Page 225 of Fallen Nocturne

The seal on Astefar is broken.

Around me, others are feeling it too. Bas staggers, his ancient vampire senses overwhelmed. Shade grabs onto the wolf for support and Garrett curses. Hrolf’s eyes go wide. Even the soldiers around us feel something.

A shift in the world.

“The forest,” Blaire whispers. Her voice carries through the sudden silence, thin with disbelief. “The seal is lifting.”

She stares toward the west, where Astefar lies hidden in shadow and mist. In the rift below, Finnbheara is still holding Rhianelle’s hand.

“Did you—” Finnbheara swallows, struggling to force the words out. “Did you know what you just did?”

Rhianelle doesn’t answer immediately. She simply looks at him with those calm lilac eyes.

“The seal on Astefar,” Finnbheara continues, his voice rising. “It’s broken and all the things that were trapped there, all the monsters, all the gods, all the Un, they’re free. They’re—”

He stares at her hand still clasped in his.

“The creatures of Astefar,” Finnbheara says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You freed them. Everything Casimir locked away.”

“Yes. They can go where they want. Be what they want. Casimir sealed the ancient fae in Astefar and created a curse that lasted for thousands of years,” Rhianelle says.

Finnbheara’s face goes white. “You know. You’ve always known.”

He stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. “This serves you no advantage. Why would you do that?”

“Because it was wrong to keep them locked against their will,” Rhianelle says simply. “It was wrong when Casimir did it and it would be wrong for me to continue it.”

A roar tears across the sky.

Every head in the ravine snaps upward. The creatures come from the west. Some fly on wings of smoke and flame. Others drift through the air without wings at all, their bodies formed from darkness like Coinneach.

The first one drops out of the sky like a falling star, trailing fire. It lands at the edge of the ravine and the ground shakes. It stands twice the height of a man, its body made entirely of flame, embers drifting from its shoulders like ash from a bonfire. The soldiers nearest it scatter.

The second comes from the shadows. It moves like Coinneach moves, darkness folding around a shape that is almost but not quite a body. It flows down the ravine wall and pools at the bottom, reforming into something vast and many-limbed.

Then more. A creature of bone and deep water. Something winged and eyeless that makes no sound when it lands. One by one they come, settling around the ravine’s edge. The soldiers retreat as far as the ravine walls allow. Elves and fae press together without caring which army the person beside them belongs to. Weapons rise, but every hand holding one trembles.

The ancient creatures pay them no attention. They turn toward Finnbheara. One after another, they kneel. Even the shadow beast bows until its monstrous head nearly touches the ground.

“We remember the old pacts,” the fire creature says. “We recognize the blood of the Wild Hunt. We offer our strength to the new King of the Fae.”

Finnbheara stares at the creatures gathering before him. More shapes continue to circle overhead while others crawl from newly opened rents in the earth. Hundreds already. Perhaps thousands still coming.

“You have our loyalty,” the shadow creature rasps. “Call upon your army in Astefar and we will answer.”

A long-limbed creature unfolds itself from the shadows. Its body is covered in wet black feathers, but beneath them I catch glimpses of pale skin stretched over too many joints. Its face is smooth and eyeless, split only by a narrow mouth filled with needle-thin teeth.

“A warning, my king,” it whispers. “The little elven rat is beloved among the dwellers of Astefar. She fed the hungry, healed the wounded, and befriended things wiser creatures fled from.”

Its sightless face turns toward Rhianelle.

“Many would fight for her. Even the Unyieldings welcomed her among them.” It lowers its voice as though sharing a secret, though every person in the ravine can hear it.

A larger creature beside it turns its massive head toward Finnbheara. “Do not worry, new king. Our loyalty is yours. We are hungry and your enemies have flesh.”

The host of Astefar answers with growls, shrieks, and roars that shake loose stones from the ravine walls. Soldiers recoil, and somewhere behind me, someone begins to pray.

“Whatever path you choose, we are bound to follow,” the larger creature says.