“Guess you don’t need that demon, after all.”

Catrin unsheathed her blades. Behind her, Caracel jerked his sword out of the demon’s shoulder. A slicing gurgle followed as he slashed through the fallen demon’s unconscious throat. Metal rang on the ground as Nales picked up the demon’s former sword.

She strode forward. “Matteo! Look sharp!”

He wouldn’t understand her, but the situation was pretty obvious—one hostage, five hostiles to kill. None of the undead had cleaned themselves up, and they were all obviously… not right. Volaon himself had a new, nasty slash wound from sternum to shoulder, making his stance hitch slightly, but his movements remained smooth and strong.

She flipped the blades in her hands, adjusted her grip, and rolled her shoulders.

“Any magic I need to know about with them?” she asked Caracel.

On the other side of the room, the fey drew their weapons with a chorus of sliding metal and cloth.

“If they haven’t used it by now, it is no longer available to them. Fey are bound through life, not death.” He paused. “Death is the realm of demons.”

She looked sharply at him at that last sentence, her mind flipping back to the ruins they’d stumbled across earlier, and the fey belief of a more unified four-worlds in ancient times.

And to the apparent orb of Cnixe that actually existed.

Then, the battle began, and there was no more time.

Darts of red sizzled past her, Matteo’s aim sniping the first of the fey in the head before the rest of them clued in. The fey fell almost immediately, blood and brain matter exploding from the side of his skull.

In an eerie, shivery motion, the remaining fey swiveled their heads toward Matteo.

He didn’t stop firing, but the fey began defending. Arms came up, protecting their head with their bracers and the flesh of their forearms.

They sprinted for him in a silent rush.

Catrin cried out and made to intercept. Matteo kept firing, but began backing up very quickly.

Gods, how she wished for her magic.

Then Caracel did something, and the atmosphere shifted. Time slowed into a bubble. Ahead, the undead fey moved as if the air had turned to sludge. Matteo, by contrast, skipped backward. Red darts of light cracked into the thickened field, pulsating.

She got close to Jorire, dug her feet into the ground, and leapt.

Time sped up abruptly. Jorire spun and sliced her sword, and Catrin jerked down, driving her blades into the opening.

The fey’s body was stiff and hard. Cold. Her blades came back with thick, black blood. She staggered away, cut another slash into the back of the fey’s thigh.

Then, Nales was there.

The prince bowled into the undead fey. Steel clashed as Jorire blocked and snarled. Nales dodged, defended. Though his movements with the sword were balanced and trained, he rocked backward against the fey’s strength.

Catrin prowled around, waiting for an opening.

Beyond, Doneil intercepted the third. He and Matteo took the fey down together in a rush of flashing red lights and slicing blades. Caracel was fighting Volaon off to the side, a quick-step rush of slashing steel.

Jorire snarled, obliterated Nales’ guard with a downstroke, and sent him staggering back, chasing him.

Catrin rushed her from the flank and risked a leap. Jorire moved, but she twisted in mid-air. Both of her blades dug through the fey’s neck, and her momentum took them both in an awkward fall to the ground.

Her back thudded against the floor, the fey halfway on top of her and still moving. She dug her blades in a little harder and was rewarded when the body went limp.

She’d severed the spinal cord.

Good to know that works. With a grimace and a movement that was more a forceful nudge than a kick, she pushed the fey off her. A shadow moved to her back—Nales, sword in hand, protecting her until she stood. She rolled to her feet and surveyed the room.

Most of the other fey were down. Only Volaon still moved, clashing in a relentless battle against Caracel. She took a moment to view the dead, looking for signs of movement, then moved on.

The priestess had backed far against the wall, her eyes wary as Doneil jogged over to her. A large amount of dark blood splattered the left side of her neck, but after a moment’s glance, Catrin decided it wasn’t the priestess’ blood. Her former guard lay on the floor several paces away. Most of his head was gone, disintegrated in blackened chunks from Matteo’s shots, which explained the blood on the priestess’ neck. The guard had been standing right behind her.

