Chapter 51
Zane
He’d been floating in nothingness. No pain. No fear. No hope. Only silently awaiting the gods to pass judgment upon him. Would it be to the nine hells, battling his way through each level to atone for his wrongdoings? Or into the Everlands and Altea’s loving arms? While he didn’t have a firm hold on who he was, or what he’d done during his lifetime—however long or short it may have been—he knew death, lies, and poor decisions had marred his soul. He only hoped Phaedros wouldn’t throw him directly into the pit and instead gave him a chance at redemption.
Now he was waiting, and he had nothing but time. Floating here wasn’t unpleasant, and there was no part of him that missed being alive. If he were being honest with himself, it appeared he’d been tired of life for quite some time but wasn’t willing to end it himself. Were he to go out in a blaze of glory on the battlefield, he wouldn’t complain. Hells, he wasn’t complaining now, and he was fairly certain his cause of death was not a noble one.
Warmth suffused him.
With it came echoes of pain, and a vague sense of owning a body. His head was all pressure, and he waited for it to explode, putting an end to his miserable existence. But instead, the pain and pressure intensified. He screwed his eyes shut tighter—now painfully aware he possessed eyes—in an attempt to return to the nothingness he’d rudely been plucked from.
No.Did he speak the word aloud? Or was the pleading only within his brain?
Is he waking up?He knew that voice.
Please don’t distract me right now.He recognized that one as well.
Swimming through the nothingness, the shell of his body surrounded him, the pain beginning to ebb.
He opened his eyes, and all was red. As his vision slowly focused, he realized the color was hair. Hair that belonged to a man. A man with blue eyes he remembered sparking with life and humor, now looking upon him with a combination of fear and hope.
Talon.The name came to him suddenly. He must have spoken it aloud because the redhead absolutely beamed, those blue eyes filling with tears soon overflowing to drip onto him like a light rainfall. Talon gently wiped the tears away from his face while more continued to fall.
“That’s right, Zane. I’m here for you. You’re going to be okay.”
Zane.Once it had passed Talon’s lips, he remembered he had a name. Swiveling his gaze, because turning his head was still too much effort, he saw a small woman sitting beside him. Blood spattered across her chest and neck. Iyana. Oh gods, was she injured? He sat upright quickly. Too quickly, as his head swam and his vision blurred. Strong hands clamped down upon his shoulders, allowing him a moment to breathe deeply, clearing the wave of vertigo.
Zane turned to Iyana ready to search for wounds, to yell at Talon for not doing anything, when he noticed the dead man laying not far from them. A large pool of blood surrounded him, a tear near the crotch of his pants. That must be where the splatter on Iyana came from. The spurting of an artery. Had she killed this man? If so, he had grossly underestimated her, thinking her incapable of harming any living thing. Although, seeing the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth, she must have killed him in self-defense and was currently trying to ignore the panic coursing through her.
He remembered the first time he had killed a man—at the tender age of fifteen. His father had insisted Zane be the one to execute their prisoner. In his words, a boy could not be deemed a man until he had taken another’s life. Until he had seen how swiftly everything could be lost, how much power he wielded against others when their life rested in his hands. No son of Uther’s would enter adulthood without having done so. He’d balked but did as his father asked, because by that time he had realized the punishments were sometimes harsher than simply doing as Uther demanded. This, though…it had taken two swings of his sword to behead the poor man—his teenage muscles not yet developed enough to complete the deed in one swift motion. Uther had clapped him on the shoulder, the most acknowledgement of pride Zane had ever received from his father, and then he promptly rushed to his quarters to vomit and sob the rest of the day.
Coarse hands bracketed his face, bringing him back to the present. Talon’s eyes ensnared him yet again. This man… Zane was never letting him leave his side ever again.
“Are you in there?” Talon whispered. Oh, right. He’d only said one word since waking up. He should say more. His throat was hoarse from first screaming and then disuse. Zane placed his hand over Talon’s, stroking his knuckles.
“Hi,” he whispered. The resulting smile that spread over his friend’s face because of the simple word lifted Zane’s heart and soul. After today, he was going to ensure Talon understood how much he meant to him, and he would ask him to be more than friends. There was no way he would go throughout life without him by his side. His father be damned.
A smaller, calloused hand landed on his forearm. He glanced over his shoulder, Talon’s hands falling from his face, to see Iyana scrutinizing him. “I’m just checking your injuries.”
“You healed me?”
Iyana nodded.
“Thank you.”
She smiled sadly. “Thank Talon here. He encouraged me to try.” She removed her hand, astonishment clear on her face. “You’re completely healed.”
Zane ran his hands over his body searching for injuries he only had vague memories of incurring. And promptly realized he was naked.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Talon said, the sparkle having returned to his eyes. Zane grinned at the sight.
