She dropped to her knees as Rowan vel Arquinas leapt over her, his hands a blur, red Fey’cha flying at incredible speed. But there were too many of them and no lu’tan left alive around her to protect his back.

Three sel’dor arrows caught him in the back. He stumbled towards the gaping Well of Souls, Fey’cha still flying from his fingertips. Mages and Eld dropped by the dozens. A fourth arrow slammed into Rowan’s shoulder, spinning him around to face her. His eyes met hers for an instant.

His mouth moved. “Ellysetta, I—“

A fifth arrow buried itself in his chest. He staggered back and toppled into the Well.

Something snapped inside her. The great, dark anger took hold. Her skin flashed hot, then cold, and she began to shake.

This was too much. Too many friends dead. Too much grief and pain and suffering. No more. Not here. Not this day.

Her fingers clenched in fists at her side. She could feel magic rushing towards her, as if she were a vortex, pulling every bit of energy into herself, feeding off it, growing stronger. The Mages tried to call their magic, but she drew it out of them and poured it into herself. She saw their eyes widen and realized they were afraid, and that made her laugh with savage joy.

The fury inside her roared for release, for justice, for blood. Her mind shot out across the battlefield, throughout Kreppes, finding every Eld, every Feraz, every host of Darkness. And she seized them by the throats with invisible hands, lifting them up off the ground, dangling them in the air.

She lifted her shaking fists. The bodies hanging in the air began to twitch and shake. Gurgling noises escaped from throats as the convulsions grew stronger. Terrified eyes bulged and rolled in purpling faces. Billowing clouds of red mist filled the air as hearts exploded from Eld chests and burst into flame.

“Ellysetta!”

The sound of Rain’s voice snapped her out of the strange furor that gripped her. A loud crack—the sound of thousands of necks breaking in unison—sounded across the strangely silent battlefield. Then came the thuds as the corpses fell from the air.

Ellysetta turned to her shei’tan. “Rain, I—” Her voice broke off as her knees buckled. All the energy she’d gathered left her in a whoosh, and darkness filled the vacuum left behind. Senseless, she toppled into his arms.

2nd day of Seledos

The sun shone down upon Kreppes. Its golden light illuminated the devastation of the night’s brutal battle. Swords, which Ellysetta had always found such elegant weapons when displayed in the Cha Baruk, were in reality little more than butchers’ cleavers. Severed limbs scattered the field. Hands. Feet. Heads. Bodies sliced open like haunches of beef. She’d never seen so much blood. The field was soaked in it.

Alongside the dead killed by the enemy and by the ensorcelled allies lay the scattered remains of all those she had slaughtered.

“Come away, Ellysetta,” Rain said. “It’s time to Fire the field.”

“Nei,” she said. “I will watch.” She wasn’t just a shei’dalin. She was a Tairen Soul. War, and its ugly consequences, was her purview now. She could not let Rain and her quintet continue to shelter her, no matter how much they wished to. She was, after all, responsible for hundreds of the bodies lying on the battlefield.

Her gaze skimmed the edges of the battlefield, pausing at the sight of Cannevar Barrial standing beside the empty bier where the bodies of his three sons, Parsis, Severn, and Luce had been sent back to the elements. Deep lines etched Cann’s graven face and threads of white now streaked his dark hair. He had aged decades in a single night. Four of Cann’s five children had perished in the span of a week. Almost his entire family gone. Just like that. Worse, Cann suspected his son Severn had died by Cann’s own hand when the Feraz magic had consumed him.

Ellysetta had tried to offer what peace she could, but nothing she said or did helped him. Cann was a hollow shell, an automaton driven by a single, searing flame that burned in his dead eyes: the need for vengeance.

She dragged her gaze away from Cann and the pain she could not heal and tried to distance herself from her emotions, like most of the warriors had done.

“Has anyone sent word to Prince Dorian and the queen?” she asked, as the Fire masters walked out among the dead.

Rain nodded. “Bel sent a Spirit weave a few chimes ago.”

The Fire masters summoned their magic, gathering the bright orange weaves of their Fire, then spilling it out upon the ground. The Fire burned bright and hot, consuming the bodies of the slain, but there was so much sel’dor on the field that their Fire did not consume everything. When they were done, the bones of the dead remained, not scorched by the Fire but bleached white, as if by the Great Sun.

Ellysetta’s mouth went dry. Feeling dazed, she stepped away from Rain and walked slowly onto the Fire-cleansed battlefield. She stood there, a shei’dalin draped in scarlet, standing in a bleached white field of bones, the remains of thousands of slain, most of whom had died either by her hand or because she’d not been quick enough to find the cure to the Feraz potion.

Her dream had come true.

Celieria ~ Celieria City

“Noooooo!”

The scream ripped through the marbled halls of Celieria’s royal palace, punctuated by a series of shattering crashes and sobbing wails. Courtiers stopped in their tracks, gossiping tongues frozen midwag. They turned towards the queen’s apartments for a single, hushed moment, then the whispering recommenced, setting the palace hallways abuzz.

“It’s true. It must be true. The king is dead.”