Matteo was still across the room from her. He must have made the shot from there. A lot of shots, as evidenced by the guard’s burned and pock-marked body.

She decided to process that later. Her attention turned back to the fight.

It was clear that Volaon and Caracel had trained together for a long and dedicated time. Given the nature of the fey heartsworn, that was a must. Caracel parried and countered almost every one of Volaon’s strikes with a practiced memory.

But he wasn’t attacking. And he was losing stamina.

As she watched, Volaon almost got him. Caracel leapt back, the blade narrowly missing his gut.

She jerked forward, then stopped. Hesitating.

Then, magic tinged the air, sharp as metal. A voice whispered close to her ear.

“Kill him.”

Her head snapped around. Across the room, the fey priestess was staring at her. Their eyes locked. The scent of magic lifted again. She watched the priestess’ mouth move.

“Caracel is his heart-brother. He can’t do it.” The priestess’s gaze moved from her to the fight, a hard mix of grief and anger rippling through her expression. “Volaon li Naine is still in there, rnari, feeling his dead flesh move. Release him from this torture, and I can release his soul from this degradation. This is the role I give to you.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and she sucked in a breath. A fey priestess was as close to the gods as one could get, and this one had just given her an order.

For a second, she didn’t breathe.

Then, her jaws tightened.

She stepped forward.

Caracel broke off, breathing hard—another non-attack. Tension drew his face into a tight mask, and his body was shaking with more than just exertion.

Volaon lunged again, blade slipping up between them in a stabbing motion that had Caracel reeling off to the side to dodge. The prince pressed, and an angry clash of steel drove the fight toward her.

She ducked around Caracel’s shoulder, caught Volaon’s sword with her left blade, and jabbed her right to his neck.

He shoved the hilt of his weapon down and blocked her. She jerked her hand away when he made a grab for it.

Her mind flashed back to the moment she’d seen him in the forest. His silhouette in the trees. The way the moon and firelight gleamed off the blood and pale skin. His hair, messed up and disheveled. The quiet seconds before he’d attacked, before his cooling flesh had closed on her arm and she’d realized he was undead.

Seeing him in the light, everything appeared in stark, obvious detail.

The gore had congealed long ago, combined with an awful blackness that reminded her of demon blood. Scratches and scrapes marred his body, along with thicker, more serious wounds. Some, he’d clearly gotten before he’d died, because the blood had spilled over his skin and clothes and stuck there, but others were clearly posthumous—simple cuts without much blood at all, despite their deepness.

Dead muscles flexed underneath them, gray and rock-hard.

Whatever power reanimated him had no care for the limits of a mortal body—it simply used him like a parasite, threading through his dead limbs like a puppets’ strings. Already, parts of him were tearing from the excess strength he used, wounds ripping further instead of healing. The slash across his chest was black and revolting, giving off an odd, oily smell that held a tinge of rot and gouged deep enough to see the muscles flex. One of his arms was definitely fractured, but he still swung his sword with the strength of a bull.

The priestess’ words rang through her mind.

‘Volaon li Naine is still in there, rnari, feeling his dead flesh move.’

She stepped in and slammed the heel of her hand into his face.

He hadn’t expected it. He jerked and stumbled back. She ducked the sword slash, lunged forward, and caught his arm before the backswing. Her knives sliced straight for the back of his neck and chopped down hard.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

His hair got in the way. Several chunks fell off, some sticking to the metal. The tip of her blade connected with the bone in a jagged crunch.

Volaon twisted. She jerked back and spun a slash into the back of his knee instead.

There was no indication of pain. She wasn’t even sure he could feel any—he was dead, after all. For several long seconds, the only clue that she’d managed to hit her target and sever the ligaments was a heavy hitch to the side.

Then, he tried to follow her, picked up his leg, and couldn’t set it down properly.

His lunge fell to the ground. She caught his sword arm and slashed deep at the underside of his wrist, cutting the tendons. The sword clattered to the ground, and she kicked it away.

A gravelly rumble came from deep in his throat. His body shuddered. Muscles and tendons pulled. She stepped away.

