Thrones of Fire and Darkness

Chapter Nine

A/N: Alright, guys, we've got some action here. So just to let you know, I've given Evangeline raw magic. Hear me out: firstly, we don't know her parenthood, just that she was dropped off at Clarisse's by her mom. So she could potentially have magic in her bloodline. Also, I thought it was unfair that no one but Dorian had it, because it's literally so cool. So, yeah. Also, for the purpose of advancing Evangeline's kind-of mysterious character (at least to Feyre and Mor) she's going to have been through training during her time with the courtesans. Because she was marred by Lysandra, she never actually had a Bidding or was hired, but she ended up going through the training anyway. That's where the 'bad memories' aspect comes in. You'll get it once you read it, so without further ado: here's Chapter Nine. 

Mor readied her blades, took up a defensive position next to me, and I pulled out my last dagger - the other four were buried in the necks of some guards around me - but we both knew it was futile. There were too many of them, and we were already drained. "Feyre?" Mor said, keeping her eyes fixated on the approaching soldiers. "Hm?" I replied, trying to brace myself. "It's been an honor," my friend said, and I turned to smile at her. On the off chance that we could hold out against this army, I might've been able to break the wards, but it was too late. Now I could only fight.

But just as the first soldier reached us, the entire army stopped. Stopped, as if frozen, as if invisible hands were holding them in place. I looked at Mor, confused, but she seemed just as baffled. Then understanding flickers in her brown eyes, probably mirrored in my own. As one, we pivoted and turned to Evangeline.

The redhead was picking at her nails, occasionally looking up at the shield as if reinforcing it with her gaze. When she saw us looking, she tilted her head at us, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Is there something wrong?"

Mor shook her head with wonder, then turned to me. "Well, Feyre, I think you should continue with those wards. Before whatever spell holding those soldiers breaks." Evangeline scoffed, still studying her fingers. "The spell over the soldiers won't break. The one over Beron, though...." As if in response, the High Lord of Autumn's fingers twitch, starting to unfreeze. I turned my magic inward frantically, resuming my assault against those shields. They were just so thick. It was almost impossible to fracture them.

Beron was definitely awakening, now. His entire arm moved a fraction of an inch closer to his sword, and Evangeline was now solely concentrated on her magic. It was no use as darkness like I've never seen before gathered behind him, eating away at whatever magic Evangeline had been using. Beron convulsed once, hate in his russet eyes, hate directed entirely at the girl behind me. He thrashed around again, more violently this time, and the girl swore softly under her breath, refocusing all of her attention on Beron and the blackness around him. Sweat slid down her brow, but he froze again, the blackness dissipating for a second. "Any... time now, Feyre," Evangeline said through her teeth. Those shadows crept back out and started attacking the shield keeping us away from the frozen soldiers. It flashed blue with every blow, and Evangeline winced as if in pain. She might very well be in pain, I thought faintly, keeping a High Lord in place, especially with this new power. Another blow. Another. Flashes of blue permeated the corners of my vision. Evangeline fell to her knees, but the shield held for another four assaults. For five minutes, she held up against this demon of a male. Then she gasped in pain, and Beron broke through.

Cauldron, not again, I thought, weaving my very essence into my magic, cleaving through the main layer of wards. But not before Beron, Mantyx, whoever, fashioned a whip out of that blackness and brought it down on Evangeline's kneeling form. Her back arched, but she didn't make a sound, the magic tearing through her feeble defenses. He brought it down again, again. A small noise escaped her lips, nothing more, and that sound filled me with blistering rage. Never again was I letting Beron touch her. I could tell Mor echoed the sentiment; her grip on the sword in her hand was so tight that her knuckles had gone white. She was one more lash away from flinging herself at the monstrous male, useless or not.