Song of Sorrows and Fate: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 9)
Song of Sorrows and Fate: Chapter 38

The archers rained arrows against a throng of sea fae who’d managed to strike at the gates of Hus Rose. They’d taken the rivers and streams in the forest and emerged on our side of the battle.

Herja Ferus shouted her commands from above. Her consort stood with their daughter, a unit of Ettan warriors, and a few of the Nightrender’s Kryv guarding the entrance. With his arms open, the brother of the Shadow Queen opened his arms wide. Hagen Strom, as I understood it, was a type of shield with his magic. So was the woman on his opposite side, a silent Kryv who held back the forces of the sea singer voices, the flinging waves the folk kept using to break in.

“Speak clearly, my love,” Eryka said, a little curl to her mouth when Gunnar took a place beside his mother on the parapet.

The thieving prince tugged down the mask covering his face. “You wish to fall on your blades. The lot of you.”

A mere boy when these battles began, now Gunnar Strom was a man, vowed, and stronger with his dark mesmer. I’d seen it change and shift through glimpses of my connection to these fated battles.

He was a little horrifying. Hardly any of the sea fae arched a brow as they took a knife, a dagger, one even gathered a shard of glass from one of the windows, and rammed the points through their flesh. Eyes, throats, bellies, it didn’t matter, their minds belonged to the prince, and he took it without a flinch.

I raised my sword, embracing the heat and energy of the armies at my back.

Archers shouted from the towers as sea fae began to retreat. More fiery arrows arched across the sky. Deep in the trees, to either flank, warriors shouted as the pyre roared below, the flames reaching for the silver moon like a beacon leading us forward.

The flood of our armies shuddered across the damp soil. Sea fae were no simple foe. They filled the canals, the edges of Raven Row. For folk of the tides, they knew how to hold a blade well enough.

I kept catching sight of the boy king. With all his venom laced toward Valen, the Ever King kept his distance from the earth bender.

Then again, there was something there. As though another force kept them parted. Something unseen.

“I sense it too,” Calista said through a grunt as she rammed the point of her knife through a spindly fae with mossy hair. She kicked his body into the canal, watching a bloom of dark blood spill out over the surface. She nodded toward the Ever King. “There is a time and place. That’s what I keep thinking. Paths are soon to cross, and I don’t understand it.”

“We never do.” I dropped my sword against a sea singer. Without the trance of his voice, his horrid face was carved in threads of rotting flesh and sunken cheeks and bloodied eyes. He stumbled under my sword and fell beside one of the water-filled crevices.

Like the waves sensed the loss of one of their own, a whitecapped curl rose and devoured the dead sea singer into the depths.

Another wave of burning arrows assaulted the towers of the fortress along the edges of Hus Rose. Screams mingled with bodies falling from walls they’d been attempting to scale. The collision of steel and blood burned between two sides.

My sword struck a fae’s short blade. The man had ghastly deadened eyes, as though no color could replace them. A shard of bone pierced his nose, and his teeth were shaved to resemble the merfolk with their jagged mouths.

Our blades locked, spun, and dodged until I sliced the back of his leg. At my back, another came. And another.

Focus forward. Ari’s words reeled through my brain while I kept Calista in my sights. We were tossed into a cruel existence as children, but through the lifetimes, we’d managed to gain a bit of know-how when it came to the sword.

She preferred knives; they fit her smaller figure, but she managed Annon’s old sword well. Her cuts and stabs went to ribs, to thighs, the back tendons of the knees.

I fought without the same skill as the royals and warriors, but in a matter of moments, my face was splattered in hot, sticky blood, and my muscles throbbed for more.

Ari fought nearby. Sea folk dropped to his feet screaming in terror. His fury molded their brains in illusion and left them defenseless. Saga stepped behind her husband and called the roots and branches from the trees and wood nearby.

This land, by all accounts, was the land of her birth. It would respond to her glamour the same as the isles.

When the fae were entrapped, Stieg and Lynx—one of the Nightrender’s Kryv who could force folk into a slumbering calm—moved in to slit their throats from behind. Halvar and Tor—they used blade first. Wise. Too much exertion on mystical killings and we’d exhaust our magicks before it was over.

Davorin and Harald pressed the army of sea folk forward. Davorin was a bleeding fool, but he was wretchedly skilled with the blade. The battle lord brutally took the heads, the throats, the hearts of warriors. His frustration curled over his lip whenever he tried to overtake them with his dark glamour and Niklas’s protections held.

“Take them.” Harald’s voice roared over the fighting.

