CHAPTER 46
aphael and I charge up the narrow stone stairs at Dover Castle behind a line of British troops. I’ve hardly slept in the past few days, and myR breath is wheezing, but adrenaline is spurring me on.
As I run, my steps echo to the beat of my pounding heart.
At the top of the stairs, the door opens onto sun-washed battlements. The autumn breeze whips at my hair, and I stare out at the gold-dappled sea. The sight of the incoming fleet steals my breath. So many clipper ships, each with three masts and at least twenty sails. They’re racing closer, a legion of them, each one packed with armored Fey soldiers. Dragons fill the skies, their scales gleaming with ruddy light. Their wingspan is the width of a house.
Fear trembles along my ribs.
Through the binoculars, I see one of the dragons unleash a gout of fire into the pearlescent sky, and the sight makes my stomach clench. Three of these dragons could raze Dover in an hour. I count fifteen.
Between the clipper ships, sea serpents undulate rhythmically, monsters from another world. Feyhorns blare on the ships. Their war trumpets are six feet high, rising into the air above the soldiers’ heads, with bells at the end shaped like wild beasts. Their haunting, sonorous call floats along the marine wind, and a chill seeps under my skin.
We’re not ready for them. England isn’t ready for them.
Atkinson is standing by one of the cannons, barking orders at his men.
“Wait until they’re close enough,” he shouts. “I want each of the ADGs aimed at a different one. Coordinate with the other towers. We have six guns.
That should be enough to take those beasts out of the sky before they reach us.”
ADGs. Anti-Dragon Guns. I remember Tana’s words from months ago.
Spy boys and their acronyms. That was the day I met the spies, and it feels like years ago. It’s hard to even imagine myself as the person I was at the start of that day, a chick on vacation who just wanted birthday cake and a teensy bit of champagne on the beach.
And now I’m watching a fleet of Fey warships and a squadron of fire- breathing dragons race toward the Cliffs of Dover, hellbent on destruction.
But there’s no going back.
I turn to Atkinson. “Those dragon scales are thicker than tank armor. All you’ll do is irritate them.”
“I swear I told you to fuck off,” he spits at me.
“You need to listen to her.” Raphael’s voice is pure steel. “She knows more about this invasion force than anyone else.”
“Both of you, get off the battlements!”
I consider arguing, but there’s no time. The dragons are getting closer.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice.
The captain’s eyebrows rise. “For being a pain in my arse?”
“No, for this.” I reach out and touch his cheek, already channeling my powers at him.
I see it all. A boy growing up on stories of heroics during the Fey invasion. He joined the army for adventure, but by the time he was ready to fight, they’d already reached a ceasefire. And then constant disappointment.
His career stalled because he never knew the right guy, was never good enough. Finally, he ended up commanding the defense force in Dover—a force that never did anything.
This was his big chance, at last. The damn Fey don’t know what they’re in for. I’ve been waiting for the chance to become a hero my entire life.
He’s thrilled at the size of the fleet, by the soaring dragons. He’ll be known as the commander who stopped the Fey, even when he was vastly outnumbered.
I clench my jaw. One man’s ego will lay waste to every civilian in the
area.
Not if I can help it.
Pushing further into his mind, I force my will against his. Unlike Caradoc, he’s easy to manipulate. Years in the army taught him that someone
always outranks him. In this case, it’s me.
I lean forward, acting as if I’m talking softly to him for the sake of anyone watching. And then I give him one final mental push.
He clears his throat, looking stunned, then says in a loud voice. “This woman’s name is Nia Melisende. She’s a Fey military expert from secret services. She will be taking command.”
The soldiers around us stare at me, uncertain. They’ve been training with Atkinson for more than a year. Nothing prepared them for a random woman taking control, which means I can’t give them time to think it through.
“You won’t be able to harm the dragons,” I tell them, my voice steady and authoritative. “Their scales are too thick. And they’re immune to iron, so even if a missile gets through, it won’t kill them.”
“So, what do we do?” a soldier asks.
I squint at the line of incoming dragons, reaching for Caradoc’s memories. There—a possible weak point. “That dragon, the silver one with a red sheen.” I point at the huge beast. “He’s older, weaker, and his scales are thinner. He didn’t get the full iron immunity treatment because it was making him too sick. If you concentrate your fire on him, you might be able to take him down.”
“What about the rest?” another soldier asks.
“The Fey don’t have many dragons, and they’re planning for a long campaign. They don’t want to lose any dragons in this attack. If we take one down, the rest might pull back to avoid further casualties and let the troops do the work.”
I have no idea if it will work, but I pray that it does.
“The dragons will be in range in twenty seconds,” someone shouts.
“Coordinate with the rest of the ADG teams,” I say urgently. “All
cannons on that dragon. Do it. Now.”
“Wait,” Atkinson mutters.
Damn it. He’s recovered. I turn to him, opening my mouth, but Raphael is already by his side. His hand is on the man’s neck, applying pressure, using the size of his big body to block the soldiers’ view.
Atkinson’s eyelids flutter, and he collapses into Raphael’s arms. “He’s sick,” Raphael mutters. “I’ll take care of him.
