Athan didn't stay to watch her ride away. He turned his back on her and ran toward the treeline. His wings snapped open like two massive black sails, and he slammed into the next wave of rebels with a sound like a mountain collapsing.
Celeste sat on the mare, frozen. She felt the wet smear of his blood on her cheek. It was hot. It was the only warm thing in this freezing, terrifying valley. She should have moved. She should have kicked the horse and run like he told her to. But her legs felt like lead. Her brain was a mess of loud thoughts. I can't leave him. I can't stay here. I don't know how to ride this animal. She felt like she was watching a play, but the play was made of real blood and real screams.
She watched a rebel leap from a high rock, aiming a spear at Athan's back.
"Athan!" she tried to scream, but it came out as a weak wheeze.
Everything happened too fast. A group of three rebels broke through the line of soldiers. They didn't go for the warriors. They saw the girl in the black dress sitting on the horse like a target. One of them, a man with a jagged scar across his throat, reached her first. He grabbed the mare's bridle and jerked it.
The horse screamed and reared up. Celeste slipped. She felt her stomach drop as she lost her balance. She fell hard against the leather saddle, her fingers tangling in the mane so hard it hurt her knuckles. The rebel laughed. It was a dry, nasty sound. He reached up to grab her ankle, his dirty fingers digging into her skin. He wanted to pull her down into the red dust and end the peace treaty with her life.
"Pretty little angel," he hissed. "Let's see if you can fly without wings when I throw you off this cliff."
Celeste felt a cold, sharp prickle in her chest. It wasn't just fear. It was something heavier. It felt like the Demon Scroll tucked against her skin was pulse-beating against her heart. Her skin felt too tight, like she was wearing clothes two sizes too small. Her blood felt like it was boiling and freezing at the same time. It was a dizzy, sick feeling that made her head swim.
She didn't think. She didn't have a plan. She just pushed her hand out toward the rebel's face, trying to shove him away.
"Get away!" she shrieked.
She expected to be hit. She expected to feel his dirty claws on her skin and the cold bite of a knife. Instead, a shockwave of black smoke exploded from her palm. It wasn't soft smoke. It was heavy and solid, like a punch made of shadows. It hit the rebel in the chest with a loud thump. The force was so strong it sent him flying backward ten feet. He hit a jagged rock with a sickening crack and didn't move again.
Celeste stared at her hand. It was shaking so much she couldn't keep it still. Tiny black veins were pulsing under her pale skin, reaching up toward her wrist before disappearing. Her head felt heavy. What was that? I don't have magic. I'm just a defect. Angels have light, not shadows. She felt like she was going crazy.
But the other two rebels were still coming. They stopped for a second, looking at their friend lying in the dirt. They looked at each other, then back at Celeste. They were confused, but they were still angry. They raised their rusted swords and lunged at her again.
Before they could reach her, a shadow fell over them. It was huge and cold.
Athan was there. He didn't look like a king anymore. He looked like a god of death. He didn't even use a weapon. He grabbed the two rebels by their heads and slammed them together with so much force that Celeste had to look away.
The fight in the valley was finally dying down. The rebels were being pushed back into the dark by Athan's armored soldiers. Athan stood by Celeste's horse, his chest heaving. He was covered in red..on his face, his armor, and his wings. He looked up at her, and his gold eyes were wide. He wasn't looking at her like she was a burden or a broken doll anymore.
He had seen the black smoke. He had seen the shadow magic.
"You," he breathed out. His voice was a low, shaky growl. He reached out and gripped her knee. His hand was trembling just a little bit, and the heat from his palm soaked through her dress. "You did that."
Celeste looked down at him. She felt small and messy. Her silver hair was tangled with dirt, and she had his blood smeared on her cheek. "I... I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
Athan didn't look angry. He didn't look like he wanted to punish her. He looked like he had just seen a miracle in the middle of a graveyard. He squeezed her knee once, then pulled his hand away. He didn't say anything else to her. He just turned to his men and shouted with a voice that shook the trees.
"The skirmish is over! Pack the gear! We move now! To the capital!"
He jumped onto his massive horse. He didn't ride ahead this time. He stayed right beside Celeste's mare as they galloped out of the valley. Every time her horse stumbled on a rock, he was there, his hand reaching out to steady her.
As they rode, the wind blew the smoke away, but Celeste could still feel the tingling in her fingertips. She kept looking at her palm, waiting for the black veins to come back. They stayed hidden, but she knew they were there now.
The Angel Kingdom said she was nothing because she had no wings. They said she was a mistake. But as they rode deeper into the dark, volcanic lands of the Underworld, Celeste realized the truth. The wings weren't the power. The power was something dark and deep inside her blood.
And the Demon King was the only one who didn't look at her with pity.
She kind of liked that.