I shuddered. A line of horridly lovely women stepped forward. Skin smooth as satin, lips painted in blood red, and eyes like precious stones and metals. Some silver, some glistening emerald, others like a sapphire sea.

They clasped their hands. Their voices were sweet and sharp, but as the sound spread, warriors, a few Falkyns, and forest fae choked up blood.

“They’re cursing them!”

I didn’t know who shouted it, but they weren’t wrong. The women were clearly spell casters of the sea. Their damn sea witches.

“Shut them up!”

I thought that command came from Ari. From the edges of the fight, a cluster of huldrafolk approached the sea witches. Huldra were seductive and could pull out lust as viciously as sirens and their male sea singer counterparts.

Cuyler, his men, and the tracker of Ari and Saga’s court joined. Overhead, a winged blood fae swooped down. He clutched a sea witch’s face between his palms. She hissed and thrashed, trying to curse him, but soon her skin brightened. It cracked and split. Where soft flesh had been, now her face hardened into clay stone.

“Rune!” The tracker whooped and rushed to his side. He kissed him fiercely, then together they attacked with Cuyler and his men at their backs.

I dodged a lazy strike from the bruised boy who’d stood beside Harald at the gates. He had the same reddish tint to his gaze like most sea fae, his hair was tied off his neck, and like the king, the boy kept a red, silken scarf tied over his head.

When I faced him entirely, he jolted at first, eyes on the scar on my face.

“Want to know how I earned this scar, boy?” I took an assertive step closer. “That dark fae your folk follow gave it to me when I was younger than you. When two children defeated him.” The boy blocked my weak strike, but there was a new fear in his eyes. “Go home. Don’t fight for him. He is weak.”

“I don’t fight for him.” The boy slashed his blade again. “I fight for my king.”

“Your king?” I chuckled. “He does not even fight for the same reason. He seeks the earth bender.”

“And I seek to keep him alive.”

Odd. There was hidden affection between the young king and the boy. A boy who shared characteristics to his king. To the king’s uncle.

I took hold of the boy’s tunic. He writhed and tried to lash at me, but his lanky body stood no chance. I drew his face close and the sea fae boy froze. “He’s your blood?”

The boy didn’t answer. The young king did.

“Tait, you damn fool.” Erik Bloodsinger pressed a palm near one of the canals. “Drop him, earth fae!”

Young, but the water grew violent under his touch. The sea king cursed me, glared at me, and tried to throw me off balance with a rush of waves.

I merely grinned and faced who I assumed was Harald’s son, the king’s cousin. “Go home. You have a fate to face, boy. It radiates from you, but you cannot face the path the Norns have devised for you if you are dead. Nor can he.”

I tilted my head toward the Ever King. Young heart songs lived here. Hard to differentiate to whom they belonged, but my seidr screamed in heat and the urge to form a song around the sea folk.

This war would end long-fought battles, no mistake, but I wondered if the end of one tale would open new ones.

I dropped the young sea fae into one of the canals. He never surfaced. With a bit of hope, I prayed that he took his young ass far from here.

New rushes of sea fae emerged from crevices. Sea singers, witches, men with blades and the voice to harness the waves. Valen and Sol fought near the edges. Without a word, the brothers fell into a violent rhythm.

Valen pressed his palms to the soil. His fury would be weakened from breaking the Row, but it still had power. He crumbled the banks of the crevice, smashing the sides closer together. Sea fae scrambled to be rid of the shifting edges, desperate to avoid getting crushed.

But when they emerged from the water, Sol held out his palms. Dark, sticky fury spilled off his hands and dug into the soil beneath their feet. Blackened veins coiled around the sea fae, poisoning them from the bottom up until they thrashed and choked on spittle.

Use our gifts. I sliced my sword against a fae trying to flee. He fell at my feet.

Calista was near Tor and Elise. Safe. Alive. Bleeding stunning how she struck and killed.

Smug grins faded from the faces of the sea fae. Now, they simply looked terrified as they fought for their lives.

“Slaughter them,” Davorin roared.

For some, a new energy latched onto the sea fae. They dug their swords deeper, fought with a wretched anger, and slashed their blades into the fray without mercy. Across the Row, I caught the gaze of the battle lord. His lip curled. He’d been aiming for Saga, but Ari’s illusions locked the bastard in a wretched confusion that kept him altering course.

Soon enough the Golden King would fatigue. The Raven Queen would not be able to hold her strength against the bastard.

Davorin cut his blade through spines—earth folk and sea folk alike—and made his way toward me. Toward Calista. He wanted our throats, perhaps our power. He’d want us to turn this war in his favor.

