Page 96 of The Blood Queen

She’s focused, her eyes shifting over the barren scenery as we wend our way down past Edinburgh. I know she’s going over all the plans again; her forehead’s scrunched tight, her grip clenched around the saddle’s pommel.

I hold my gloved hand out.

Alyth notes it with a fluttering blink, coming back to herself. She takes my hand, her fingers wrapped in mittens against winter’s chill. But the breeze ain’t been bad, and the snow’s held off. Beira’s doing.

Is she pummeling the High Blade’s army? Holding ’em off as much as she can? Or does the High Blade have some magic to prevent that?

A pixie comes zooming out of the sky, dipping down in a glittery flash. It swirls in front of Alyth’s face, speaking in some kind of high-pitched chiming language I can’t catch. Like bells tinkling.

Alyth frowns at it, and she must understand its clanging, because her eyes widen and she drops my hand, wheeling around in her saddle to address those riding behind us. “The High Blade is an hour out from the stone.”

“What?” I run my eyes over the landscape. We’re about as far. But the High Blade had a bigger army, marching from farther on; the reports we’d gotten said they were going slower.

The High Blade’s pushing her people faster. Probably got ’em all out running in their berserker states.

Which means they likely haven’t been stopping to raid towns. One comfort in this horror.

A Leth laird glowers. “She knows this is her last chance. Bodes well for us. They’ll be weakened.”

No, they won’t.

“If the High Blade forced her Red Cap army to march hard,” I say, “they won’t be weak when we face them. They’ll be hungry.”

That sobers the lot of them. As if we all needed the reminder that we aren’t facing a normal army, nor even normal fae creatures. We’re facing vindictive, bloodthirsty soldiers who’ll stop at nothing, nothing, to see this through.

“We press on,” Alyth says and nudges her horse faster. We match her speed, the rest of our mounted riders and foot soldiers following as news drifts through the ranks:

We’re approaching the Caiy Stone.

The High Blade’s coming in fast.

Tension ripples through everyone, making the hairs on my neck stand, making me recheck the weapons I have strapped to my waist and back. Swords, knives, an axe. Do I much know how to use them? No, but I know the Red Cap in me will have a feast the moment I let loose.

I don’t fear it now. When I let that side of me free, it’s as much a part of me as any other. I won’t go on rampages I can’t control. I won’t lose myself. Not anymore.

We rush through the Scottish countryside, and even the wind seems to pick up speed, hurrying us on. After too much time, we’re at a full gallop, and I have to hope our army keeps pace. I’m matching Alyth, watching her, staying with her as she bends double over her horse and urges it faster.

Fields dead in the season stretch around us as we emerge from a small forest. Nothing looks any different about the area than what we’ve been riding through, farm fields and barrenness, but Alyth reins her horse up sharp and points to a small hill.

“There,” she says, winded like she’s been running too.

Our horses stomp and snort, sweat caked to their necks. Behind us comes the clatter and rush of our army.

But ahead.

The hill’s got something on the top. It’s too far to see it, but it’s gotta be a stone. Not as grand as the one in Forres, maybe twice as tall as I am.

On the left side of the hill, cradled down around the base, is the High Blade’s army, running up over the horizon, aiming for the stone.

Alyth looks at me, one last, frantic connection. “We get to the stone and get through that portal,” she tells me and turns back to our small chosen group meant to accompany us to the fae realm, get us through to the loom. “To the stone,” she repeats, a plea.

Through the portal. Face whatever fae resistance is waiting on the other side. To the throne room. To the loom.

Cut the thread.

End the High Blade.

A life for a life.