Prince Volaon li Naine rose to his feet, an angry snarl twisting his face. He stumbled toward her, arms going out, one leg useless underneath him. The fey’s canine teeth bared at her, his gray gums swollen and leaking dark blood.

She let him come, stepped into his dead embrace, and drove her left blade deep into his throat and through the spinal cord at the back.

He froze. Then, he went limp.

She jerked her knife out when he began to fall and slid back a pace, ready and wary. On the ground, Prince Volaon lay in a crumpled, limp heap. As if someone had folded him up and dropped him there. His eyes were half-open, a slip of their blackness peering out.

She didn’t know precisely how necromancy magic worked, but she had a feeling he was still in there. Trapped.

Magic peeled the air. The priestess stepped to her side as if she’d always been there. She seemed to almost glow, the white of her like an imprint on her mind, regardless of the blood and dirt that desecrated them. Instead of the other feys’ unmarred marble skin, a series of light blue tattoos ran down in lines from her face, neck, and arms. Others, in a faint light gold, threaded into the fabric of her gown.

Her presence seemed to make the air shudder when she moved.

“Thank you,” she said. “I will take it from here.”

This time, the words didn’t come in the eerie whisper she’d used before, but from her mouth, regularly.

She bent down next to Volaon’s side, and magic began to spin. A light incantation followed, too fast and lilting for her to follow.

Catrin stepped back, sheathing her blades, and almost ran into Caracel. His expression tense, he ducked around her, but not before she felt the denser spin of his own magic at work.

So, they were going to have a magic ritual for this, and likely for the other dead fey around them, too.

She’d leave them to it. She had a prince to argue with.

She made a beeline for Nales. “We’re leaving.”

His jaw tensed. “No. We need to get that orb.”

“We need to get you out.”

He still held the sword, she noticed. Her gaze slid over to the dead demon on the floor. They’d steal the scabbard on the way out.

Nales pinned her with a look, his eyes fierce. “Catrin, I don’t want to force you.”

“No,” she said. “You really don’t.”

She returned the look with calculation, narrowing her eyes. It wouldn’t be hard to knock him out. Dead easy, in fact—he was human, and she a Twelfth Circle rnari.

Doneil could carry him. That would leave Matteo free to use his firearm.

Nales probably wouldn’t forgive her. She didn’t care.

Doneil would back her. Probably.

He didn’t speak, just looked at her. She had a feeling he knew precisely what she had just considered.

She sighed. “It’s not a matter of won’t—we simply don’t have the manpower to go after it.”

He made a gesture to Matteo. “He gives us a boost.”

She grimaced. Yes, he and that gun were quite a bit more effective than she’d ever imagined them. He stood in the open, his back to one of the cages a few paces from him, body angled to see both doorways—good, at least one of them was paying attention to the exits—but he glanced up when they all looked at him. His eyes met hers, and his eyebrow arched upward in a question.

At least he looks to me for direction, not the prince.

“And when he gets picked off by a spell?” she asked. “Not only will we have the death of a very helpful, bystanding foreigner on our blood, but we’ll be stuck. He doesn’t know, and we can’t explain. He isn’t one of your soldiers. He isn’t even one of Gaia’s soldiers.”

“I can protect him,” Doneil said. “I have a close-quarters shield spell, and I’ve studied long-range tactics.”

Her teeth ground. She pinned Doneil with a look that he ignored.

Great Goddess Elrya, I am going to murder him later.

“No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

“Catrin,” Nales said warningly.

“No,” she said. “The fey are going through the gate, after which we’ll be on our own, without the protection of the glamour spell. We need to leave the fortress. We won’t make it twenty minutes if we try to infiltrate deeper. Do you know what’s protecting it? How many soldiers? How many of them are undead, or have magic?” She took a rasping breath, anger making her bare her teeth. “Do you even know where this orb is?”

A small pause followed her words. Doneil glanced over to Nales. Nales’ expression tightened, and his grip clenched on his sword.

“No,” he said, finally. “But we still have to find it.”

