Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
The catapults swung forward, one after the other, releasing the gifts as Casteel grabbed me, shielding my body with his.
But what was sent at us flew high above us. They flung through the air, over the battlements. We turned as they hit the stone walls behind us. The sound of them, the fleshy smack, the smear they left behind on the walls that could be seen even in the moonlight and along the floor as they tumbled forward, turned my stomach as the bow loosened in my grip. The nocked arrow trembled.
One had long, black hair.
Another a shroud of silver.
A glimpse of skin that was once a beautiful onyx.
An expression frozen in fear for an eternity.
Heads. They were heads.
So many of them.
Magda.
The mother of the woman who’d died.
Keev, the wolven.
The Atlantian man who’d refused my touch.
A head rolled to a stop by Casteel’s feet. The moment I saw the blood-stained beard, my throat sealed.
Elijah.
Chapter 39
I staggered back a step, my horrified gaze lifted to Casteel and then to where Duchess Teerman had stood. She was no longer there. I turned back to Casteel.
His chest expanded, but no breath left him as he stared down at the gift.
“Casteel,” I whispered.
Slowly, he turned from the grotesque sight and eyes nearly as black as an Ascended’s met mine.
And I knew there would be no more talking.
Locking down my senses and shutting off my emotions, my horror and fury, I exhaled roughly.
“Kill as many of them as you can.” Releasing the golden swords from his sides, he spun back to the edge and leapt.
He leapt from the top of the Rise, a dozen feet or more above the field.
Rushing to the edge, his name was a scream not given sound. He landed in a crouch, swords at his sides as he rose before an army of hundreds.
“Nice of you to join us,” a knight called out. “The Dark One all alone? The odds are not in your favor.”
“I am never alone,” Casteel growled.
Piercing screams rang from every side of me, pitching and falling in a battle cry that would send a bolt of dread through the most seasoned warrior.
The Guardians.
They moved as silently as wraiths, appearing on the battlements. They swept their swords above their heads, bringing them together in a thunderous clap. Sparks erupted from the swords, igniting. I sucked in a breath as golden flames spiraled over the blades, encasing the stone blades in fire. Flames erupted across the Rise. Then they too went over the side, one by one, falling like golden stars. By the time they landed, Casteel was nothing more than a blur among leather and armor, cutting a path into the line before they even knew he was there as he headed straight for the carriage. He was going to kill the Duchess.
And for once I cared nothing for dignity in death.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, I lifted the bow and nocked the arrow once more as the first wolven burst from the shadows, taking a guard down from his horse. To my left and right, the oldest among those here lifted their bows. I searched for flashes of black—of mantles that signified a knight instead of a guard and took aim as the others spilled out from the trees that crowded the right walls of the Rise.
Catching sight of a knight on horseback, charging a man who’d shoved a sword deep into the chest of a soldier, I took aim. The knight’s hand whipped out, and a barbed chain uncurled. The metal and spikes spun with dizzying speed as I focused on the one weak area not armored.
I released the string. The arrow flew across the distance, striking the knight in the eye. The impact knocked the knight from the horse, his body disintegrating as it fell to the ground.
Quentyn skidded into the space beside me, placing a shield against the stone walls. He stretched up, peering over the wall, jaw hard as he leveled his bow.
“Where’s Beckett?” I asked, not having seen him.
“He’s with the ones who can’t fight.”
I nodded. “The ones with black mantles are knights. Vamprys. Aim for their heads.”
“Got it.” His eyes squinted.
Notching another arrow, I scanned for Casteel, spotting him in the middle of the Royal Army ranks, sweeping his sword through the neck of one and the stomach of another. My gaze skipped over flaming swords, cutting down those with fire. A knight raced toward a Guardian. I released an arrow, and it caught him in the mouth.
“Archers!” a knight shouted. “On the battlements.”
Aiming at a guard who rushed toward a wolven, I only saw the arrow pierce the leather, spinning the mortal to the ground a second before a volley of arrows ripped through the air.
“Incoming!” someone yelled.
“Down!” Quentyn shouted as he lifted a shield that had to weigh nearly as much as he did. We knelt as the arrows zinged down, clanging off stone and the metal of the shield. Shouts of pain tugged at my senses, telling me that some had found their marks.