Page 118 of Crowned By Roses

The time has come. Whatever her ritual is, it’s well under way.

I touch the satchel of seeds in my armor, its presence giving me strength. Then, reveling in the power of my wings, I shift positions to keep the moon at my back. My golden wings and rose-gold armor disappear into its light. A harpy looks in my direction, then squints before torpedoing away.

Hiding amid the light, I make toward Sira. I’m close enough to see how pale her face is, the tremble in her arms, the unnatural writhing of the roots around her. I raise my bow. There’s no way to shoot a radiant arrow; the blast could destroy the rose. But a briar arrow perhaps⁠—

“I feel you there,” Sira calls.

My heart stops, fingers trembling on the bowstring.

But she’s talking to someone else. A figure appears from behind a pile of debris. Faustrius, his giant black sword clutched in his hand.

Sira doesn’t even turn to him. “So you have betrayed me.”

“It is you who betrayed us,” Faustrius says. “You promised us a new home. Instead, you offer the ashes of one.”

“I have no time for your lamentations.” Her voice quakes as if it’s being echoed.

Cold dread drips down my spine. Get out of there, Faustrius. I pull the bowstring back.

But Faustrius strikes first. With a look of pure anguish, he rushes to her, raises his sword, and⁠—

Sira moves, both darting out of his strike and removing my angle. The roots grow with her as she spins, like living manacles. Or cords, plugging her into the earth.

“I thought I could trust you. But like always, I have been deceived.” There’s genuine pain in her voice.

Faustrius roars and brings down his blade again, but she dissolves into shadow, appearing on his other side, her roots emerging with her. She reaches into the folds of her dark skirt and pulls out the bell jar containing the crystallized red rose. A part of the first magic stolen from the Gardens of Ithilias.

I shoot an arrow, then another. Sira doesn’t even seem to notice, moving in and out of corporeality to avoid Faustrius’s blows. He’s becoming fevered, pure fear on his face, movements sloppy.

“I gave you a chance, Faustrius, to be so much more. Now you’ll be like all the rest. But at least you’ll cheer when my children feast on the corpses of your friends come sunrise.”

“No!” Faustrius screams.

I throw a hand over my mouth to stop my own cry.

The glass top falls to the earth. A gust of air erupts from the rose, blowing back Sira’s hair. Her eyes glow with an inner light, and the petals of the rose flash black as a void.

No. No, no, no…

The ritual isn’t preventing her from using the rose. And if Sira takes the will of the Elderblood…

My breath comes too fast, and I can’t find a rhythm for my wings. I turn in midair, searching the battlefield.

There are pockets of stillness. Elderblood soldiers and their steeds frozen like statues. I catch sight of Aquila, fighting close to Kel, her spear held aloft as if posing for a portrait. Then those eyes I’ve grown to know flood with darkness.

We thought Sira would be too distracted to turn the Elderblood, her magic engulfed in the ritual. Thought we could stop her before she had a chance.

We were so wrong.

The Elderblood move. The moles lunge at the nearest fae, tearing into them with claw and tooth. Elderblood soldiers remove their weapons from goblin bodies, instead turning on their Winter allies. Winter’s fighters look around, confused, unsure whether to attack the Elderblood. Kel calls orders, but they’re drowned out by screams.

With horror, I turn back to Faustrius. He’s stumbled away from Sira, who stares at him with a self-satisfied grin. His red eyes flash black, then red, then black.

He raises his black sword with two hands. “I…will never…again…obey you,” he snarls. And just as his eyes flood black, he drives the point of his blade through his chest.

Sira screams, and so do I. Faustrius falls to the ground, his eyes red, a soft smile on his face.

With a roar, I notch a briar arrow into my bow and draw back the string. You’ll pay for that. You’ll pay!