Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,74

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“Well, you better start embracing the title soon, princess. Because we’re all counting on you to be that hero.”

Frowning, she poked her head around the side of the barrels. The guards were still standing watch by the gates, all three facing the streets of Findius. Finnegan was right. These warriors weren’t trying to prevent anyone from coming into the city. They didn’t want anyone to leave.

“What do you reckon the wood king is up to?” she whispered. “Killing so many shadow fae. Trapping them inside their own city. What’s the point? Your court surrendered to him. He’s sitting on that throne.”

She avoided speaking Lorcan’s name aloud or letting her mind wander to him. Speaking in vague terms was the only way she could confront what had happened to him.

“He’s the same as Bolg, it seems like. The shadow fae are nothing more than sacrificial blood for extra power.” He shrugged. “It all goes back to Unseelie in the end. It always does.”

She nodded, but something about it still didn’t sit quite right in her gut. Bolg let his own subjects die so that he could gain more power. And Ulaid Molt had been feasting on the blood of his own warriors with the same goal. But why did it seem like he wanted to kill every last shadow fae? There had to be more to it than that.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter in the end. It all led to the same result: thousands of innocents dead.

“How do you want to do this?” she whispered.

“They’ve got arrows. We need to force a close fight.” He motioned toward a small alley to the left of the guards. “You sneak up on them that way. I’ll approach as quietly as I can from the right. When you hear a whistle, charge.”

Reyna nodded and left Finnegan by the barrels. She backtracked through the streets until she found the alley that led to the gates. As she inched closer, she saw Finnegan approaching from the opposite direction. He was as quiet as a mouse, and shadows seemed to pulse across his skin.

She’d seen the very same thing from Lorcan more than once.

Her heart cracked in two at the thought of him. Tears welled in her eyes as grief burned the back of her throat. How could she do this? How could she keep moving forward when he was gone? She’d never even had a chance to say goodbye. He hadn’t even met her eyes before the sword came down on his neck.

Pain shot through her core. Shaking, she forced herself toward the guards.

When she reached the mouth of the alley, Finnegan slowed to a stop and brought his fingers to his lips. The whistle was low and eerie. Animalistic. The guards stiffened and turned to glance toward the gates, out at the wastes. They thought there was something out there.

Now was their chance to strike.

She gripped her dagger and charged. Finnegan was a blur of hectic motion. Together, they crashed into the trio of guards just as they realized they were under attack. Their shouts rang through the silent night, fear and anger flashing across their faces.

Reyna’s dagger sank into the nearest warrior. The blade slid deep into his gut, just below the bottom edge of his leather armor. Gritting her teeth, she jerked the blade to the side and then ripped it out of his flesh. He thundered to the ground at her feet, his blood spilling onto the mud.

“Reyna!” Finnegan shouted from behind her.

She whirled to find the second guard looming toward her with his own dagger raised. Finnegan was busy with the third, their swords clashing. Reyna ducked low just as the blade whistled by her ear. Heart thundering, she jumped back up and threw every ounce of energy she had behind the blow.

She aimed it at his gut, but he dodged it just enough for it to glance off his armor. Growling, she whirled again, her hands trembling with the need for vengeance. These wood fae had swarmed the city. With their cruel, wicked king. The king who had killed the closest friend she’d ever had.

Her lover.

Her love.

Tears streamed down her face as she and the wood fae danced the dance of death. He launched an attack, and then she did. On and on it went until her breath shuddered from tired lungs and her limbs ached.

Stumbling back, she glared at the wood fae, tossing her dagger back and forth in her hands.