Filed to story: A Court of Mist and Fury Book by Sarah J Maas
I took a step. Her body slumped.
And from wherever in me that power originated, I felt her death whisper past.
The screams, the beating wings, the whoosh and thud of arrows erupted in the sudden silence.
I ran. I ran for my side of the Sidra, for the town house. I didn’t trust myself to winnow-could barely think around the panic barking through my head. I had minutes, perhaps, before they hit my street. Minutes to get there and bring as many inside with me as I could. The house was warded. No one would get in, not even these things.
Faeries were rushing past, racing for shelter, for friends and family. I hit the end of the bridge, the steep hills rising up-
Hybern soldiers were already atop the hill, at the two Palaces, laughing at the screams, the pleading as they broke into buildings, dragging people out. Blood dribbled down the cobblestones in little rivers.
They had done this. Those queens had … had given this city of art and music and food over to these … monsters. The king must have used the Cauldron to break its wards.
A thunderous boom rocked the other side of the city, and I went down at the impact, blades flying, hands ripping open on the cobblestones. I whirled toward the river, scrambling up, lunging for my weapons.
Cassian and Azriel were both in the skies now. And where they flew, those winged creatures died. Arrows of red and blue light shot from them, and those shields-
Twin shields of red and blue merged, sizzling, and slammed into the rest of the aerial forces. Flesh and wings tore, bone melted-
Until hands encased in stone tumbled from the sky. Only hands. Clattering on rooftops, splashing into the river. All that was left of them-what two Illyrian warriors had worked their way around.
But there were countless more who had already landed. Too many. Roofs were wrenched apart, doors shattered, screaming rising and then silenced-
This was not an attack to sack the city. It was an extermination.
And rising up before me, merely a few blocks down, the Rainbow of Velaris was bathed in blood.
The Attor and his ilk had converged there.
As if the queens had told him where to strike; where in Velaris would be the most defenseless. The beating heart of the city.
Fire was rippling, black smoke staining the sky-
Where was Rhys, where was my mate-
Across the river, thunder boomed again.
And it was not Cassian, or Azriel, who held the other side of the river. But Amren.
Her slim hands had only to point, and soldiers would fall-fall as if their own wings failed them. They slammed into the streets, thrashing, choking, clawing, shrieking, just as the people of Velaris had shrieked.
I whipped my head to the Rainbow a few blocks away-left unprotected. Defenseless.
The street before me was clear, the lone safe passage through hell.
A female screamed inside the artists’ quarter. And I knew my path.
I flipped my Illyrian blade in my hand and winnowed into the burning and bloody Rainbow.
This was my home. These were my people.
If I died defending them, defending that small place in the world where art thrived …
Then so be it.
And I became darkness, and shadow, and wind.
I winnowed into the edge of the Rainbow as the first of the Hybern soldiers rounded its farthest corner, spilling onto the river avenue, shredding the caf?s where I had lounged and laughed. They did not see me until I was upon them.
Until my Illyrian blade cleaved through their heads, one after another.
Six went down in my wake, and as I halted at the foot of the Rainbow, staring up into the fire and blood and death … Too many. Too many soldiers.
I’d never make it, never kill them all-
But there was a young female, green-skinned and lithe, an ancient, rusted bit of pipe raised above her shoulder. Standing her ground in front of her storefront-a gallery. People crouched inside the shop were sobbing.
Before them, laughing at the faerie, at her raised scrap of metal, circled five winged soldiers. Playing with her, taunting her.
Still she held the line. Still her face did not crumple. Paintings and pottery were shattered around her. And more soldiers were landing, spilling down, butchering-
Across the river, thunder boomed-Amren or Cassian or Azriel, I didn’t know.
The river.
Three soldiers spotted me from up the hill. Raced for me.
But I ran faster, back for the river at the foot of the hill, for the singing Sidra.
I hit the edge of the quay, the water already stained with blood, and slammed my foot down in a mighty stomp.
And as if in answer, the Sidra rose.
I yielded to that thrumming power inside my bones and blood and breath. I became the Sidra, ancient and deep. And I bent it to my will.
I lifted my blades, willing the river higher, shaping it, forging it.
Those Hybern soldiers stopped dead in their tracks as I turned toward them.
And wolves of water broke from behind me.
The soldiers whirled, fleeing.
But my wolves were faster.