Ryan Graudin - All That Glows

Keep her talking. Let time do its work. I take a deep breath. “But how? How did you get to Edward without anyone seeing? I was with you the day he died. . . .”

A smile, crazed and satisfied, slips across the queen’s face. “It was no easy task, trying to assassinate a monarch without the court catching wind of it. I knew they would try to stop me. They’re still too blind, too loyal to the promise we so carelessly gave those centuries ago. But the soul feeders were more than willing. They even decided to play nice with one another once I offered them a place in the new kingdom, the Albion without mortals. So I stayed in the Highlands, keeping court while the Banshees and Green Women did their work. It wasn’t until the Banshee killed Muriel and King Edward that I realized that only the monarch’s killer can partake in the blood magic—another thing Merlin refused to tell us. The Banshee took it all for herself, but I was still more powerful. I killed her and started again, from scratch. It was Richard’s blood I needed—and I knew this time I had to slay him by my own hand.

“But how to get to Richard? I sent a Green Woman, protected by layers of my own magic, to fetch him—but you proved too strong. I realized that if I wanted to get to Richard, I would have to distract you. So I tried turning your suspicions toward others of the Guard. I knew that if you were looking for a traitor, you wouldn’t see what was happening right under your nose.”

I watch, hard-eyed as her blood blooms, staining the beaded lengths of her sleeves and bodice. Mab played me. She played me well.

“Yet you seemed to be so determined on keeping Richard in the city, where I couldn’t reach him. I had to set the stage: create the illusion of a safe haven. Windsor was the perfect place. All I had to do was procure Herne’s permission to use the land . . . to let as many immortals in as I pleased, be they Frithemaeg or soul feeders. I knew too that if I demanded Herne to help you he would rebel. I counted too much on his pride perhaps . . . for I see you’ve found a way around that. No matter.

“Once Jaida and Cari found you spying, I knew I had to move. The soul feeders did their best to crowd you out. It worked.”

“So you’re going to kill them? All of them?” My voice shakes, a horrible mix of anger and fear. How could Mab, the queen I gave myself to, served so loyally for years, be capable of this? The madness must reach even deeper than I imagined.

It’s in this moment that an irredeemable knowledge settles on me, crushes with its weight. We’re dead. Any hope, any thought I had of reasoning with Mab, wilts under the insanity in her eyes. And the queen, with centuries upon centuries of power, could destroy me in a heartbeat. My magic won’t be enough to save us.

But I must be strong, for Richard. For Anabelle. I cannot let them die afraid.

“The mortals will keep taking until nothing is left, Emrys. Their short existence is tainted with misery and mire. What could you ever want to do with one?”

Her words are bitter wormwood, impossibly harsh to bear.

“There’s beauty in them too,” I say, though I know none of my words will change her mind. Time is the only thing we have left now—I’m stretching, grasping for every granule I can get.

“So it’s love, is it?” Mab sneers. All at once I see her ugliness, lurking in the wrinkle of her nose, the leer of perfect, white teeth. “And you, of all Fae. I had the most faith in you. You had a gift—a talent for magic! Everything would have been much easier if you’d listened to me.”

“There are other ways to do this. We can come out of hiding. Richard wants our worlds to merge. We can be together again.” I raise my hands, a small, hopeless offering.

“They’ll drive us out. Their technology will spread. It won’t stop until it covers everything. Our strength is a thing of the old days. But the blood magic will bring it back.” The red of her irises comes alight, flaming with twisted desires. Behind them, I see visions of death. “Oh yes. Their blood will make us powerful again, Emrys. We can wipe out the plague that’s infested our lands. Albion will be whole again.”

I edge closer to the border of my shield. Always I’m aware of Richard and Anabelle behind me, breathing hot on my ears.

No matter what happens, stay behind me. I’ll hold off her spells. For as long as I can.

Richard jerks. He’s received my warning.

“I won’t let you kill them, I can’t.”

Her laugh slides like a serpent through the raindrops, cruel and cold. “And what, little youngling, do you think you can do to me? Your magic is paltry. Nothing.” Mab spits the words.

I try not to think of how right she is as I brace myself.

“If only you’d had a chance to grow. Such a pity. You had real promise.”

Mab’s first whispered curse lashes out like a bullwhip. The light of my shield shatters, pours down to the ground in a thousand useless pieces. I feel Anabelle cringe behind me, trying to grow smaller. I steal a glance at Richard. His hazel eyes are set, his jaw locked, determined. He clutches something at his side. I can’t get a clear look at it.

As soon as the shield fails, I cast a counterspell. Mab swats it aside with ease, growling at the pain of her still-bleeding shoulder. Another curse hisses out of her, poisons the air of the glade. I face the spell full on. It stops, just barely, under my resistance.

“Lie down and I promise I’ll give you an easy death,” she mocks.

I’d counted on the sickness to gut her away from the inside, but it’s not working fast enough. Mab is still stronger and she knows it. Until now she’s been playing, a cat batting about a scrabbling, defiant mouse. As soon as she wants to get serious, we’re all dead.

I know what I have to do: go for the cat’s throat.

As soon as I jump forward, you and Anabelle have to run. Understand? I tense, fill myself with everlasting breath. I love you, Richard. Never forget that.

Mab is preparing another spell when I lunge, throwing myself at the side opposite her wounded shoulder. She has no time to raise her gimp arm. We fall into the withered leaves, her spell unfinished. Somewhere through the drumming rain and sizzling of magic, I hear the royals’ footsteps, slogging and frantic. I have to hold Mab off long enough—give them time to escape.

Although Mab’s stunned, she’s quick to react. Magic lights her skin, making it acidic to touch. I push through the blinding pain, dig my blazing fingers into her wounded shoulder. Even with Breena’s spell, the arrow’s hole has almost closed. I shove through the clotting blood.

Her shriek is worse than a Banshee’s. Something bursts inside my left ear, but I keep ripping, digging, tearing. Desecrating the human body Mab loves too much to leave. The beauty she clings to, the physicality she forced on us, is my last weapon. My only, final hope is to damage this vessel so severely that the royals will be far off when she kills me.

“We’ve had our turn, Mab.” My scream rises above hers, climbs endlessly through this cathedral of trees and rain. “We’ve drunk so deeply of life that we’ve forgotten what it means. Death is inevitable.”