Empire of Storms
Page 119
Perhaps they were the unlucky ones, for not holding out for something better.
Lorcan shook his head to clear the useless, traitorous thoughts.
That was Aelin Galathynius standing there. Drained of her power.
He felt it now—the utter lack of sound or feeling or heat where there had been such a riotous storm moments before. A creeping cold.
She’d emptied her entire cache. They all had. Maybe Whitethorn had gone to her, put his arms around her, not because he wanted to mount her in the middle of the marshes, but to keep her upright once that power was gone. Once she was left vulnerable.
Open to attack.
What do we do now? Elide had asked.
Lorcan smiled slightly. “We go say hello.”
She balked at the shift in his tone. “You’re not on friendly terms.”
Certainly not, and he wasn’t about to be, not when the queen was within his sights. Not when she had that Wyrdkey … the sibling to the one Elide carried.
“They won’t attack me,” he said, and began heading for them. The marsh water was near-scalding, and he grimaced at the fish floating, milky eyes open wide to the sky. Frogs and other beasts bobbed among them, wobbling in his ripples.
Elide hissed at entering the hot water but followed after him.
Slowly, Lorcan closed in on his prey, too focused on the fire-breathing bitch to notice that Fenrys and Gavriel had vanished from their positions in the reeds.
57
Every step toward Aelin was an eternity—and every step was somehow too swift. Elide had never been more aware of her limp. Of her dirty clothes; of her long, unshaped hair; of her small body and lack of any discernible gifts.
She had imagined Aelin’s power, dreamed of how it had shattered the glass castle.
She hadn’t considered that the reality of seeing it unleashed would make her bones quail in terror. Or that the others would possess such harrowing gifts as well—ice and wind twining with fire, until only death rained down. She almost felt bad for the ilken they’d slaughtered. Almost.
Lorcan was silent. Tense.
She was able to read his moods now, the little tells that he believed no one could detect. But there—that faint twitch on the left side of his mouth. That was his attempt to suppress whatever rage was now riding him. And there, that slight angle of his head to the right … that was his assessing and reassessing every surrounding, every weapon and obstacle within sight. Whatever this meeting was, Lorcan didn’t think it would go well.
He expected to fight.
But Aelin—Aelin—had now turned toward them from where she stood on that mound of grass. Her silver-haired prince pivoted with her. Took a casual step in front of her. Aelin sidestepped around him. He tried to block her again. She nudged him with an elbow and held her ground at his side. The Prince of Doranelle—her queen’s lover. How much sway would his opinion hold over Aelin? If he hated Lorcan, would his contempt and mistrust for her as well be immediate?
She should have thought of it—how it’d look to be with Lorcan. Approach with Lorcan.
“Regretting your choice in allies?” Lorcan said with cutting calm. Like he’d been able to read her tells, too.
“It sends a message, doesn’t it?”
She could have sworn something like hurt flashed in his eyes. But it was typical Lorcan—even when she’d ripped into him atop that barge, he’d barely flinched.
He said coolly, “It would seem our bargain with each other is about to end anyway. I’ll be sure to explain the terms, don’t worry. I’d hate for them to think you were slumming it with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He snorted. “I don’t care.”
Elide halted, wanting to call him a liar, half because she knew he was lying and half because her own chest tightened at the words. But she kept silent, letting him walk ahead, that distance between them yawning wider with his every storming step.
But what would she even say to Aelin? Hello? How do you do? Please don’t burn me? Sorry I’m so filthy and lamed?
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Pay attention. Look around.
Elide glanced up from where she’d been wincing at her dirty clothes. Lorcan was perhaps twenty feet ahead, the others mere figures near the horizon.
The invisible hand on her shoulder squeezed. Observe. See.
See what? Ash and ice rained to the right, ruins rose up on the left, nothing but open marshes spreading ahead. But Elide halted, scanning the world around her.
Something was wrong. Something made any creatures that had survived the maelstrom of magic go silent again. The burnt grasses rustled and sighed.
Lorcan kept walking, his back stiff, though he hadn’t reached for his weapons.
See see see.
See what? She turned in place but found nothing. She opened her mouth to call to Lorcan.
Golden eyes flickered in the brush not thirty paces ahead.
