Dwor skrzydel i zguby (Polish Edition)

The buzzing flies had long since replaced the war drums. Two years before the wall would fall, I picked my way across a kingdom of the dead, a tangled sprawl of human and faerie corpses. My wings ached, my power spent, but I kept walking, scanning the faces of the fallen. I'd held the lines, as my father had ordered, but I had not spotted my brothers, Cassian or Azriel, amongst the living. My heart pounded as I hauled away piled bodies, searching for a familiar dark head, for golden-brown skin. With every corpse I turned, my breath caught, waiting for the one face I could not bear to see. Not him. Not him. Again and again, the killing field stretched onward, and still I looked.

The painting was a lie. A bright, pretty lie of pale pink blooms and fat beams of sunshine, crafted with the same intricate deceit as the smile I wore. Back in the Spring Court, I was a princess of carrion, a happy, healing victim returned to my loving High Lord. But with every brushstroke meant to soothe their suspicions, I heard my sister Elain's sobbing as she was forced into the Cauldron. With every soft word I uttered, I saw Nesta's death-promise to the King of Hybern. My rage was a living thing, a second heart beating in my chest, and I fed it with their trust, turning them against each other one subtle move at a time. I became the Cauldron-blessed darling of the court, a holy terror to the treacherous High Priestess Ianthe. I feigned nightmares to be found in another male's arms and planted seeds of doubt in the sentries' minds. I was the nightmare, preying on every fear, every weakness, until the gilded halls began to crack.

My task was nearly done when Ianthe cornered Lucien in the woods, her cruelty a final, fatal mistake. I smashed her hand to a pulp with a rock, using my daemati power to control her, to make her feel the violation she had inflicted on so many. But we were not alone. The king's twin commanders, Dagdan and Brannagh, had been watching, waiting. They'd been lacing my food with faebane, a poison that stifled magic, and now they moved to claim me. I fought, a whirlwind of shadow and Illyrian steel, but they were ancient and strong. It was Lucien who saved me, his sword cleaving Brannagh's head from her shoulders. In a blink, I drove my knife through Dagdan's eye. With my power guttering out, we fled, leaving a broken Ianthe to tell a story of my brutal abduction by the Night Court - a final lie to shatter the Spring Court for good.

The reunion was a storm of tears and desperate touches. Rhysand was there, his violet eyes holding a universe of love and fear. I was home in Velaris, the City of Starlight, wrapped in the arms of my family - Mor, Cassian, Azriel, Amren. They were alive, they were healing, and I let the relief wash over me, even as the truth of my sisters' state settled in. Elain was a hollow shell, lost in a silent, endless grief, still wearing the engagement ring of her human fiancé. Nesta was a fortress of ice and rage, her power a terrifying, unknown quantity, her hatred for Cassian a palpable force between them. The joy of my return was a fragile thing, a flickering candle against the gathering dark of Hybern's war.

War was upon us. Rhysand called a meeting of the High Lords, a desperate plea for a unified front. They gathered in the Dawn Court's sunstone palace: elegant Thesan, icy Kallias, and the magnificent, swaggering Helion. Tense alliances were tested as old grudges surfaced, but it was Tamlin's arrival that fractured the fragile peace. He was a beast of pure hatred, spewing venom and lies, accusing me of being Rhysand's whore, of destroying his court for ambition. The truth of my new title - High Lady of the Night Court - only fueled his fury. It was then, as the courts stood poised to tear each other apart, that Rhys was forced to reveal the truth of his fifty years Under the Mountain - not as Amarantha's willing consort, but as her tormented slave who sacrificed his body and soul to protect his people.

The wall was gone. In a single, earth-shattering blast, the King of Hybern used the Cauldron to shatter the barrier between our worlds. The war had begun in earnest. We raced to meet his first legion, our combined armies a desperate shield against his tide. On a field of mud and blood, we clashed. Illyrians rained death from the sky, Darkbringers rose from the earth, and the armies of Day, Dawn, Winter, and Summer fought as one. But it was not enough. Hybern's numbers were endless, his power overwhelming.

In the heart of the battle, as our lines began to break, a new army arrived. Not one, but three. A fleet of ships sailed over the horizon, led by a firebird queen and a host of winged Seraphim warriors. At their helm, on a ship named *The Nesta*, stood my father. He had not abandoned us. He had gone to the human continent and rallied an army, found the lost Queen Vassa, and forged an alliance with the ancient prince Drakon. With their arrival, the tide began to turn.

The King of Hybern, enraged, moved to end it all. He lured Nesta and Cassian into a trap, using our father as a shield before snapping his neck. But as the king moved to kill a broken Cassian, it was Elain who emerged from a shadow, driving a blessed dagger through the king's throat. Nesta finished the job, twisting the blade until his head rolled from his shoulders. Yet the victory was short-lived. In her true form - a being of pure light and fire - Amren sacrificed herself, annihilating Hybern's army before fading into nothing. Her sacrifice broke the Cauldron, and to mend the world, Rhysand poured every last drop of his life into it. The bond between us snapped. He was gone.

I screamed his name into the void, a raw, ragged sound of a soul being torn in two. I would not accept it. I begged, I pleaded, I commanded the other High Lords. “You did it for me,” I sobbed, “now do it for him.” One by one, they stepped forward, each giving a drop of their power, a spark of their immortal lives. Even Tamlin, his face a mask of grief, offered his own. I added a piece of my own soul, whispering to the tattered threads of our bond, *Stay. Stay with the High Lord.* And as I held him, as I told him how I had loved him from the moment I heard his voice in the dark, his heart beat once. Then again.

The war was over, but the world was forever changed. There were funerals to attend, treaties to renegotiate, and a peace to be forged, not just between Fae and human, but within our own hearts. One night, Rhysand and I flew high above a healing Velaris, the city glittering below. He had crowned me his High Lady, his queen. I had marked his skin with my own story. He was the darkness and I was the stars, and together, we were a universe. As his wing brushed mine, a silent promise of an eternity of nights just like this, I knew the truth of it. All of it - the terror and the sorrow, the love and the hope - had been a gift.