They were in.
Soldiers pushed through the giant doors, trampling over the enemy and flooding the upper tier of the city. They’d taken out most of the archers, which left the dragons free rein to fly inside. Trulian veered inward, his eyes forward, and they followed in his wake.
Kerrigan could feel the tide of the battle turn. Before the reinforcements had shown up, they hadn’t been able to get past the battlement. It was too early to say, but it already felt like it was only a matter of time. And with the boats burned yesterday, there was no escape for those inside.
Trulian vaulted from his dragon, landing heavily in the central square with his blade extended. “Samael!” he taunted. “Come fight me, you coward!”
The rest of the riders dropped into the square with him and immediately engaged the soldiers. Trulian hacked aside soldiers as if they were made of paper instead of flesh and blood. His magic flowed like a living, breathing thing. Kerrigan had never seen anything like it. Over a thousand years of carefully honed magic. A man so powerful that he’d fought against the abyss all these long years after his beloved’s death.
“Samael!” he roared again. “Your soldiers die for you.” He hacked down another Fae. “They die, and you hide! Your father would be ashamed of you. At least Braidien fought his own battles.”
And then, from the far opening to the market, King Samael Ollivier stepped from the shadows and materialized out of thin air. The same trick both of his children had inherited but that he alone had truly mastered.
“You dare decry my father’s name,” the king jeered. He removed a blade as black as night from a sheath at his waist.
Trulian knocked aside the Fae before him and stepped into the center of the madness that had cleared for them. “Oh, I dare!”
“Who are you but some lowly Society bastard?”
“I might be lowly,” Trulian said, leveling his sword at Samael, “but I am your doom.”
Samael jumped from his spot at the entrance to stand before Trulian in the space of a heartbeat, using those clever shadows to his advantage. But Trulian hardly blinked. He raised his sword and met the king against his blade. Their magic sang a symphony as they came apart and collided back together. Both were utter masters. Circling, rebounding, throwing strikes Kerrigan couldn’t even see in the blur. It was as if the edges of reality had shifted. And all the while, the conflict raged around them, soldiers unaware that their fate was being determined in this one fight. A battle that should have ended a thousand years ago, coming to fruition at the heart of a dying city.
Kerrigan took down another Fae, who seemed surprised that someone so small could pack that much of a punch. She was constantly underestimated for her size. But as she turned to face her next opponent, no one was there. The space was open wide as Trulian and Samael fought.
She didn’t know who moved first or which opening happened. All she saw was Trulian’s blade pierce Samael’s defenses as he stabbed him through the stomach. The king stumbled, shock registering on his face. Fordham jerked toward the fight, as if for a split second, he thought he could stop it. But there was no stopping it. He knew that as much as anyone. Maybe more.
“Your time is over,” Trulian told him, twisting the blade.
Samael fell onto the stone. A gurgle escaped his mouth. Blood ran freely from the wound. “You… will… pay for this,” he managed to get out as blood came out of his mouth.
“No. This is what I have waited all this time for. I should have never let my love keep you safe,” he growled.
Samael glared at him, and then with his dying breath, he shot a bolt of shadows straight at Trulian. It was just as Wynter had done to Alura, but infinitely worse. A thousand years of carefully controlled magic from the king. Trulian had no chance of dodging the magic. There was no escape. The bolt slammed straight through his chest. Trulian went stock-still before toppling over at the feet of his greatest enemy.
“No!” Kerrigan screamed.
She dashed through the open space and skidded to her knees before Trulian. She turned him over onto his back. But then Zina was there, appearing at her side out of the crowd. Her eyes were haunted as she reached for her father’s pulse.
“He’s dead,” she muttered.
Tears clouded Kerrigan’s eyes. “No, no, no, I’m so sorry.”
“This is how he would have wanted to go. He was ready to see Mother.”
Something hard came into Zina’s face as she saw her father lying dead on the stones. And then with a fury Kerrigan had never seen from her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, and every single person on the square froze to stone. She held them in her grasp. Not differentiating between friend or foe. They were all just there. The people who had led her father back into a battle that would take his life.