The soldiers aren’t paying attention to Raphael at this point. All eyes are on the incoming dragons.
“Ready,” a large sergeant booms. Shouting orders into an old-fashioned
radio, he instructs the artillery to aim for the silver-red dragon.
The soldiers shift the cannons, heavy, primitive weapons that work with cranks and pulleys. None of the fancy targeting tech we had before the Fey invaded work anymore.
I focus on that one sickly dragon flying behind the rest of the squadron.
“Fire!” the sergeant roars.
I cover my ears, but the blasts are still deafening. One shot goes wide.
The second one, aimed much better, hits the dragon’s body…and ricochets off. I groan in despair.
But now other guns across the castle battlements are firing, and more from the stone sentry points that line the cliffs.
I lift the binoculars and see a spray of blood from the silver-red dragon.
He rears his head back and shrieks, plummeting toward the sea. I watch through the glass, expecting the beast to crash into the water, but he starts beating his wings again and levels off. Not dead, but obviously badly hurt.
The other dragons veer away and then circle back. Even from here, I can see the fury in their predatory eyes. For a few seconds, our lives hang in the balance. If they swoop down upon the city and unleash their wrath, we’re doomed to burn.
To my relief, they spread their wings, and the squadron falls back. No need to risk dragon lives when the Fey troops are almost upon us, and they will do the job.
“Well done.” Raphael touches my lower back. “I’ve got something to show you.”
He leads me to the other side of the tower, where we can see the streets of Dover. People line the roads. The evacuation has started, but it’s not fast enough.
There are people milling together in long columns. Raising the binoculars, I see Serana leading one of the columns through the streets.
I look at Raphael. “We need to buy them time.”
“Um…excuse me?” a male voice calls out. “Commander Melisende?”
Commander? I like the sound of my new title. Commander Melisende it
is. I turn to the man. “Yes?”
“What’s that?” He points out to sea.
I turn to look, and my heart sinks.
Shimmering fog rolls ahead of the Fey battleships, a presence that buzzes loudly in my ears. The veil.
Why hadn’t I thought of this possibility? The veil isn’t a wall anymore.
It’s a weapon.
“They don’t need to risk their lives to conquer England,” I mutter. “They intend to kill everyone with the veil.”
“Can you disable it?” Raphael asks, an edge to his voice.
My legs feel weak, and my thoughts are so panicked, I can hardly think straight. “For a few seconds. A minute, maybe, but eventually, I’ll have to stop. All they have to do is blanket the city with it and wait.”
Raphael has gone completely still, the autumn breeze toying with his dark curls. “I thought killing Caradoc meant the veil was disabled.”
“Just the border veil,” I say. “Which was hundreds of miles long. This thing is much smaller, but still large enough to roll through a city. All they need is one veil mage to…”
I trail off, searching the approaching ships through the binoculars and listening to the sounds of the veil, focusing on where the humming is
strongest.
“What is it?” Raphael asks.
“There!” I point to a ship where a figure stands at the bow, draped in black. “That’s the veil mage. Sergeant, do you have marksmen?”
He frowns. “Yes. But…didn’t you say the Fey are impervious to iron now?”
“Some of them. But bullets will still stop them, even if the iron isn’t poisonous. Shoot them enough times, and they die, just like a human. Can you take that Fey magician out?”
The sergeant barks his commands into the radio, and the rifles start firing.
The air shimmers. More firing fills the air and clouds of gun smoke. The figure still stands, and the sergeant curses.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Some sort of magical shield,” he says.
The veil is almost upon the city now. Focusing, I summon my Sentinel power, letting it bloom inside me. I can see the mist clearly as it moves forward and the magical energy woven around it. And beyond the veil, a different barrier. Unfamiliar. That’s the one I need to disable.
“I might be able to take it down for a few seconds,” I say. “Sergeant, fire
on my mark.”
“Yes, Commander.”
I clench my jaw and channel my powers at the barrier. It isn’t like the
veil, a web I can untangle. It’s more like a fixed wall of energy, and my
powers just bounce off it.
“Nia,” Raphael mutters.
I grit my teeth. There’s a point in the barrier where the magic seems thinner. I lash at it with all my strength.
It shatters.
“Now,” I shout.
I hear the sound of guns firing. The freezing cold of exhaustion slides down to my bones, and I start shivering. Raphael wraps his arm around my waist, enveloping me with his warmth.
“We need you to stay with us, Commander,” he whispers in my ear.
I tremble and lean into him, staring out at the fleet, the ships’ sails billowing in the wind.
I let out a long, slow breath. The veil has disappeared. The veil mage lies slumped on the ship’s bow. Dead, maybe. I pray that he was the only one. I don’t have the strength to do that again.
As I scan the horizon, I don’t see another veil rising from the sea.
I pull away from Raphael and move to the other side of the battlements, looking out at the city.
There are still far too many people clogging the Dover streets.
“They’ll take the city with their troops,” Raphael says grimly.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Then we have to slow them down, give the rest of the civilians time to evacuate. Otherwise, Dover will become a bloodbath.”
“Let’s get down to the docks. We’ll need a barricade.”
