Page 177 of Reign

Gritting my teeth, I threw my weight against the beast’s neck, forcing the wyvern into a steep, perilous dive. The rushing winds dried my eyes as I wailed in desperation, praying I might reach my brother before he met his end.

“No! Please… Gods!” I screamed, hoping for divine intervention.

Just as his fate seemed sealed, Finn’s descent halted abruptly; he hung in midair, mere inches above the treetops. Below, Jane stood with her palms aglow with violet light, her lips rapidly chanting a spell. Relieved, I thanked the gods. Gradually, she lowered Finn until his boots met solid ground.

I lingered long enough to see him join her, then seized the reins and guided the wyvern upward once more.

My gaze shifted to the bedlam below, where fairies and elves clashed fiercely against goblins—their movements were agile, relentless. Suddenly, my breath caught at the sight of an unarmed elf cornered by a gang of goblins, his desperate cries for help lost amid the clamor of war. Please, someone save him, I thought—and in a blink, a blur of black bounded across the sands.

Dog charged fearlessly, tossing goblins aside with a mere flick of her head. The elf’s face wavered between horror and gratitude as the Black Shuck tore his attackers limb from limb.

My eyes then snagged upon a massive, winged shape—Regina, mounted on her formidable dragon, trailing billowing smoke as she soared toward the shores. I feared that she’d flown over the villages, scorching the innocent subjects below. The vision she once showed me—Green Vale engulfed in flames—seared into my mind, compelling me to pray for my family’s safety.

Regina’s beast unleashed a torrent of flames upon the beach, incinerating men, fae, and goblins alike. In her fury, she made no distinction between ally and foe. I couldn’t tell whether she still vied for the throne or had entirely surrendered to destruction.

On the sands, Mabina and Isobel fought alongside the fae, their daggers twirling as they plunged, stabbed, and slashed the goblins in a deadly dance. Meanwhile, Fitzroy stood with Elizebeth and Margaret, shielded by a wall of armored knights as they chanted incantations. A radiant glow emanated from their palms, coalescing into a shimmering barrier over the fleet at sea.

Then Regina’s dragon descended, spitting green acid that hissed against the magical fortification—leaving it singed yet unbroken.

Consumed by a maniacal rage, Regina circled back, her dragon igniting every fae-mounted wyvern in their path. Blazing carcasses tumbled into the dark swells below. Arrows shot up, but Regina ducked and weaved her beast, emerging unscathed. As the dragon rammed into a wyvern—dislodging its elven rider and sending him spiraling through the rain—I noticed that Regina wasn’t alone in the saddle. Tucked against her chest was Bronwyn, who was still disguised as Billy.

I followed their trail at a distance, attempting to anticipate Regina’s next move. Her attention shifted abruptly when she spotted Fitzroy and the witches, still shielded by a phalanx of knights fending off goblins. Regina pressed down on the reins, nose-diving toward them with lethal speed, threatening to obliterate the coven along with herself and her dragon.

“Gænn!” Go! I called to the wyvern, urging it forward in a bid to warn them.

Before Regina could become a martyr for her cause, she pulled up sharply and eased into a smooth glide. Her silver mane streamed behind her as her gaze fixed on something below.

I followed her penetrating stare, scanning the battlefield. At first, there was only war—until I caught sight of two figures crouched behind a piece of driftwood. Emma and Billy, their hands entwined, were clearly attempting to channel visions. Emma’s face, though distant, appeared as pained as it had been the previous night at the Anchor, when she had insisted she lacked the gift. Unease crept over me; why would she attempt to conjure visions amid battle if she doubted her ability? Had she seen something she wished to conceal?

Before I could contemplate my suspicions, an aerial scuffle diverted my attention. Atop the dragon, Regina grappled with Bronwyn. Upon noticing Billy, she must have realized this goblin wasn’t who he appeared to be. An unfair struggle ensued as Regina used her size to edge the goblinette off the beast. Bronwyn clung desperately to the scales—but lost her grip, plunging toward the sands and sending a plume of dust skyward on impact.

I pressed the reins and dove as swiftly as the wyvern would allow, willing Bronwyn to cling to life long enough for me to attempt to save her with magic.

The wyvern skidded across the sands, and I dismounted without hesitation. Approaching Bronwyn, I was met by an eerie stillness—her shape-shifting spell had faded, revealing her true form. Her face was contorted in pain; her eyes slightly ajar and mouth slackened. The impact had cratered the wet sands around her small frame, and her little legs twisted unnaturally with fractured bones jutting through torn flesh. Though the injuries looked excruciating, she made no sound—she was already gone.

A soft touch startled me. I spun around, fumbling for my sword, but my weak grip faltered. It was Mabina. Unflinching in the presence of death, she knelt beside Bronwyn’s lifeless body and gently took her hand.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” she whispered, pressing her lips against the goblinette’s small fingers.

I stood frozen, chilled by fear, as Mabina removed her cloak and draped it over Bronwyn before clasping her hands in a final blessing.

A piercing shriek interrupted Mabina’s mourning prayer. We turned sharply to see Isobel sprawled out on her back, as two goblins descended upon her with wild, bloodthirsty eyes.

Mabina sprang to her feet. “Stay there,” she commanded furiously.

I didn’t dare defy her.

With rain beading on her shimmering wings, Mabina advanced, twirling her dagger. Seizing a goblin, she sliced his neck clean in a brutal swipe. Blood gushed from the wound, mingling with the rain pooling on the sands as the creature collapsed lifelessly beside Isobel. There was no time to help the elf up before another vengeful goblin yanked at Mabina’s rain-slickened wing, intent on dragging the fairy queen to the ground.

In a swift motion, Mabina flicked her blade, holding the pointed tip snug against her thumb, and pounded her fist over shoulder, into the goblin clinging to her back. The storm muffled his sharp gasp as the blade cracked his skull. Then, she quickly turned, taking the goblin by the drenched strands of his hair; with nimble grace, she twisted him against her chest and slit his throat—the downpour soon washing away every trace of the execution.

Isobel lay on the sand, panting, her cheeks streaked with blood and rain.

Mabina turned, dagger poised at Isobel’s face, and barked, “Don’t be so reckless.”

Isobel extended a hand, raindrops dripping from her outstretched fingers as she pleaded for help to stand. Though still seething with anger, Mabina didn’t hesitate to haul her up with a firm grip.

“This is war, Mab—not a May Day parade,” Isobel snapped, her voice hoarse yet resolute. “I’m here to fight, not cower.”