Dommik's waist, his cloak a pincushion of frost as it ruffles between us.

The breakneck pace we've been keeping is nearly enough to give me whiplash. There's been little time for rest. Ever since we crossed out of Sixth, Ravinger has been like a man possessed, speaking little, focus fixed, intention clear. I didn't want to be left behind, so we had no choice but to keep up.

Dommik is furious with me, though he seethes in silence. His dark eyes dart toward the rotten king every time we stop. When we eat, we chew on food and thoughts, while I keep swallowing down my dread.

Yet we've reaped the culmination of our pace, because we're nearly to the ruins of Cauval Castle now.

This close to the edge of the world, everything's gone gray, as if the voided space between our realm and the next has spilled into our sky. The sun, wherever it is, seems to only skim the horizon, never setting and never quite arcing up either. Just trapping us in this perpetual drab dusk.

It's been said that this part of the world always did like to mutiny against both night and day. I remember old texts stating that it once took Seventh Kingdom five years to see a night sky. Then they were trapped in it for months before it finally tempered itself.

"We're dropping."

Dommik's voice blows with the wind, his head turned to look at me over his shoulder.

I nod, tightening my grip around his waist as our timberwing follows the lead of the one ahead. Ravinger starts our descent, cutting through the gray clouds until we break free and the land becomes visible once more.

Below, the landscape is a scrollwork of invasion.

Littered along the cracked and gaping ground, army tents border the entire area around the ruins of Cauval Castle. The bridge itself looks like a dammed river, with fae soldiers bunched up around the snowy entrance like it's their own personal gathering spot.

Dommik nudges our timberwing, lining up our beast with Ravinger's until we're side by side. "We should pick a spot to do some reconnaissance!" Dommik shouts over at him. "Then we'll come up with a plan!"

Ravinger glances over for the barest of seconds. "I already have a plan."

Without warning, he drops away, his timberwing nose-diving toward the ground.

"Dammit," Dommik hisses as he pulls up on the reins, making our timberwing circle the air. "What the fuck is he doing? He's going to get himself killed!"

I watch Ravinger's tense shoulders that carry the steady weight of his rage, and I shake my head. "No. He won't."

Right now, he's untouchable, fueled by more than just his ire.

He sweeps his timberwing down, veering toward the castle, and it doesn't take long for the fae to look up and notice him. Shouts ring through the frosty air, and bolts of flame are thrown at him.

Fools.

The timberwing dodges easily and lets out a roar, not even slowing its descent. Then, a second before crashing, the beast swoops up parallel to the ground, and Ravinger leaps off the back of the bird.

The very moment his boots land in the snow, power expels out of him with great force. Even from up here, I feel its scrape of deathly charge as if it runs through the air like lightning.

Black roots twist and mangle through the tents, through the soldiers, through the ground itself, exploding out in every direction. The snow browns, the tents collapse, the soldiers bloat and buckle.

So quickly. His power kills so much, so quickly .

More fae try to put up a fight, tossing magic in his direction. Green clouds of mist blow toward him, snow moving like waves ready to slam into him, and levitating objects are thrown his way.

None of it touches him.

He has an eerie, innate ability to sense the threats, and his magic hits them before their attempt can even come close. Rot drops them, making the soldiers succumb as their bodies decompose while they still live.

Their screams butcher the air into agonizing pieces.

"Gods…" Dommik says as we both stare at the destruction below.

It started so fast and ends so quietly.

Roots stretch out for hundreds of feet, spreading over the already split earth and spilling down into the cracks. Bodies lie prostrate and still, crumbled like discarded branches hacked off from the trunk. Even the ruins of the castle have rot lines stretched up its crumbling gray stone with a promise of poison.

When Ravinger's timberwing lands next to him with a screech, I nudge Dommik. "Let's go."

My assassin pauses for a moment, as if he doesn't want to get close, and I don't blame him for his hesitation. When our timberwing descends to join the rotten king, we land with generous space between us.

Dommik helps me down, and then I head over to Ravinger, eyeing his back as I walk warily forward. I'm well aware that one needs to use caution when approaching a predator from behind.

"King Ravinger."

His head turns to look over his shoulder at me, and I can't suppress the gasp that passes my lips. He looks terrifying, his black veins thicker than before, stretching up his neck and pinching against his cheeks. The gray scales along his cheek shimmer with a sharp outline of gold, looking even more defined than before, and his eyes flash a deep green, almost iridescent.

He looks utterly fae, and utterly menacing.

Eyeing his sharp spikes, I clear my throat and look around, the stench of the bodies already permeating the air. "Everyone is dead?"

"Everyone here. But more will come," he says, jerking his head in the direction of the bridge.

My gaze follows his line of sight, skipping over the grisly scene that leads to the fog-cloaked bridge. "I'll make sure they don't."

