A Court of Curse and Roses; acotar

𝖂𝖆𝖗; 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖊

War, part one.

A horn trumpets. We winnow into war.

The battlefield is carnage, hell unleashed, death incarnate. A bloody, incoherent, mind-shattering nightmare. I smell the sharp tang of coppery blood, salt from the sea that stretches out behind us, and the knee-quaking scent of fear. It is overwhelming.

I barely have time to breathe, to take in the bloodstained, vast plain we have been winnowed to before Hyberns soldiers are rushing toward us, monsters roaring and swords rising. The sun is ruthless above us and for a moment, I am blind as armour glints in the light, as swords clash against swords, reducing me to a whimpering mess in the middle of the field. I look around frantically and find Jurian at my side, a handful of human soldiers flanking him, awaiting orders from their ancient, ingenious general.

His eyes are wide, primal and feral with war, as he grips my face. He leans into me and shouts over the overwhelming battle, "I need you in the skies Perse, I need you to watch our backs, tell me where Hyberns soldiers are advancing from,"

I try to nod but I find myself immobile, stuck in my shaking body, my wings as stuck as my breath is. I can not breathe. I can not breathe.

Jurian grips my face and shakes me, hard, as he repeats the order, "Fly Persephone, fly."

My mind snaps back into place. I need to fly. Body shaking, I extend my wings, bend at my knees, and launch my body as hard as I can into the air.

Illyrians, strong with their bat-like wings, and other winged beasts, occupy the skies. I try my best to weave in between them, dodging swords and arrows as I flap harder than I ever have, as I aim for the sanctuary of height.

When the war is miles below me, I halt in place and survey the field. Hyberns soldiers stretch on toward the horizon, up into the sharp, rocky mountain face, where many more soldiers and beasts wait for their chance at the bloodshed. I realise in horror, as I watch the courts shove and push against Hyberns impenetrable force, that we will lose this war. Our armies are too slight, too quick to go down, cornered in between the sea and the mountains, with nowhere to escape to. And as I look out to the sea, I almost cry in fear at the sight that I see.

Out in the dark waters, an armada appears. Thousands of ships, teeming with soldiers, the remainder of Hyberns army. From my vantage point, I can see their gleaming teeth, smirking as they approach the court's army from behind.

It is going to be a slaughter. I must warn Jurian and Tamlin. I must get to them.

I tuck in my wings, preparing to let the wind take me down when the sound of a dozen horns slices through the air, slices through the sound of Hyberns ships.

I turn back and that is when I see them, sailing over the eastern horizon, winged soldiers, thousands upon thousands of them, flying straight toward us, high above the ocean. And below them, is another armada of ships. More than Hybern's armada. Far, far more.

I know who they are the moment the aerial host's white, feathered wings become clear. My mouth opens. Shock rushes into my body as the winged soldiers approach the battlefield.

Seraphim. They are seraphim. They are like me.

I watch in shock as a tan-skinned, dark-haired, seraphim male approaches the shore first. He looks around slowly before he sees someone, Rhysand and his inner circle. In swift, smooth movements, he flies towards them, his smile wide and beautiful as he pauses in front of them, exchanging words as he gestures to the flying legion behind him.

The seraphim nod before he shoots back into the air, shouting commands out to his legion. Quicker than a gust of wind, the soldiers, beautiful and cold as ice, soar towards the remainder of the Illyrian forces. They draw out long, silver swords and fight Hyberns beasts using both their weapons and their long, stark white wings, bending and spinning as they fight.

They are beautiful. Deadly. I am frozen in the sky, a thousand questions on my lips as I watch the dark-haired seraphim commander twirl in the air, his sword taking out dozens of beasts in one deadly swoop.

He thrusts his sword through the body of a winged, gaunt beast. From my vantage, I see another threat before he can. Another beast, swifter than should be possible, progresses on the seraphim male. A cruel smirk crawls onto its hideous face as he looms upon the distracted male.

I tuck in my wings and fall.

As I do, I draw out my sword from the sheath at my side. The weight is still heavy and so I use both my hands to clutch it. I throw out my wings as I reach the seraphim. The monster pauses as it turns to me in pleased surprise, its attention now entirely on me.

It tilts its head and lets out a gurgle.

I raise my sword as high as I can muster, and bare my teeth.

"Come on then," I scream.

It charges.

The monster is quicker than I anticipated and I can barely hold my stanch as its sword clanks against mine. The noise is deafening. Air whips around me as I dodge out of the impending swipe. Although the beast is fast, it is not as agile and slight as I am, and so it barely has time to turn before I let the wind drop me down and carry me back around the monster.

It lets out a gurgle of agony as I impale my sword into its back. I use the force of the wind against my wings to drag my body, and my weapon, down so that the sword slices through the monster's back. Blood splatters against my face as I tear my sword out of the monster. It crumples and falls down to the plain, a bloodied and torn mess, another one of Hyberns beasts gone.

I look up as the seraphim male turns to face me. He pauses and his handsome face twists into one of confusion as he tilts his head, his eyebrows pulled together. He doesn't lower his sword as he circles me and asks, "Who are you?"

I sheath my sword. My heart clatters against my chest as I take in the first person of my kind that I have ever met. I breathe in a shaky breath as he watches me curiously. I raise my chin, extend my wings, and say, "I am Persephone,"

The seraphim freezes. His eyes are cold as he flies closer to me. His mouth opens to say something but before he can, a familiar cry of pain catches my attention.

Tamlin.

I do not hesitate. I turn away from the seraphim male and I fly to him, to my mate.

As the ground looms up towards me, I see him. My mate is encircled by dozens of Hybern soldiers. But these soldiers are not battling with swords. They are unarmed, using only their hands and the deadly powers that are being thrust out of their palms. They are fighting with powers, I discover in astonishment, as Tamlin uses his own gifts to deflect the attacks that verge on him.

I drop to the ground behind the soldiers. Tamlin lets out another cry of pain as an attack meets its mark, sending a splattering of his blood across the grassy land. The High Lord lowers his head in exhaustion as he falls to his knees. One of the soldiers guffaws as the rest circle, like vultures, closer towards my mate.

I shut my eyes. I breathe in deeply. I muster the hostility, the dread, and the power that rattles in my bones and thrust out my hands as I let out a scream. Unadulterated, unfiltered power surges out of me and the soldiers around Tamlin crumble into piles of ash.

The High Lord looks up at me. He simply gives me his handsome smirk before he gets back to his knees, draws out two swords, and rushes back into the thicket of the battle. I watch him as he battles, swerving and pivoting, agile on his feet. Even now, covered in blood and grime, he is still beautiful. I sore back into the air.

I look around the plane, searching for my other male, and I gasp as I see him. He is not alone. The dark-haired seraphim, along with a dark-skinned fae, raise their swords at Jurian. Another gasp echoes out of my lips as the seraphim raise his sword, readying himself to strike the human down. To kill my Jurian.

I can not help the scream that tears itself out of my throat.

I tuck in my wings and drop to the ground once more, but it is not before I hear the unmistakable sound of metal against bone.

The scent of blood.

And then, the haunting cry of death.