A Court of Desires and Darkness

Chapter 18

The Cauldron purrs in my grasp, its excitement rivaling my horror and nausea. All those lives... gone because I chose them, their life snuffed to dust. Their last journey falling to the earth over their comrades. Those who survived gawk in horror, some turning and dispersing, just to be ordered back into formation by their commanders. 

"Again," the King repeats, irritation flashing in his black eyes. I follow the path his hand makes as the Cauldron and my power began pulsating again, a uniformed staccato of suffocating vibrations. I suck in a deep breath as I let the magic pour out of me again, like a tsunami after a world shattering earthquake, the clouds above circling in a menacing formation. I open my eyes to see Prythian's High Lords all combine efforts for a shield.

But we are not striking the same location. 

The blast that explodes out of me roars like a stampede of giants, hurtling towards the lower armies--including our own. It incinerates everything in an unholy, white icy beam. An unearthly shriek broke deep within our forces. A sister's warning--and pain. I felt it then, that white fire consume the Bone Carver as if he was nothing more than an insect. I watched him turn towards  Prythian's armies, a smile on his face, before he was no more than dust. 

When the beam disperses, I fall to the ground. I fall not for the pounding nausea threatening, but for the lives that I just ended. Again. The Bone Carver... older than even I, gone so easily. I stay there, on my knees, clutching the grass, panting. Sweat drips off my forehead and down my back. 

I look up and see the clouds not giving way, but getting darker. My anger, fueling them. They circle the battlefield, crashing into each other like waves over a dark ocean. In my gut, I feel the part of me that is tied to them, commanding them. I cut the cord and watch as an enormous bolt of white lightning breaks from the clouds and races to the ground. No one has a second to even comprehend as it slams into a group of Hybern soldiers. Those who are not burnt to a crisp or ripped to shreds are sent flying backwards. 

If only it could have hit the King. 

I glance again at the fighting below. Prythian's High Lords at the lines were struggling. Jurian and Tamlin were battering in the northern flank. The flying legions still clashing in the skies. Our commanders are barely lifting any fingers, letting the mass of our soldiers do most of the work. 

A horn blasted. The rest of our army. Our armada approaches from the west, painting the ocean silver. I feel the fear from Prythian, smell it. They are vastly outnumbered. I watch as Stryga and Bryaxis continue to destroy our forces, though it hardly seems to make a difference. 

Another horn sounds, this one so loud it cleaves the world. Then more join in. I stand slowly as the King turns to look out to the east. He curses, fists clenched at his side as we take in the mass of incoming aid for Prythian. Winged soldiers--thousands upon thousands of them--flying straight toward us, high above the ocean. An armada of ships stretching away beneath them. More than our armada. Far, far more. 

"The Seraphim," I whisper. 

"Shields!" The King bellows. Dozens of shields within our army and armada rise, covering us like a dome. I watched as something began to shoot between Prythian's armada. What soared over the water, fast as a shooting star. It speared for our ships--red, gold, and white. The King seethed when our ships began breaking formation in a panic. I watched as it spread its wings wide, trailing sparks and embers across the waves. 

A firebird.

The King turned on me, his eyes wild with fury. "Again," he roared. "To the northern flank, then to the damned armada." The northern flank... where Jurian and Tamlin fought. Betrayers.

The Cauldron vibrated in my grasp, calling to my magic. Tired. I was tired of the killing. But the Cauldron pulled. It tugged so hard on that tether that binds us that I winced from the pain. When distance stands between me and this object in front of me, when I am not under the King's control... that is the only time I have power over my own magic, it seems. Something that feeds the anger inside me. 

Fuel for the Cauldron, I realize. 

That burning light begins to pour out of me again, just as I open my eyes and focus on the lives of those I will snuff out. 

My eyes meet those of hazel and the world pauses. I don't hear the exploding of ships as that firebird crashes into them. I don't notice the constant clang of sword on sword. Only the sight of those hazel eyes on mine. With all the distance between us, I notice only them. And the Shadowsinger attached to them. A new, warmer tether forms inside my mind and I follow it right to him. 

Mate. 

Azriel is my... mate. 

It is then that I realize how close I am to wiping him of existence. My magic about to explode out, I clamp it shut. Sharp claws close behind a thick, impossibly strong wall as I shove my magic back inside of me. The pain of doing so rivals that of letting loose. My legs wobble, but I remain standing. 

Kill kill kill, the Cauldron hisses. 

"No," I say with force, releasing my grip on the ancient object. I feel it tugging and clawing at the tether. My wall holds strong.

The King whips around, a lethal gleam in his eyes. "What?" 

I look from the Cauldron to him, "No."

His nostrils flare with absolute wrath, his hand going to his sword as he takes a step closer to me. My shadows slither around me in a protective barrier, sensing the inevitable fight. The King with his magic against me, magic-less. 

"Your actions will damn an entire town of innocents," he says. 

I close my eyes, knowing that he might strike. I'd rather lose my life than take more of others. The innocents of Velaris for the ones fighting to rid the world of Hybern. For my mate. "I know."

He opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a fight close by. Not close by--right next to us. We turn in tandem to see Stryga leaping upon some guards standing by the tent. She devoured them, sucked their lives from their bodies. She looks at us, rage coating her face when she realizes who we are. Her black eyes slide over to me, and I could have sworn she sent a silent promise for my slow death. 

The King simply waltzed over to her, his boots pounding on the path. Behind us, a rumble of power begins emanating. It matches that of mine, of the Cauldron. 

Nesta, I think to myself. 

Stryga smiled at the King, blood dripping from her chin. "How beautiful you are," the King murmured, his voice a seductive croon. "How magnificent, ancient one." 

"You may bow, king, queen. As it was once done." She responded.

I watched as the King walked right up to her and smiled down at her exquisite face. Then he took her face into his hands, faster than she could move, and snapped her neck. I watched in dismay as he tossed her limp body over the edge, down to where a pack of naga-hounds were waiting. They tore into her without hesitation. 

He turned and looked at me, "Wait here. We are not done," he finished, walking past me. His gaze was set northward, toward that rising power. He didn't say anything else as he winnowed away, a smile on his lips. 

I loosed a breath of relief. Momentarily lived, as two footsteps sounded behind me. I whip around and see Feyre and Amren standing, their stances ready to fight. 

I know why they have come. 

For the Cauldron.