Chapter 36
CHAPTER
First, there was darkness. Then, there was light so bright that it stung my eyes.
“Cress. Cress!” I felt firm hands shaking my shoulders. Smears of color dominated my blurry vision until his face came into focus. Trace was hovering above me; his wings unfurled but tucked tightly around us, protectively.
“Stay with me, wake up.”
His voice was frantic as he cradled the back of my neck. When I fully opened my eyes, I struggled to speak his name. There was smoke in the sky behind him, and my ears were ringing so badly that I wanted to cover them.
“Drink this,” he said, pressing a small canteen of water to my lips.
As soon as the liquid hit my tongue, I began to gulp down the water in large swigs, unable to get enough to satiate me.
I felt so utterly tired, and my head was pounding with pain.
The sounds of fighting, of war and death still reverberated around me and my eyes prickled with tears.
“Did we win?” I asked him through a cracked voice, fear mounting that we had not done enough.
Trace put my arm over his shoulder and slowly began to lift me to my feet, not letting go until I was stable.
“Not yet,” he said. “But you gave us a chance.”
My eyes squinted, scanning the beach. It seemed some of the Artumian fighters had made it ashore and were engaged in battle.
Bodies littered the shoreline, pools of red blood spreading wide and far.
Above us, soldiers were engaged in aerial combat—even Cambria had chosen to bring the fight to the skies.
I felt the faint patter of the bond begin its tingling below the surface of my skin again, and then the echo of Varro’s voice became repetitive pleas.
“Speak to me. Speak to me. Speak to me.”
The words were desperate in my head, like he had been repeating them for hours. How long had he been calling out for me?
“I’m alive. I’m with Trace.”
A relieved silence followed.
“I’m okay.”
“Thank the Gods. Saryn’s reinforcements have started to arrive. Cairis and I are doing our best to fight off as many as we can.”
Though my head was still pounding, the sound of his voice was medicinal, offering me clarity and strength.
Bloodshed and destruction littered the shore of my homeland, making anger begin to simmer through the exhaustion.
“Where is Zarif?” I asked Trace, seething.
“Last I saw, he was commanding from his ship; now, I don’t know. I’ve been too busy putting down as many fliers as I could until I saw you on the ground.”
“He’s a fucking coward!” I declared, staring at the ships anchored a safe distance from the wreckage and carnage he’d caused.
“I’m done waiting.” I unfurled my wings and Trace took a step forward, but before he could try to stop me or talk me out of it, I shot straight up into the air.
I soared through the sky, dodging the remaining sloppy airborne skirmishes.
I arrived abruptly on the deck of Zarif’s ship, my landing rough as I touched down in a crouching position.
Standing up straight, I kept my wings tucked tightly, defensively.
Zarif was pacing angrily at the front of the ship, yelling orders at the remaining soldiers.
One of them took notice of my arrival and swung at me with his blade.
I ducked the strike, then disarmed him and claimed his blade in one swift motion before ending his life.
I barely took notice as his body hit the deck, bleeding out.
I was singularly focused on the evil that had caused all of this.
I would hurt him for Nori. I would make him suffer for Cambria—and moreover, I would end him for the future of his own people.
I heard Trace land loudly behind me, and as more attackers tried to engage me, he intervened, taking their lives swiftly.
Zarif had not chosen wisely when he’d selected his protectors.
When he finally turned to face the both of us, he did not appear concerned, perhaps still trying to reconcile my familiar face. But when he spoke, it was not to me.
“You’re either a traitor or a deserter, and I care not which. The punishment for both is death.”
Zarif smirked arrogantly, the expression resonating from his two different-colored eyes void of any fear.
In an attempt to alter his smug confidence, I yelled, “I’ll have you know that Lady Gianna is slaying your pathetic excuse for a king as we speak. You’re going to have to find a new master to serve.”
Trace gave me a sly smile and added, “Perhaps the God of Death.” He lunged forward and attempted to land a hit with his sword, but Zarif’s skill was unlike anything we’d anticipated.
It was hardly describable, much less fathomable.