Magic stirred the air, like a bell. An electric jolt buzzed through her nerves.

“I know where it is.”

The fey priestess was standing again, apparently finished with whichever ritual she’d performed over Volaon’s body. Catrin glanced around. Most of the other bodies had moved, no longer in the limp, rag-doll poses they’d taken when they died.

She hadn’t seen the fey moving about and re-posing them, but there was an echo of magic in the air, and a whisper of the Veils. As if a number of spirits had just gone through to the beyond.

“I know where it is,” she repeated, her voice quiet but clear, the Janessi lilting but fluent. She made an opening gesture to Nales, her thumbs bringing the palms of her hands up as if opening a small book. “And I agree with you. The demon who abides in this castle cannot be permitted to keep it. It is far too powerful and dangerous.”

She was walking toward them now. Caracel followed behind her, his face stony.

By the look in his eyes, he and the priestess had already had a discussion, and he had not liked the results.

“Don’t you need to get to a gate?” Catrin asked.

That had been the plan, anyway. Caracel rescues her, they disappear through a gate and back to the Fey world, and the rest of them figure out a way to get out of the fortress.

“We do.” The priestess glanced from her to Nales, reading their faces. “I know where that is, too. I can work it. That will give you access to your magic.”

She nodded at the tattoo on Catrin’s arm. Caracel must have told her about it, because it was currently hidden by both her armor and a thick coat of blood and other things.

Gods, she was filthy.

But her magic…

Giving her access to Kodanh would certainly shift the scales. They’d have two long-range attackers, and she could control where opponents came from, not to mention freeze a lot of them.

What she’d done with the bird demons before had been barely a scraping of his power.

The old lizard was powerful.

She thought about it. “If you open the gate, won’t that alert the demon?”

“Yes. That is why we should only do so if we need to.” The priestess was soft-spoken, but her words sounded sharp and exact. She looked Catrin in the eyes, and some of that otherness came across again, reminding her of who she was.

Her blood stirred. She gritted her teeth and resisted.

She turned to Nales. “Treng entrusted me to keep you safe. That means bringing you home intact, whether you like it or not. You don’t have to be conscious.”

He ignored her threat. His mouth quirked.

“Actually,” he said—and damn him, was that quirk to his mouth a smile? “Treng did not specify your job. He simply offered your services.”

She frowned and opened her mouth to argue.

Instead, though, her frown deepened.

Bright tits, he was right. His words had been ‘offer.’ He hadn’t specified what for.

She’d just assumed she’d been hired as a bodyguard.

“Gods fuck it,” she muttered.

“Besides, even if he had, I still outrank him,” he reminded her gently. “You are still under my command.”

“A command that, if you exercised, would no doubt have consequences for you,” she shot back.

“Not a whole lot of consequences, if we’re being honest.” He blew out a sigh, suddenly seeming tired. “Look, you wanted a way out of some blood-oath you owe the Raidt crown?”

She looked at him sharply. Adrenaline spiked in her blood, and her heartbeat picked up. She remembered Tarris, the royal jade eyes, the firelight, the Council that ripped her apart at their leisure, and her lip curled.

She wasn’t going to win this. Tarris’ transgression had been little more than a blip in his radar. Calling a rnari into his service would doubtless be as inconsequential to Nales’ life, even if it did cause tension between the Cizeks and the Raidt. For her, it would be a different story.

Following the direction of a fey priestess, however…

As if echoing her thoughts, the fey spoke again.

“That orb is of the utmost importance,” the priestess said. “I will take it back to my people. We can keep it safe.”

I’ve already done a service for you, she thought.

But she was already losing this fight, and the others were all sure to die without her.

She sighed. He relaxed when he saw her shoulders go down.

“I still think this is a stupid idea,” she said.

“It’s honorable,” he said. “We’ll be stopping an all-out war.”

“We’re all going to die,” she informed him. “Horribly. And then, we’ll be resurrected and used in his army.”

His grim face looked up at her. “So let’s go get it over with. But first, I need to get a book.”