Enormous golden eyes, fixed on Lorcan as he strode mere feet away. A mountain lion, ready to pounce, to shred flesh and sever bone—
No—
The beast exploded from the burnt grasses.
Elide screamed Lorcan’s name.
He whirled, but not to the lion. Toward her, that furious face shooting toward her—
But she was running, leg shrieking in pain, as Lorcan finally sensed the attack about to swoop down on him.
The mountain lion reached him, those thick claws going low while its teeth went right for his throat.
Lorcan drew his hunting knife, so fast it was only the glint of gray light on steel.
Beast and Fae male went down, right into the muddy water.
Elide hurtled for him, a wordless scream breaking from her. Not a normal mountain lion. Not even close. Not with the way it knew Lorcan’s every move as they rolled through the water, as they dodged and swiped and lunged, blood spurting, magic clashing, shield against shield—
Then the wolf attacked.
A massive white wolf, sprinting out of nowhere, wild with rage and all of it focused on Lorcan.
Lorcan broke from the lion, blood streaming down his arm, his leg, panting. But the wolf had vanished into nothing. Where was it, where was it—
It appeared out of thin air, as if it had stepped through an invisible bridge, ten feet from Lorcan.
Not an attack. An execution.
Elide cleared a gap between two mounds of land, icy grass slicing into her palms, something crunching in her leg—
The wolf leaped for Lorcan’s vulnerable back, eyes glazed with bloodlust, teeth shining.
Elide surged up the little hill, time spinning out beneath her.
No no no no no no.
Vicious white fangs neared Lorcan’s spine.
Lorcan heard her then, heard the shuddering sob as she threw herself into him.
His dark eyes flared in what looked like terror as she slammed into his unprotected back.
As he noticed the death blow not coming from the lion at his front, but the wolf whose jaws closed around her arm instead of Lorcan’s neck.
She could have sworn the wolf’s eyes flared in horror as it tried to pull back the physical blow, as a dark, hard shield slammed into her, stealing her breath with its unflinching solidity—
Blood and pain and bone and grass and bellowing fury.
The world tilted as she and Lorcan went down, her body thrown over his, the wolf’s jaws wrenching out of her arm.
Lorcan shook his head to clear the useless, traitorous thoughts.
That was Aelin Galathynius standing there. Drained of her power.
He felt it now—the utter lack of sound or feeling or heat where there had been such a riotous storm moments before. A creeping cold.
She’d emptied her entire cache. They all had. Maybe Whitethorn had gone to her, put his arms around her, not because he wanted to mount her in the middle of the marshes, but to keep her upright once that power was gone. Once she was left vulnerable.
Open to attack.
What do we do now? Elide had asked.
Lorcan smiled slightly. “We go say hello.”
She balked at the shift in his tone. “You’re not on friendly terms.”
Certainly not, and he wasn’t about to be, not when the queen was within his sights. Not when she had that Wyrdkey … the sibling to the one Elide carried.
“They won’t attack me,” he said, and began heading for them. The marsh water was near-scalding, and he grimaced at the fish floating, milky eyes open wide to the sky. Frogs and other beasts bobbed among them, wobbling in his ripples.
Elide hissed at entering the hot water but followed after him.
Slowly, Lorcan closed in on his prey, too focused on the fire-breathing bitch to notice that Fenrys and Gavriel had vanished from their positions in the reeds.
57
Every step toward Aelin was an eternity—and every step was somehow too swift. Elide had never been more aware of her limp. Of her dirty clothes; of her long, unshaped hair; of her small body and lack of any discernible gifts.
She had imagined Aelin’s power, dreamed of how it had shattered the glass castle.
She hadn’t considered that the reality of seeing it unleashed would make her bones quail in terror. Or that the others would possess such harrowing gifts as well—ice and wind twining with fire, until only death rained down. She almost felt bad for the ilken they’d slaughtered. Almost.
Lorcan was silent. Tense.
She was able to read his moods now, the little tells that he believed no one could detect. But there—that faint twitch on the left side of his mouth. That was his attempt to suppress whatever rage was now riding him. And there, that slight angle of his head to the right … that was his assessing and reassessing every surrounding, every weapon and obstacle within sight. Whatever this meeting was, Lorcan didn’t think it would go well.
