“Now,” Diana said.
Cadan raised the bow and shot the harpy who held her down. Its body thudded to the ground and Diana scrambled off the altar. She yanked the short sword from the sheath at the harpy’s side and crouched behind the altar, glaring at Paulinus. Now they would fight.
“Harpies!” Paulinus roared.
The trees seemed to quiver as his voice echoed through the forest. Creatures skittered through the brush, heading away from the clearing. Diana glanced frantically at the sky. They’d killed all the harpies in the clearing, but he must be calling others to him.
An ominous flapping sound cut through the forest. Four harpies dropped from the sky, their black wings spread and their beady eyes trained on her, Cadan, and Vivienne.
“Stay with the boy,” Diana yelled at Cadan.
She charged the harpy nearest her and met it with a clash of steel. The first blow sent a vibration singing up her arm. Harpies were damned strong. Fast too, and its blade swiped across Diana’s side. Pain streaked through her, but not so much that she feared for her life.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Cadan felling one harpy with an arrow and turning to sight another. Vivienne battled one with the long dagger in her hand. Her eyes were bright with a lust for vengeance.
The desire to help Vi gave Diana a burst of strength. She used it to decapitate the harpy. She turned to help Vi and saw that her friend had somehow stabbed the harpy through the throat. Vi was bleeding from her arm and thigh, but was standing tall. The other harpies were on the ground, demon pincushions stuck with arrows.
Vi joined Cadan, who now stood between Paulinus and his son, his arrow trained on the general.
“A step closer, Paulinus, and the first arrow goes into you and the second into your son,” he said.
Paulinus shot him a look of such hatred that Diana shivered. Then he turned the glare on her.
“We can fight,” she told him. “And I will destroy you. I killed your earthly body. You know that I’m the only one who can kill you here. Who knows where you’ll go then? Away from your son, that’s for sure. Leaving him here, alone with us.”
His face twisted, flames behind his eyes that reached out for her. She took a few steps back from his advancing form.
“Or, you can sacrifice yourself and ensure that your son lives,” she said.
He stopped short but kept his sword raised. “What do you mean? I didn’t kill him.”
“Didn’t kill him? Just as I didn’t kill my daughters by making them joint heirs to the throne with Rome?”
“You knew that Rome was to be sole heir to your husband’s land upon his death! That was the deal we gave every kingdom. Trying to slip by the rules by naming your daughters as co-heirs sealed their fates!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted. But as the words left his lips, the sick light of dawning knowledge filled his eyes.
“Exactly.” The decision had been her husband’s, but she too was to blame. Paulinus had swung the sword over her daughters’ necks, but she had handed him that sword. “Just as you are complicit in your son’s death. I, Boudica, swung the blade. But would he have been on the battlefield if not for your hubris? Should you have led a child into that nightmare?”
Indecision and doubt warred on his face. “He was strong, the bravest of them all.”
“Not strong enough.” The words were harsh, her tone worse.
He began to advance on her, his body swift and agile despite his ghostly form. Or perhaps because of it.
“Fight me, Paulinus, and die. And lose your only hope of saving your son.”
Her sword crashed with his as he reached her. She danced to the side, narrowly avoiding his blade. The now familiar unworldly skill and confidence sang through her.
“He must kill me on the altar for the spell to possibly work. We’ve killed your harpies. You have no help.”
She spun on him and met his burning eyes as she sank the blade into his side. His mouth gaped and she twisted. He stumbled away from her blade, then rose again with his own clutched in his fist.
“Make the sacrifice you know is required,” she said.
He was strong, but she was faster. Doubt slowed him. He couldn’t kill her off the altar or his plan was lost. Her sword clashed with his as she drove him backward. She dodged his blade once more, then cursed as it swiped at her arm.
Sweat poured down her face and her wound burned. What if he settled for saving his own life and decided to kill her instead of having his son do it?
No. Think only forward. Only a few more steps. The forest was silent but for their sawing breaths. She thrust her blade at him, driving him toward the altar. He was faltering.