Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 935(@200wpm)___ 748(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
And there stood death incarnate in a black suit, holding the Spear of Lugh—Graves.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Death was lost in Graves’s thunderstorm eyes. Rage filled out the perfect suit. Nightmares in the set of his stance. And the spear at his side telling him to smite his enemies, the way it had always whispered to Kierse.
Her heart leaped at the sight of him. Had he heard her? Had their minds connected after all? She had been alone, prepared to go to the end of this ritual without help. And now he was here. He’d come. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to do any of this alone.
His eyes slid across the Druids on the perimeter of the room, Niamh struggling toward the throne, and Kierse and Lorcan at the center coated in magic, hands tied.
If fury had a face, it would be his beautiful visage.
“Graves,” she gasped.
His eyes landed on her. “My wren.”
He took one step through the rush of magic and into the Oak Throne room, and the chanting turning to terror. Graves cut straight through the line of magic in the Druidic room. He ignored everything—the spell whipping around the room, Niamh’s fight for the throne, the Druids that tried to come for him—as he headed toward her. He was single-minded as he trod across the moss-covered floor.
Kierse felt the collapse of whatever barrier had kept her from reaching for the sacred tree. She could feel it from a distance once more. She closed her eyes and hoped to find access, to find a pool of power at her disposal. But the spell was still ongoing, and a protective ring of magic still held them in place, so when she reached, nothing happened.
Two figures appeared behind Graves. A lanky yet muscular Black man in Druid robes and a short pale redhead in an oversize T-shirt and shorts. Her vision blurred as she realized it was Ethan and Gen. Ethan, who had betrayed her. Gen, who had been injured during the heist. They were both here for her. And they were both…working with Graves?
It felt unfathomable that Ethan would do so. After going to Lorcan and Niamh about her memory work, how could he be here working with his enemy? She couldn’t process the thought.
Still, Ethan dropped to his knees as soon as he was in the room and buried his hands into the soil. He tilted his head up, and Kierse felt a flutter as he drew on their sacred tree in the adjacent building. The magic flowed freely to him, and when his eyes burst open, they were blasted wide at the pupils. Gold magic wove around his hands as they surged through the earth.
Gasps rang out as one by one vines crept up the bodies of the Druids. The chanting died as they focused their own magic on severing their restraints. But Ethan had the advantage of surprise, and most were too busy with his vines to escape.
Those who did were met with Gen. Not the warrior that Ethan had become in the last six months, but her tiny, prophetic friend. These were Lorcan’s strongest Druids. How could Graves bring Gen here?
Kierse screamed, “Watch out!”
But Gen lifted her hands, and suddenly she was floating in the air, her magic a soft glow around her body as she lifted effortlessly above the ground. She drew from their shared tree, but Kierse could almost sense a shift in her powers. As if something had amplified them since Kierse had last seen her. Without the triskel to give them the additional powers, Kierse didn’t know how it was possible. But she was seeing Gen with her own two eyes as she towered over the other Druids, releasing her energy in a burst.
The first Druid to escape Ethan’s vines took the brunt of her power full to the chest. He groaned and collapsed back onto the earth, knocked out. Kierse’s eyes were wide with wonder as she watched Ethan shift from someone she had always had to take care of to this formidable opponent.
And then there was Graves, almost standing before them. At the last second, Declan escaped Ethan’s vines, turning them to ash with his own magic and rushing for Graves.
A ball of light formed in the hands of Lorcan’s second as he whispered a quick incantation. “I’ll fucking kill you,” he roared.
He threw it at Graves, who took up a defensive stance at Declan’s approach. His own magic deflected the power. It burst into a firework over their heads. He blocked the next fireball and then a third. Stepping toward Declan each time, until he was within range. Declan’s eyes widened as Graves approached. As if he truly had thought that he’d outmatch the Holly King.
“You always believed you were stronger than you were,” Graves said as he whirled the spear in his hand. Then he thrust it home, stabbing Declan through the chest.