Shadow Cursed by May Sage Page 0,43

"They'll kill the mages, eventually."

"Nothing will work indefinitely," Drusk counters. "This isn't the entire human army. It's a tenth, if that. Reinforcements will be on their way. Let's manage one crisis at a time."

The truth of his words makes my stomach sink.

The unvarnished truth is that we simply don't have enough mages, enough fighters, enough fae to withstand an attack by hundreds of thousands of humans.

We have to try all the same.

We reach the sculpted doors, and I finally see them in the distance.

There are at least ten thousand humans rushing down the hill, most on foot, some mounted on bridled horses, pulling machines I've only read about. Catapults. I see one working right away, propelling a fire stone right at us. It crashes against the hall of Stars. Screams, blood, and gunpowder thicken the air.

"The shield," I say, numb and cold. So very cold. "What about the shield? We could…"

"We don't have all the elemental stones—not yet," my mother replies. "The Court of Ash hasn't made one, and we're still missing water."

I'm desperate. We're all desperate and hopeless. "I'll go to the opening." I start to run.

My mother is quick to catch my arm. I turn to her, glaring up into her green eyes.

"No. You can't. If we lose you—"

"No one can kill as well as I," I point out.

"And you have the stamina of a child. Don't waste your life against vermin."

"So, I should stand back while our people waste theirs?" I'm screaming at her.

I yank my arm back, though her claws grow and sink into my skin.

But when I turn to run southwest again, Drusk stands in my way.

"Not you." There's a warning in my mind. He doesn't get to hold me back.

"We don't need you to suck humans dry. Our soldiers, our knights can manage them for a time. What we need is a water stone and a fire stone. Only one of us has a link to the Sea Court."

A link? I could roll my eyes, if I wasn't too busy fuming. I danced with one guy, once.

"I can go to Ash, and make them craft a fire stone right now. You need to get us a water stone. This is how we save Whitecroft. You aren't a soldier, princess. Let them to their work. Yours is to lead."

I want to rage, scream, and insist I rush to the front. I don't, because under the haze of bloodlust, I can tell he's right.

I nod. "All right. All right," I repeat, with more conviction. "I'm going."

Before I do, I step closer to him and get on my tiptoes. Embarrassingly, that's not high enough to reach his face, but he bends down and drops his lips on my forehead. "Go get that stone, princess."

"Right back at you."

I have a mission. It's not nearly as satisfying as cutting down a sea of humans could be, but it's considerably more useful. Though my body would have loved nothing more than to join the fight, I run to the harbor instead.

When I reach the quiet, dark shores, I don't take a moment to hesitate. I dive to the bottom of the river.

I never was taught to swim as a child. It's an activity beneath gentry folk, because running water is known to stifle our magic. It wasn't until my thirtieth year that Meda insisted I should know how to survive water. One of the many ways her seelie education differed from ours. We folk of the dark tend to shy away from that which displeases us. The seelie will always do what they believe is necessary.

I hated water then. I hate it more now, but I'm grateful. I remember an awkward stroke. I shed my doublet, letting it sink, and release my wings. They rip the fabric of my shirt at the back, but I ignore it. The iridescent, thin membranes flap, propelling me forward faster than my arms ever could.

I need to find a water folk—any water folk.

After some distance, I return to the surface, as much to breathe as to check my location. Then I sink again, and keep swimming. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the depths, yet I see no folk at all.

This can't be a coincidence. The river used to be full of nixies and other fae.

The Sea Court is staying away from Tenebris.

They know we're hopeless. They know we will fall.

I can't give up, although my limbs are heavy, my lungs begging for a break. I keep going, farther and farther, willing myself