A Love From A Different World

Chapter 81

The princess tried not to vomit as she got to the streets, tried not to show her repulsion show.

It was a bloodbath.

Magic shields were being ripped open, one by one.

Bodies fell from the sky.

Screams on the bridge, hissing laughter, and then— A wet, crunching thud.

That's when she saw it.

Blood shone on the white marble bridge, sparkling like rubies in the sun.

There, on one of those towering, elegant lampposts flanking the bridge ...

Her body was bent, her back arched on the impact, as if she were in the throes of passion. Her golden hair had been shorn to the skull. Her golden eyes had been plucked out.

The golden queen.

She was twitching where she had been impaled on the post, the metal pole straight through her slim torso, gore clinging to the metal above her.

Aelin held onto the railing of the bridge to stop herself from vomiting.

This was the King's work, she finally understood. And the mortal queen's too, apparently. This is what war in Prythian looked like. This was why Rhysand had been so keen on getting the book; to stop this slaughter.

And she had been moments away from taking his only line of defence against this monstrosity.

Aelin was not sure who was worst, her, or the king who had ordered this.

But she had no time to mull it over, not when people were still dying.

Nonetheless, she could not break her stare from the golden queen. Or from the grey creature, who swept through the hole it had made and alighted atop the blood-soaked lamppost. "Regards," it hissed, "of the mortal queens. And Jurian." Then it leaped into flight, fast and sleek—heading right for the theater district we'd left.

Turning her head, she saw Cassian, he too transfixed on the queen.

He locked eyes with Aelin, widened them for a second. The general rushed to her, armour clung to him. "Run home, now." The urgency in his voice, the panic.

And if the general was panicking- this was very, very bad.

A second later, he was in the sky.

Around her, hole after hole was punched through that red shield, those winged creatures pouring in, dumping the Hybern soldiers they had carried across the sea. Soldiers of every shape and size—lesser faeries.

The golden queen's gaping mouth was opening and closing like a fish on land. Save her, help her—

Aelin had a tiny bit of healing powers, if she could just-

She took a step and watched as the queen's body slumped.

Aelin felt her death whisper past.

The screams, the beating wings, the whoosh and thud of arrows erupted in the sudden silence.

She ran for the side of the Sidra, ran to whatever lay unprotected. From the sounds of it, she made merely minutes- perhaps less- before they reached her street.

Faeries were rushing past, racing for shelter, for friends and family. She hit the end of the bridge, the steep hills rising up—

Hybern soldiers were already atop the hill, at the two Palaces, laughing at the screams, the pleading as they broke into buildings, dragging people out. Blood dribbled down the cobblestones in little rivers.

Her revulsion threatened to knock her off her feet.

A thunderous boom rocked the other side of the city, and she went down at the impact.

Cassian and Azriel were both in the skies now. And where they flew, those winged creatures died. Arrows of red and blue light shot from them, and those shields— Twin shields of red and blue merged, sizzling, and slammed into the rest of the aerial forces. Flesh and wings tore, bone melted—

Until hands encased in stone tumbled from the sky. Only hands. Clattering on rooftops, splashing into the river. All that was left of them—what two Illyrian warriors had worked their way around.

But there were countless more who had already landed. Too many. Roofs were wrenched apart, doors shattered, screaming rising and then silenced—

This was not an attack to sack the city. It was an extermination.

And rising up before me, merely a few blocks down, the Rainbow of Velaris.

It had been so beautiful when she had first gotten to the city. Aelin had found it comforting in a world where she knew such little beauty. And now, it was bathed in blood.

Those creatures converged there. As if they knew just exactly where to strike the heart of the city.

Those godsdamned queens.

Fire was rippling, black smoke staining the sky— Across the river, thunder boomed again. And it was not Cassian, or Azriel, who held the other side of the river. But Amren.

Her slim hands had only to point, and soldiers would fall— fall as if their own wings failed them. They slammed into the streets, thrashing, choking, clawing, shrieking, just as the people of Velaris had shrieked.

She whipped her head to the Rainbow a few blocks away—left unprotected. Defenceless. The street before her was clear, the lone safe passage through hell. A female screamed inside the artists' quarter. And Aelin knew her path.

Running, Aelin cursed. She had no weapons on her. But she would not be defenseless. No, she was Celeana Sadorthian, the greatest assassin of all time. She did not need weapons. Not when her fire- burning so fiercely in her veils, ached to be let out.

She was at the heart of the bloody rainbow in no time.

This wasn't her home. These weren't her people.

But they could have been. Everything around her brought her back to that fateful night when her own people had been butchered. When families were desecrated, when children were brutally murdered.

Never again.

And so Aelin, Heir of Fire, unleashed herself on the city.