His body abandoned its corporeal form and adopted a spirit form, then abruptly rushed to a nearby Kingsguard, inhabiting him.
I heard Trace mutter, “What the fu—” He spun around to face Zarif’s new form.
The Kingsguard, now inhabited by Zarif, bore the same two-colored eyes as his true self.
He barely gave myself or Trace a second to process what we’d witnessed before arcing his sword in our direction.
His skill was far superior to what we’d encountered when boarding the ship.
Trace and I circled him, closing in from different angles.
The second I lunged, narrowly missing him with the tip of my sword, Trace followed with an offensive maneuver of his own.
Soon, the Kingsguard’s body dropped to the ground, stunned, while a blur of what appeared to be Zarif’s spirit form transferred to the next nearest enemy combatant.
Each time he settled into his host’s form, their posture and mannerisms immediately changed.
The thrum of the bond pulsed persistently below my skin as my confidence began to wane.
While Zarif searched for an opening to attack, I hailed Varro through the bond.
“Come as soon as you can. Zarif is something…something we’ve never encountered. I can’t explain, just hurry!”
The moment I had met Zarif, I knew there was something sinister about him.
Saryn’s remarks about not knowing what he was truly capable of echoed in my memory.
Zarif’s ability was unnatural in every sense of the word.
There was not a single mention of this kind of magic in any of the books I’d read amongst the dark wielding journals.
And our mentors never spoke of anything remotely close to this.
Would we even be able to kill him? Would he always have the ability to leave any body that we mortally wounded?
Trace and I continued to press forward with our assault, hoping he would make a mistake.
But he was too adept, moved too quickly, even for the both of us.
It was as if he knew each move we’d make, even before we did.
This formerly frail-looking male was a skilled, capable killer.
Still, his ability surely had a price, just like mine.
All power comes with a cost, especially tainted magic.
Suddenly, the bond’s hum overwhelmed me as my mate arrived, his stunning teal-and-green wings appearing next to me. Blood was splattered across his bare chest, but it wasn’t his. Thank the Gods and moons above that he was alive, and seemingly unharmed, if not furious.
Trace and Zarif’s blades clashed, each combatant expertly defending against the other’s blows.
Then, with dizzying speed, Zarif’s blade plunged for Trace’s chest. Trace was too fast, though, turning sideways to avoid the strike.
Still, a trickle of blood flowed from Trace’s arm where Zarif’s blade had nicked him.
Trace took two steps back to assess his wound while Zarif, seizing the opportunity, leapt out of his current Kingsguard’s body, fleeing to the far end of the ship, seeking a new host. I heard my mate gasp and whisper something to himself.
Suddenly, three guards rounded the corner, all with blades at the ready.
Each of us sized them up and prepared to engage.
The piercing reverberations of metal striking metal filled the air. “Which one is he?” Varro frantically said, mind-to-mind.
“Look for two-colored eyes,” I replied quickly.
“I’ve got him!” Trace yelled from farther away.
I dropped to my knees, slicing deep across my enemy’s stomach.
His entrails spilled forth onto the wooden deck with a disgusting, wet plop.
I almost vomited at the sight, but I knew Trace needed help.
I leapt up, grabbed the lit oil lantern hanging nearby, and threw it to the deck nearest Zarif and Trace.
The glass shattered and oil spilled everywhere, causing the flame to expand quickly.
If Zarif didn’t swap again, Trace might be able to maneuver him into it.
I had no idea if fire would kill him, but it was worth a try.
Varro had dispatched his Kingsguard, and now we both stood on the perimeter of the deck, the heat of the blaze pushing us farther outward as we lost visibility of Trace.
My energy was still shockingly low from performing the mirage, but I used what little remained to create a pathway for us to approach them.
Trace continued to duck and dodge, while Zarif struck out with precision and guile, clearly having the upper-hand.
When Trace saw the opening in the flames, he yelled to Varro, “Stop him!”
I did not understand the exchange until I saw the body Zarif presided over begin to shake and tremble, clutching at his throat, his airway obviously constricting.