“I’ve never done this before, so give me a moment, but I’ll try to get you some clothing,” Iyana said. Zane frowned, noticing the new necklace she wore, which then glowed a pale silver. Clothes slowly formed around him, and too scared to move and potentially distract Iyana or cause the clothing to strangle him in some freak accident, Zane’s gaze roved around his surroundings, taking everything in. The dead man near them was wearing the dark green, almost black, uniform of his father’s elite soldiers. Fantastic. Then he spotted the bleak, drab, brown landscape surrounding them. They sat underneath an extremely dead, twisted tree. The ground was dry and brittle, cracked in more places than it wasn’t. Sounds of fighting finally reached his ears, and he saw Altair, Emmeric, and a black leopard (Kaz, he remembered) battling against more of his father’s men. Bodies littered the floor. A couple of them were taller than any man he’d ever seen, skin a stark white, faces with mouths that were too large and no eyes. What in the nine hells were those monsters?
But where was Uther?
There.A ripple in the stale air was the only sign something was amiss. As Zane stared at it, he convinced himself it was vaguely human-shaped. He had immediately presumed he was in the Dead Lands judging by how everything was, well, dead. So he knew this piece of land did not act like any other. If he were in the desert, the anomaly would easily pass off as heat waves emanating from the ground, but this was no ordinary desert. The ripple moved, and those were definitely legs walking. It must be his father. Knowing he had the astmina in his possession, it had to be how he was cloaking himself. Zane glanced down, now fully dressed. In sleek black leathers, no less. Not Holygazer green. Gods, he’d had enough of the shade to last him a lifetime.
“Nice work,” he said, his voice having regained some strength. His muscles creaked as Zane subtly stretched, trying to not attract attention towards them. So far, the other three in their party were doing a solid job of covering them, but they were flagging. Even Altair appeared to be breathing hard. But he felt fantastic. Seriously, Zane couldn’t remember feeling this good in years. Being healed by the Aztia was incredible. No wonder Uther wanted her for his own devices.
“Listen,” Zane murmured. “There’s a slight disturbance in the air at the edge of the battle. I believe it’s my father cloaking himself.”
“How?” Iyana asked.
“Most likely with the astmina. Iyana, I need you and the others to keep his attention off of me as I come up behind. Some magical displays may be necessary.”
She frowned, lips thinning, but nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“I don’t like this plan,” Tal said, looking at Zane in earnest. His tone softened. “Let me do this for you, so you don’t have to shoulder the burden.”
His willingness to take this pain and difficulty away from Zane shone through his words. Zane appreciated it more than he would ever know. He smiled sadly, squeezing Talon’s hand. “Thank you. Honestly. But this is my fight.”
“Are you sure?”
Zane nodded, resolution diving deep into his bones. Taking on his father…he was more than capable. He’d almost bested him the day at the library—he’d seen the fear of defeat in Uther’s eyes.
Talon heaved a deep breath, pushing his exhale through pursed lips. “Okay. I don’t like it, but okay.” Tal rested his brow against Zane’s. “You come back to me, yeah?”
“Always,” Zane whispered, wanting to stare into Talon’s eyes for an endless amount of time. But he knew he’d never have that chance unless his father was gone. He had to do this for their future. For his past self, who flinched at any movement Uther made. And to avenge his mother.
Iyana put on an impressive show. For someone who abhorred running or any form of exercise, she was darting around the battle, flinging fire, air, and silver light towards enemies. Not enough to kill any of them, but enough to distract and draw them in towards her friends, who then finished the job. As he crept around the melee, Zane’s vision continued to stray towards Talon, making sure he stayed safe and uninjured.
It was impossible for him to tell which way Uther was facing. His father might be watching his approach instead of Iyana, and Zane would be none the wiser. He sent a prayer to Otho that his friends kept the emperor thoroughly distracted; then, remembering Otho was his father’s preferred deity, he sent a prayer to Thelena as well. Maybe the goddess would smile upon them since Iyana was a daughter of Istora.
Zane gripped the sword—which he’d taken off the dead man—so tightly his knuckles turned white and the tips of his fingers began to go numb. He forced himself to loosen his hand as he snuck closer to the inconsistency in the air. Once he was directly behind it, he grasped the pommel with two hands and swung as hard as he could towards where a head should be, figuring even if he missed he would still cause enough damage that it wouldn’t be too hard to finish the old man off. But instead of slicing through flesh, Zane’s arms vibrated as his sword hit something solid, the sound of clashing metal ringing around him. The ripple in the air dissipated, sloughing away to reveal his father. Sword in his hand, fighting against Zane’s might, and that damned cape clasped around his neck by the astmina.
