The Lost Fae (The Twisted Crown #3) - A.K. Koonce Page 0,4
wall that pop open to reveal new weapons. Dark dangerous weapons that I immediately recognize.
Iron.
The sword and axe get dropped into the hidden storage and both of them arm themselves with wicked blades cut from the deadly material. The captain points her iron sword at us.
"I guess we'll see where your loyalty lies. If you're being honest, then I wish you best of luck in surviving the incoming raid."
Then Captain Beatrice Ann and her first mate Johanna burst through the door. Their presence replaced only by the sound of a roaring battle cry.
Two
Lost To History
Boots clomp in an angry stampede all over the main deck. The sound of swords sparking off of one another rings like battered wind chimes. Lincoln and I bolt out of our seats. My hand reaches for his as we peek out the cabin door.
Large grappling hooks cling to the ship’s rails. Pointy-eared Fae spill over its edge and into the frenzy of waiting humans. Colors flicker behind their backs like waving flags tethered to their backs. Fae growl at the iron cuts that bite the flesh harder than they should and push forward nonetheless. Humans scatter about, forming a perimeter around us and the stairs that lead down into the ship to the right of the cabin.
A few Fae stand before the humans. Bright and sparkling, their wind-blown flags rise up behind them. Not flags... No.
Wings.
Some of them are tattered at their edges, other's wings are sliced and scarred. More Fae rise up over the edge, but don't use the long ropes to pull them to the waiting human army like the others did. They hover over the entire ship with wings beating to create a strong tornado of wind.
Some wings are the red of freshly drawn blood, others are a crisp blue of a star filled night. Vibrant fuchsias and striking chartreuse, every Fae holds a different blend of color in their wings.
"Barnabus! Call off your goons or this will be the last time you try to steal from me!" Beatrice's voice calls out.
Barnabus. Lincoln thinks, his thoughts striking at recognition of the name. There is a longing in his gaze too as he watches the Fae do what he hasn't been able to do himself in years. My own wings lay curled against my skin underneath my dress, twitching.
"You know that name, don't you!? Just as I could recall Beatrice's," I say as I kick at the same boards the Captain and first mate did. The hidden compartment easily pops open and I pull out the captain's long sword. I hold it steady in my hand. My attention drifts to his back, to the scarred stumps along his shoulder blades. I don't let myself look long.
Lincoln's throat bobs. He looks from me to the Fae that scurry onto the deck ripping at the humans that stand prepared for the attack.
"It's not a good thing," he finally amends. Carefully, he slips his hand over mine and pulls the sword from my grip. "I'm trained to use this. You are not."
"And we are going to do something about that aren't we?" I growl and pluck the axe from its hiding spot.
"Of course," he smiles. "But for now, you stay behind me."
"Beside you," I step up next to him, lifting my brows.
"Beside me."
"Now just to confirm, we are fighting off the Fae right? Not the humans?" I spin the axe like I'd watched Johanna do. It's blade whistles through the air and accompanies the sound of the weapons that clash only yards in front of us.
"We'll help the humans. But I'm not sure if that's the right choice just yet."
"Well, we are about to find out."
Three Fae, nicked with long jagged scars, break through the line of humans entangled in battle. They fly over the combat that rages above my head. Blood dots the deck and I can't be sure which race it belongs to. The tang of their mortal blood and Fae magic fills my nostrils. It's almost hard to breathe.
A new sort of claiming races through me. The humans, they're mine. They're my past, they're the old Briar, brittle and feisty. No one is going to hurt them, unless it's me claiming Lincoln as mine.
The Fae's steps stumble as they lower to the floor. Their heads tilt in unison as they flick their gazes up and down us. We're just like them. Mostly. My own wings flicker behind me, moving with the breeze, lifting up off my back.