Our gifts. Use our gifts.

“Don’t forget the part where the dream descends.”

I spun around. One of the seer sisters, Oviss, flashed an eerie smile, saying nothing more before she bolted away. I had no time to think long on the notion before Davorin shouted angrily. His dark glamour spilled over the canals of water, darkening the tides.

These turns he’d been hidden beneath the sea, no mistake, he found a way to take on pieces of their abilities.

In frustration, he flung the water at a row of Rave warriors. Cuyler was among them. The tracker and his lover. Even some of the forest folk from the isles.

Davorin faded. Like a drop of ink, he slipped from his fae form and bled into the wild currents, wrapping the tides around the warriors in a dark, watery cocoon. All hells, he’d devour them soon enough.

With a fierce jab of my sword into a dark streak, the wall of water faded. Our warriors fell over. Some in puddles of blood.

“Blood fae!” My heart quickened. Cuyler wasn’t moving. He was Calista’s friend. He’d protected her. “Blood fae, get up.”

He didn’t budge. Nor did one of the fae from the Court of Serpents.

“Rune!” the tracker shouted and scrambled to the winged fae.

I didn’t have time to see the outcome before pools of black tides spun wildly and shaped legs and shoulders until Davorin returned, ready to strike. His blade crashed on mine. I spun and cut at his ribs.

He drew his sword against me, I met the edge and blocked the strike. Faces close, Davorin hissed, “You think you stand a chance? Don’t forget who marred you, boy.”

“Don’t forget who made you nothing but mist, you bastard.” I pressed my brow to his. “Two children. Some battle lord you are.”

He grunted in frustration and kicked me away. Davorin held no mercy and flung his blade against mine, over and over, no reprieve. All I could do was mark his strikes and try to block.

“Silas!” Calista screamed my name when I fumbled backward.

Tor released a blast of pyre beside her, trying to keep a new swell of sea fae back, and as a signal to Herja and Gunnar above. The archers readjusted their arrows to the center of the Row. They aimed at Davorin.

The battle lord dodged a fiery point, but a second arrow pierced his shoulder. Or, at least, it should’ve. The point seemed to peel out of his flesh.

What the hells?

Davorin’s grin was wolfish and cruel as he tossed the arrow aside. “You cannot touch me, boy. Give yourself up, and this battle ends.”

I took a step back, avoiding the swift strike of his sword, but the point caught the side of my ribs. A flash of pain burned through my side. Instinct to flee from the pain took hold. It was how I survived whenever Calista died. A way to flee from the heartache and anguish was to let my mind slip into shadows. Here, in the middle of a damn battlefield, I wanted to slip away. To escape the burn of his strikes.

I gritted my teeth, blocked a second strike, but stumbled to my knees.

Davorin raised his blade again.

“Do you know what it’s like,” I murmured as the peace of darkness threatened to drag me under. Stay. Focus.

“Silas! Lift your sword. Your sword!”

Somewhere in the haze her voice was there, calling to me. Calista Ode. My first friend. My princess. My heart song.

I blinked. Stay. Stay with her.

“Silas!”

I snapped my eyes open as Davorin swung a deep strike. My blade met his. The blow knocked me back; it pressed the edge of my own sword against my chest as he reared over me. With both hands, he shoved against his hilt, trying to dig the edge of my sword into my flesh. His body weight, his strength, left my arms trembling.

“I’ll drain her of her blood,” he hissed close to my face. “Just to make absolute certain every drop of Riot’s bloodline is gone. I’ll do it slowly, until she pleads for death.”

These were no weak threats. Davorin was not a man who killed quickly, he was not a man who let those who wronged him die an honorable death. Should he gain the upper hand, he’d take Calista. Lock her away, drain her of her life. He’d slaughter Ari, claim his daughter and the Raven Queen.

He’d say he would forgive the fae folk of the other realms, but the Alvers, the Night Folk, they’d be left to rot as slaves of his new sea fae, no mistake.

“You won’t be able to alter her fate in the Otherworld, boy.” His teeth gleamed in a sneer.

An eerie hiss fell over the Row, followed by the shrieks of sea fae. A bit chaotic, but voices rose over the battle in fierce panic.

“King’s blood.”

“Been wounded.”

“Move, move, you wretches.”

Their cries and shouts added to the chaos nearby. A few fleeing sea folk stumbled, knocking against Davorin.

“Fools,” he spat and lost his hold on the sword against me. I shoved back, rolling away, and scrambled to my feet. Behind me, the genesis of the commotion was clearly surrounding the boy king.