Uther sneered at Zane, showing all his teeth. “Finally grown some balls, have you, boy?” He, unfortunately, didn’t seem at all surprised to find Zane healed.
Zane strained against his father’s sword, still trying to slice through his neck. “It’s time for your reign to end, father.”
The emperor cackled as he jumped backwards, disengaging their swords and then going on the offensive. Zane blocked swiftly, the force of his father’s strike rattling through him. “I told you, you are no son of mine.”
“I’m really hoping you mean that literally.” Uther continued to advance, and Zane parried every attack, biding his time. Eventually the fatigue would set in, Uther’s age and current lack of practice would catch up to him. Plus, Zane was positively buzzing with energy following his healing. He let Uther come after him, blocking, ducking, and darting away. The astmina was the unknown factor in this fight—would Uther use it if he thought he was losing? Could he use it if the cape wasn’t around his neck? The answer to the first question would be a resounding yes. Of course, Uther would use the magic against Zane. The emperor was not accustomed to losing and, unwilling to accept defeat, would use anything at his disposal to continue his despotic rule. The answer to the second question… Well, it was worth an experiment.
Uther’s foot slipped on a patch of black blood from one of those monstrosities, and Zane took the opportunity to dart forward, slicing through his cape. They both paused as they watched it flutter to the ground. Uther frowned, heavy lines forming between his brows. Before he could make a grab for the relic, Zane lunged towards him, going on the offensive. He drove his father back, noting the panic flaring in his icy blue eyes as he realized Zane had been going easy on him. Now Zane would no longer pull his punches. Their swords clashed together, screeching as they met at the hilt and the two men’s faces were brought close together. Zane hadn’t realized he was taller than his father; the man always made him feel so insignificant.
In that moment, he was finally liberated from Uther’s tyrannical hold over him.
The change must have shown on his face because Uther’s eyes widened. Zane kicked out his leg, sweeping Uther off his feet. Following him down to the ground, he sat on the emperor’s chest, knees pinning his arms to the ground. Then he had his dagger at his father’s throat. Not my father, Zane reminded himself. He held out hope that the man his mother had been seeing, the one Uther had ruthlessly killed, was his real father. But as he watched Uther’s pulse beating erratically under his blade, he faltered. As terrible as Uther was to him—abusing him, not giving him fatherly love, plotting to murder him—he had still raised Zane. He had viewed him as a father for twenty-seven years. Could he really silence the part of his soul and heart who called this man father long enough to slit his throat, ending his life? Zane had no doubts he’d be sent directly to Phaedros’s pit, with no chance of redemption. Would he condemn his father to such a fate?
A sinister smile spread over Uther’s face. “For all this bluster, you’re still as spineless as ever.” He picked his head up, pushing his own skin into the knife’s edge, a thin drip of blood winding down to the ground. “Do it.”
Zane still hesitated.
“Do it!”
Zane sheathed his dagger and instead punched Uther in the face. Once, twice, then again with his other hand. Uther only laughed, even as his mouth filled with blood and his nose broke. Soon, Zane exhausted himself and sat there panting, mentally chastising himself for not being strong enough to end his father’s life.
“Pitiful.” Uther spat, bloody spittle flying in Zane’s face. Zane stood, leaving his father on the ground, but gave him a swift kick in the ribs for good measure.
“I’m not like you. No matter how hard you tried to beat emotions out of me, I still retained my empathy.” He kicked him again. Uther grunted and curled upon himself. “That was for my mother, you bastard.” Gods, this was fantastic. Something Zane had only ever dreamed of doing.
Uther unfurled haltingly off the ground, resting one elbow on a bent knee, his other hand on the ground supporting himself. “You could have ruled with me, Zane. But you care too much.”
“That’s shit. We both know you were plotting to kill me, so don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Once I became immortal, there would be no need for an heir. Especially one who may not be of my blood.” Uther spat out a tooth, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And should the need arise, I could find any woman willing to carry my whelp. Selena should have realized a good thing when she had it, but she fucked it up.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my mother that way,” Zane said lowly, seething.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” Uther barked a laugh. “I think we’ve already established you’re too weak.”
“I’ll give you this one chance to abdicate the throne and leave the empire to me.”
“To watch you undo all my hard work? I don’t think so.” Uther stood slowly, and Zane pointed his sword towards him, keeping the blade aimed at his throat.
Just kill him, you idiot. What are you doing?
The emperor leaned over his knees, breathing hard. Zane had another moment of doubt, thinking he’d done too much to the old man. The tip of his sword wavered and lowered away from a killing blow. It was all the opening Uther needed to grab a dagger out of his boot and launch himself at Zane.