"Do what you will to blockade it," he says, and I see a hint of his fangs as he speaks. "But don't get in my way when I'm using it."

I swallow hard at the viciousness. "I won't get in your way."

Who really could?

He turns and walks over to his timberwing and starts running his hand down its feathered neck. The intimidating beast tucks his head toward him. Ravinger murmurs something to it, and the bird blinks and listens, as if it actually understands. It rumbles in response, showing its teeth for a moment before huffing. Ravinger gives it another stroke and then unbuckles its saddle, letting it drop to the ground.

Dommik and I exchange a look.

Then, Ravinger turns back to us. "Argo is staying behind. He'll be going back to Fourth."

I eye the bird warily.

The king turns and starts walking toward the bridge, and I follow, with Dommik by my side.

We track over clotted snow, passing by twisted, horrific corpses that make acid rise in my throat and threaten to spill. I sway on my feet, nearly stumbling, but Dommik grips my arm.

"Don't look."

It's a hard command to follow, for the dead lie everywhere. Yet I lift my gaze and keep it on the bridge instead, not allowing my eyes to drop to the ground again. I blindly trust Dommik as he maneuvers us over every obstacle, whether it be a fallen fae or split earth. It's so unnervingly quiet here, even the wind seems to be sucked toward the haze ahead.

My body shakes as we approach it.

We near the edge of the world, where snow and ice give way to a void of nothing. Where the land simply stops against thick sheets of mist.

And then my eyes fall onto the bridge of Lemuria. A path of gray dirt suspended in the air, with nothing below or above to support it. At its mouth, two intricately carved white pillars act as its threshold, with a stretch of splintered rope that extends from each one.

We come to a stop in front of it. The bridge's length disappears into the fog that drapes over it like an eerie shroud. A colorless tongue spat out of a murky gullet. It chews me up, making me burn with bile.

The unhealed slices along my palms where I willingly gave the fae my blood start to sting. Throb. Shards of ice collecting along the gashes like sharp-edged scabs.

Is it the proximity to the bridge that makes them ache so, or is it only in my head? In my own guilt?

As if he can sense my distress, Dommik comes up and slips his gloved hand into mine. The supple leather sticks to my frosty grip, and he curls his fingers around my stiff ones until they finally stop shaking enough that I can grip him back.

A few paces in front of us, Ravinger stands and stares down the length of the bridge in silence. His black-clad form is all leather and spikes, onyx veins against pale skin.

Even without a crown, he looks like a king, for he stands proud and powerful. He looks into the endless eye of the unknown path, and he does not glance away from it.

He does not waver.

If it were me facing that bridge, knowing I needed to walk it, I don't think I'd have the courage to cross it. I don't think I could face myself in that fog.

Dommik and I are silent spectators, anticipation as thick as the snow beneath our feet as we watch him. Then he moves, taking a step toward the bridge.

His timberwing suddenly lands in a spray of snow with a keening cry.

Ravinger turns around and faces him, his expression stern. "No, beast. You have to stay."

It lets out a low snarl.

The king goes forward, but instead of disciplining it, he strokes its neck, saying something. The bird's snarl lessens, eyes blinking. Ravinger sets his forehead against the beast's, and the move is so…soft. So unlike anything I've seen from this man before, that it actually shocks me more than the countless corpses at our backs.

To see this side of him is almost unnerving. It feels as if we shouldn't be watching this private moment between them.

He murmurs something under his breath again, and the timberwing whines.

The king steps away, expression going firm and tone now full of command. "Go, Argo." The beast rumbles, but Ravinger shakes his head. "You can't come with me. Go back to Fourth. That's an order."

It growls savagely, and my grip on Dommik's hand tightens enough to hurt.

"Go!" he orders, making Dommik and me both flinch at the crack of sound.

The timberwing opens his maw and roars.

I stagger back, but Ravinger stands firm, not moving an inch even with those sharp teeth only inches from his face. Then, with one last growl, the timberwing turns and shoots up into the sky, heading in the direction of Sixth Kingdom.

It's only because my eyes quickly dart back to Ravinger that I catch it—the muscle in his jaw jumping, the tic as he grinds his teeth.

That's regret he's chewing on.

It makes me understand immediately. The snap of command wasn't impatience or even anger at his mount not following orders. It was the only way he could get his loyal beast to go. For while Orea is far from safe…crossing the bridge into a fae realm is infinitely more dangerous.

This time, when Ravinger turns toward the bridge and starts walking, there is no interruption. He goes past the pillars, entering onto that endless gray path. It feels like an ethereal, otherworldly sight to see him walk down it.

My eyes burn from lack of blinking, but still, I watch, unwilling to miss a single second.

He goes steadily, his lone, dark visage entering the fray of the fog. He walks the path alone, and he does not stop.

He does not waver.

King Ravinger walks down the bridge…

And is swallowed by the vaporous void.