Page 121 of Crowned By Roses

But I don’t feel the stabbing in my chest so much anymore. Or the ringing in my ears. There’s only Papa’s voice, reverberating through the earth and into my blood and bones.

Stand up.

Stand up.

Stand up, Rosalina.

This time, I say it to myself. Stand up.

With a cry, I throw my arm to the side. My muscles scream and my arm trembles, but I don’t allow myself to stop. “Stand up, Rosalina,” I say through gritted teeth. “Stand up.”

My knees shake as I dig them into the earth. My hands are claws in the mud and blood. But the earth feels strong beneath me, pulsing with the rhythm: Stand up. Stand up. Stand up.

One shaky leg forward, hands on my thigh, I push myself upward. Until I’m standing.

And when I turn to the west, I don’t see death.

I see a river.

A massive river, rushing toward the battlefield, carrying an entire fleet of ships that all fly the same flag.

The sigil of Summer.

52

Dayton

The Deathly Sky Dancer crests high, sweeping through the trees and mountains. And I see it before me. Castletree. I made it to you, Blossom.

The wave swells before me in a white peak that scatters like the wings of a hawk.

I jump to the bow of the ship, grabbing hold of the rope, and my voice surges with the wind. “We sail no farther. Here, we fight!”

I let the river loose, crashing our ship down in a great wave. It spreads, rolling out from the banks, soaking the land in a burst of salt and water. Soldiers, good and ill alike, stumble as the river splashes up to their knees. Some goblins, much shorter than fae, are swept up. But the earth eagerly soaks in the excess, and the overflow spills into the empty moat that surrounds the remains of Castletree.

But I do not let it all go; I cannot let it go, not yet. I keep hold as the vessels roll in behind me, keeping the water level high enough for all our ships. Five sail in, then ten, then twenty, until my ears are ringing with the sound of cannon fire.

“For the Golden Rose!” Delphia screams, raising her sword in the air.

Above her, a glorious cloud of white and gray and brown breaks apart into a flutter of winged horses. The Huntresses of Aura descend, their arrows felling the harpies, swords slashing ropes on the war machines.

A cluster of sea hags rushes from the river, attempting to climb Huxton’s ship. Sirens explode after them, hunting with tridents and nets.

“Summer’s not done yet.” I touch my seashell token, and in a flash, my teal and golden armor appears, trident in my hand.

And damn, I don’t think there’s even been a day I’ve felt more worthy of wielding it.

“I’ll be enough for you, Blossom.” I scan the battlefield for her when something golden surges in my chest, and my eyes are drawn to a northwestern hill. There, painted by moonlight, sits a boy on a giant elk.

No, not a boy.

The High Prince of Autumn.

53

Farron

“It’s time, Thrand,” I say, patting my elk’s neck. “One last ride.”