He expected to fight.
But Aelin—Aelin—had now turned toward them from where she stood on that mound of grass. Her silver-haired prince pivoted with her. Took a casual step in front of her. Aelin sidestepped around him. He tried to block her again. She nudged him with an elbow and held her ground at his side. The Prince of Doranelle—her queen’s lover. How much sway would his opinion hold over Aelin? If he hated Lorcan, would his contempt and mistrust for her as well be immediate?
She should have thought of it—how it’d look to be with Lorcan. Approach with Lorcan.
“Regretting your choice in allies?” Lorcan said with cutting calm. Like he’d been able to read her tells, too.
“It sends a message, doesn’t it?”
She could have sworn something like hurt flashed in his eyes. But it was typical Lorcan—even when she’d ripped into him atop that barge, he’d barely flinched.
He said coolly, “It would seem our bargain with each other is about to end anyway. I’ll be sure to explain the terms, don’t worry. I’d hate for them to think you were slumming it with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He snorted. “I don’t care.”
Elide halted, wanting to call him a liar, half because she knew he was lying and half because her own chest tightened at the words. But she kept silent, letting him walk ahead, that distance between them yawning wider with his every storming step.
But what would she even say to Aelin? Hello? How do you do? Please don’t burn me? Sorry I’m so filthy and lamed?
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Pay attention. Look around.
Elide glanced up from where she’d been wincing at her dirty clothes. Lorcan was perhaps twenty feet ahead, the others mere figures near the horizon.
The invisible hand on her shoulder squeezed. Observe. See.
See what? Ash and ice rained to the right, ruins rose up on the left, nothing but open marshes spreading ahead. But Elide halted, scanning the world around her.
Something was wrong. Something made any creatures that had survived the maelstrom of magic go silent again. The burnt grasses rustled and sighed.
Lorcan kept walking, his back stiff, though he hadn’t reached for his weapons.
See see see.
See what? She turned in place but found nothing. She opened her mouth to call to Lorcan.
Golden eyes flickered in the brush not thirty paces ahead.
Enormous golden eyes, fixed on Lorcan as he strode mere feet away. A mountain lion, ready to pounce, to shred flesh and sever bone—
No—
The beast exploded from the burnt grasses.
Elide screamed Lorcan’s name.
He whirled, but not to the lion. Toward her, that furious face shooting toward her—
But she was running, leg shrieking in pain, as Lorcan finally sensed the attack about to swoop down on him.
The mountain lion reached him, those thick claws going low while its teeth went right for his throat.
Lorcan drew his hunting knife, so fast it was only the glint of gray light on steel.
Beast and Fae male went down, right into the muddy water.
Elide hurtled for him, a wordless scream breaking from her. Not a normal mountain lion. Not even close. Not with the way it knew Lorcan’s every move as they rolled through the water, as they dodged and swiped and lunged, blood spurting, magic clashing, shield against shield—
Then the wolf attacked.
A massive white wolf, sprinting out of nowhere, wild with rage and all of it focused on Lorcan.
Lorcan broke from the lion, blood streaming down his arm, his leg, panting. But the wolf had vanished into nothing. Where was it, where was it—
It appeared out of thin air, as if it had stepped through an invisible bridge, ten feet from Lorcan.
Not an attack. An execution.
Elide cleared a gap between two mounds of land, icy grass slicing into her palms, something crunching in her leg—
The wolf leaped for Lorcan’s vulnerable back, eyes glazed with bloodlust, teeth shining.
Elide surged up the little hill, time spinning out beneath her.
No no no no no no.
Vicious white fangs neared Lorcan’s spine.
Lorcan heard her then, heard the shuddering sob as she threw herself into him.
His dark eyes flared in what looked like terror as she slammed into his unprotected back.
As he noticed the death blow not coming from the lion at his front, but the wolf whose jaws closed around her arm instead of Lorcan’s neck.
She could have sworn the wolf’s eyes flared in horror as it tried to pull back the physical blow, as a dark, hard shield slammed into her, stealing her breath with its unflinching solidity—
Blood and pain and bone and grass and bellowing fury.
The world tilted as she and Lorcan went down, her body thrown over his, the wolf’s jaws wrenching out of her arm.
