“Laurel!” Silene screams, but Laurel is too far gone in her fury to hear her. Krantz’s strategy is successful, and now at least ten rebels surround Laurel, and she has to fight off their magic in addition to Krantz’s. The shield around Silene and me drops, and I sag in relief that she’s got her focus entirely on protecting herself.

With the shield down and our attention firmly on Laurel, vines creep from the forest beyond and slowly wrap their way around our legs, pinning Silene and me in place. There’s a plant channeler hidden away somewhere that Fionn hasn’t taken out yet. A sprig of ivy squeezes my wound, and my body shakes involuntarily with the pain. I’m feverish now, the iron arrows still lodged in my wounds leeching away my aether-force. I moan in pain, and slump farther onto Silene, who lets out her own grunt. Fionn notices from the other side of the clearing and runs in our direction, striking down every rebel who stands in his way.

When he reaches us, he slices through the vines holding us and lifts me off Silene, who looks like she’s about to collapse. Her hand goes to her stomach, where crimson blood has soaked through her tunic in a deep arrow wound I didn’t initially see. She’s as injured as I am.

“Silene,” I cry, but she waves me off.

“I’ll be okay. Go help Laurel, Fionn. Krantz is baiting her,” she commands, no room for argument in her voice. Fionn hesitates, eyes unsure as he looks between Silene, Laurel, and me. But it’s moot, because before he can act, we’re circled by rebels who have been aerstepped by Krantz to surround us. Iron-dipped swords point at our hearts. From across the clearing, Krantz laughs again before he aersteps to stand right in front of me, leaving Laurel swinging her sword at empty air.

She spins around and screams, eyes narrowed in a feral gleam. Her hair is matted with sweat, and blood has turned her pink sundress deep red. There are scratches across her arms and chest, but her blood has not been drawn. If it had, I would know. More rebels appear from out of nowhere to surround Laurel, engaging her in a furious hand-to-hand battle, making it impossible for her to aerstep to us.

“Not so cool and collected when your mate is at risk, are you?” Krantz sneers as he looks over his shoulder at her, and my stomach drops out of my body. How does he know?

I see the same question written across Laurel’s expression for a moment before it fades behind a wild gleam. With a roar, she reaches out her fist and clenches it, and the six fae surrounding her drop dead where they stand. She’s winked out their aether-force, and Krantz doesn’t look surprised in the least.