Page 131 of Crowned By Roses

Sira staggers backward on tree trunk legs, flailing her arms to protect what parts of the fae remain. I hold my breath and throw a look back over the bridge, where the battle rages on the other side. Our forces are outnumbered, but they keep fighting. We can do this. We can defeat her. Then we’ll get the rose and stop this war.

But Sira steadies, and I catch sight of the gleam in her eye from far above, wicked and determined. “I have heard quite enough about this home of yours. I will do to it what I did to Airaleth. You will pay for your arrogance!”

Shadowy puddles form on the ground around us. We form a tight circle, staring outward.

Caspian raises his rapier. “Be ready.”

The shadows are pools of spilled nightfall, fat and oily. Ripples appear in the middle, and tendrils creep out, moving with a fluid grace until they form figures.

One of the shadows finds its shape right before me. It has no distinct features, made completely of the void. Yet it’s familiar. The figure is incredibly tall, with long hair that drapes over his pointed ears and broad shoulders.

And when it draws its sword, I recognize the way it moves. Because I would know my husband anywhere.

“Watch out!” I scream. I roll forward as the Shadow Kel swipes his own Sword of the Protector at me. With horror, I look around. All those inky shadow droplets are expanding, growing…and forming the shapes of people I recognize.

Shadow Farron. Shadow Dayton. Shadow Ezryn. I can tell them all by their outlines, their strides, how they draw their weapons…

And there! A shorter and stouter shape ambles toward me with dark intent. Shadow Marigold!

“Mother?” Farron’s voice. An inky figure draws a lance and charges at him. She’s shorter than him, and judging by the cut of the jaw, the one long braid…

It’s Niamh.

Keldarion lets loose a roar and raises his sword, engaging the shadow version of himself. They clash blades, matching each other blow for blow.

“I’ll take your mother if you take mine,” Ezryn says lowly, then runs at Niamh, blocking her lance with the handle of his hammer.

Farron’s face is pale, but he illuminates his lance just in time to engage with a shadowy, helmed figure with a black sword. It can only be Isidora, the previous high ruler of Spring.

“Now this is what I call a challenge.” Dayton draws his trident and readies a fighting stance. He’s being flanked by two figures who move with an eerily similar grace. Shadow Dayton and Shadow Damocles. “Couldn’t stand me beating you in the arena, eh, Dammy? Had to get some better backup than Decimus?”

So many more figures take shape. Caspian bumps my shoulder. “No mercy, Princess. These are only imitations. Who do you want to kill? Farron? Ez? Dayton? Or there’s the staff. Marigold or Astrid perhaps?”

“Don’t be smart.” I draw my bow and aim a briar arrow at the chest of a shadow who looks a lot like Kel. But the figure is shorter, leaner. His father?

My arrow strikes the corporeal shadow, but this twisted version of Kel’s father seems oblivious to the hit. He charges us. Quickly, I rise a thatch of briars around him, caging him in thorns.

“I think I’ll take Ez.” Caspian gives a smirk. “Always wanted to know how that battle would end.”

Kel grabs the wrist of his shadow and pulls it close. “This hilt…The shadow’s wielding my old sword.”

“These are echoes of people who have lived inside Castletree. Memories. She’s turned them into weapons against us!” Farron cries as he drives his lance into Shadow Isidora’s shoulder.

“Good thing I never lived here, or that would be a real problem,” Caspian says, blowing a hole through Shadow Rintoulo’s chest with a burst of green flame. Purple briars hold Shadow Ezryn in a vice grip.

My briars snag Shadow Farron’s ankles and yank him to the ground hard. “I’m sorry!”

More and more ink drops appear, unfurling into different forms. Anyone who’s ever lived in Castletree. More high princesses and princes. More staff.

Sira slams her giant tree arm, and I leap out of the way. The ground quakes, and I fall, nearly tumbling into a shadow pool forming the impression of Paavak.

Caspian shoots a wall of thorns out as a barrier, but Sira kicks it down in one swoop. My heart rages against my chest. She’ll keep forming shadow warriors until we’re overwhelmed. I need to stop her.

I look up to where she’s nestled in the heart of Castletree. The bow is heavy in my hand. I need to get up there, get the rose, then strike her down. It’s the only way to stop this.

Gritting my teeth, I fling my bow over my back, flutter my wings and rise⁠—

Something grabs my ankle and tugs hard. I smash face down into the earth. Cold, oily hands snatch my neck, my hair, then flip me over. I start kicking and punching, face-to-face with⁠—