Page 77 of The Blood Queen

Red fury.

His red blood.

He’s standing between me and what I want. Again. He’s always been right there, a lurking wall keeping me from security, from a home, from things he could’ve easily given. He chose to be a blockade rather than a father, and I’m not about to let him keep Alyth from doing what she needs to do.

“Alyth,” I say to her, keeping my eyes on my father. “Run.”

I expected to be gutted at the idea of us separating, but I’m calm.

This is what I’m meant to do. I know it. I hear Beira’s words echo through me: Some fires are destined to burn themselves out.

For Alyth.

I think it again.

For Alyth.

Next to me, she hesitates. Just a second.

It’s as good as a love declaration from her, this loyal, duty-bound girl, that she’d think, for even half a breath, of staying for me rather than saving the world.

I wish I could look at her. See her face one last time.

But I don’t dare let Cecil out of my sight.

Cecil doesn’t look away from me either, but he sneers. “Run, girl, and I’ll stab him straight through.”

“Do it, then,” I snarl, and I dive at him.

The edge of his blade slices my neck, but I don’t care. The pain bites through me, centers me, and as easy as waking, I’m in a rage.

A rage I can control.

I’m not sure where Alyth’s gone—hopefully away, to safety. I’ll buy her time. Create enough of a ruckus for her to get to the stags and go.

She’ll do it. She’ll get to the loom.

She’ll save everyone.

So I’ll save her.

“Fight me!” I scream the words as Cecil stumbles back. There’s a small campfire in this clearing between tents; he almost goes into it, finds his footing, lifts his sword. I scream again, “Fight me! I’m here! You wanted me? I’m here!”

Let the soldiers descend on me. Let the High Blade herself saunter over, singed and furious. Let all the focus of this army be on me like I’m the sun, and I’ll burn now. Oh, I’ll burn.

A weapon’s in my hand. Not sure when I pulled it. A short sword from the fae realm, and when I catch Cecil’s next blow, the blade glows blue right before a small ripple of energy shoves him a few feet back.

Stomping feet thunder into this clearing. Soldiers encircle the area, staying back when Cecil growls at them, “He’s mine,” and then he dives for me again.

There’s no cry of alarm that Alyth’s caught.

She got away. She must have.

I catch Cecil’s next blow with another shove of energy from the sword. He teeters back, spitting and snarling, his eyes darkening, his posture tensing.

He’s in a rage now too.

I’ve not seen my father in a rage yet. He’s always been monstrous, a slimy, lying sack of putrescence, so the transformation isn’t much different.