Erik Bloodsinger wore a vicious smirk, but kept a hand pressed to his side, clutching a gash on his ribs.

Poisonous blood.

His own people fled from him rather than help him. Then again, he didn’t seem surprised. The boy trained his gaze on me, a narrowed expression written on his face. Hand pressed to his ribs, Erik faded into the alleyways of the fortress, never looking away. As if he wanted me to see him. As if he were telling me to get off my ass and take back my chance in this fight.

Bleeding gods, had he cut himself on . . . purpose?

Davorin hissed and cursed as sea fae fled to avoid their own king. I didn’t understand how his blood worked. If they touched it, was it fatal? Did they need to ingest it?

However it killed, the sea folk feared it. And their fear kept the battle lord distracted long enough for me to ready my stance and my sword.

But my blood chilled at Calista’s voice. “Tor! Tor behind you. No!”

She screamed near the edges of Raven Row. Sea fae were rushing toward the shoreline, but from one of the broken canals Harald emerged, eyes on Calista and the pyre fae casting defenses around her.

Torsten had his back turned. Harald raised his blade.

I gained a single, worthless step by the time the bastard rammed his sword through Tor’s spine. Like a coward, he struck from behind and forced the tip of his curved sword through the front of Tor’s chest.

“No!” Calista screamed.

“Tor.” Sol’s pained bellow soaked into the Row. The Sun Prince was locked in a horrified stun as Harald pulled back his blade. Tor stumbled to his knees, blood dripping from his chest and back.

Harald grinned, as though he knew he’d destroyed someone of note, then fell back into the blood-darkened tides of the canal and out of sight.

I quickened my pace until I dropped down at Calista’s side. She draped herself over Tor, sobbing. I helped her roll him onto his back.

“No.” Her voice broke. “I sang your song. Stay with him, Tor. Look at me.”

She clasped his cheeks in her hand. Blood dripped over his lips when he coughed. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, he looked around, as though searching for someone. Searching for Sol.

Sea fae were descending again. Regrouping from their fear of the king’s blood. We’d be struck, killed. I had to move her, but Calista clung to Tor, desperate to keep his eyes open.

Calista cried out in anger, fear; a bit of despair.

“I sang your song!”

At her final word, the ground shuddered violently. I braced with my palms. Then, much the same as the night the world shifted to the first land, a golden strand of light encircled her. It rippled out like the pulse of a heart.

The strand of light shoved back the sea fae, a gilded ward much like the Rave had created at her command. It shielded Hus Rose against its enemies. It shielded Raven Row. The pulse of Calista’s power covered us, our wounded, our dying, from the enemies.

We had time. We had a chance.

Sol skidded beside Torsten. “Tor! Tor, look at me.”

He took his consort’s hand.

The flicker of a smile crossed Tor’s bloody lips. “Sol.”

“I’m right here.” Sol pressed Tor’s knuckles to his lips. “You stay with me. Nik . . . Tova, they can . . . they can heal you.”

Sols’ gaze fell to the blood soaking Tor’s tunic.

“Sol.” Tor coughed. “Tell Alek . . . tell him I love him.”

“No.” Sol shook his head violently. “We promised him a hunt in the peaks. Don’t break those promises, Tor. Don’t you dare.”

The Sun Prince tightened his hold on Tor’s hand.

“I love you,” Tor whispered. “Always . . . always have. I’ll save . . . I’ll save your seat, Sol Ferus.”

“Tor.” Sol’s voice broke when Tor’s eyes fluttered close. “Torsten.”

He shook his consort’s shoulders. Tor’s chest rose in fading breaths.

“Niklas!” Sol shouted in a rough cry of anguish. “He needs . . . save him.”

It wasn’t long before Night Folk fae, before Valen and Ari and Sol’s father were there, lifting Torsten’s limp form off the Row, shouting chaotic words, and taking him into the trees on the edges of the fortress.

The gleam of Calista’s ward burned bright, giving time for others to collect the wounded. The fallen.

“I sang his song,” Calista whispered, tears in her eyes. “This doesn’t make sense. I sang the song, but he’s . . . he’s gone, Silas. You saw that wound. It’s . . . too deep.”

I knew death. I’d witnessed Calista’s over and over again for centuries. My stomach burned in sick, in an ache for folk I hardly knew, yet felt as though I’d always known. Whether it was the entanglement of our fates or as the silent voice in the shadows as they became Calista’s new family, I didn’t know.

But I knew them.

And in my mind—we’d just lost one.