27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ariella

W eaving my umbral strand, I string together more wards than I normally would—something I’m becoming annoyingly efficient at. I toss the journal onto my bed and step into the bathroom, my breathing finally slowing. My palms press to the vanity as I study myself in the mirror.

This is the monster I’ve become.

Stiff hair matted with blood that looks darker than it should, courtesy of the fucking silver strands. The same hair I once loved for the reputation it gave me, but now hate because it’s colored with Isaiah’s—

A deep breath.

It’s difficult to see how much blood soaked into my clothes, but the imperceptibly dark patches are enough of an answer. The cream tile clashes with my hands, making it painfully obvious how grotesque they look. The same hands that just carried Isaiah back home .

There’s a light tinge of red covering parts of my face, streaking where the prince grabbed me—I’ve never been so conflicted about someone. The sincere hope in his eyes when he claimed to know what I did caught me off guard…Elowen seems to know more than I’d like her to, especially because she feels it necessary to inform the prince of every detail. Caspian would have lived with or without her help, so it was not vital that he know the manner in which I chose to impale him.

I am fucking weak.

I should have sliced through his heart, and this would no longer be an issue. That’s what I’ve been planning to do—the only thing I’ve wanted for years. My blade was a moment away from following through…but when I had the chance to uproot the king’s life?

I can fuck with him in other ways—that’s what I told myself when I held my trembling blade to the prince’s abdomen.

“I bet you believed killing Isaiah would get you what you want?” The king stands unmoving with a smugness only royals could exude. “That’s where you fucked up, Thalion.” The prince tugs against my wards, but I don’t release him immediately. He does not need to be privy to my words.

“I don’t think so, Ms. Mistaire. Your reaction confirmed this; though I am still debating on forgetting my son’s ridiculous begging for your life and taking it, anyway.” He sighs, bored. “No matter, I have a feeling something else will do that for me very soon.” I fail to care what he means as I lean in to make sure he hears my next admission clearly.

“You just took away the only thing in my life that would have made me comply with your demands. Now I’ve nothing left to lose…so your precious son, Thalion?” I look at the prince over my shoulder before facing the king’s cold eyes once more. “He’s mine.”

My lip curls at every memory from today rummaging through my head—I will allow myself one minute to feel everything I need to before shutting it all down once more.

My body sags at the concession, and I press my eyes tightly closed as I lean over the vanity. The night with Caspian and every uncomfortable thing that settled inside me when I gave in to what I’d convinced myself was just pure lust. The horrific anticipation I felt walking toward Isaiah’s body, already knowing what I would find. Driving my blade into the prince after ignoring the half of my body that pleaded for me to spare him. Looking at my best friend one last time, before impulsively deciding to visit my parents’ home because I wasn’t ready to face Caspian yet. Or the king.

Any of it.

A strangled breath leaves me, and before I can fully comprehend what I’m doing, my fist connects with the mirror. A comforting pain rushes from my knuckles to the top of my arm as the brittle glass cracks with a sharp, skin-tingling sound. The hairs along my skin rise when I meet the eyes of my fragmented reflection; a desolate image void of any lingering emotion.

I can handle emptiness. I prefer it.

My time in the shower is significantly longer than I’d anticipated. The blood from my clothes stained my skin, especially heavy where the water surrounded me when I stood in the fountain. I scrub my body so hard that I cannot tell where my blood begins and Isaiah’s ends. I watch the last of his life slip away, his entire existence folded into a few drops of crimson sinking into the drain.

Something inside me cracks when I turn the water off, drying quickly enough that I'm not tempted to look at my skin before exiting the bathroom. I don't want to see what I just did—how easy it was for me to wipe him from my body. I scrunch my eyes, shoving a shirt roughly over my head, groaning when it gets caught on my nose. Crumpling of the bedding fills the silence; something I would have once found comforting, but cannot stand right now.

I reach for my father's journal, only to pull my hand back. Something frantic tugs inside me, wanting to know everything he wrote, didn't write, crossed out, smudged…all of it. But I do not think it is the right time—there's too much happening in my head to process anything he wrote.

I sigh, sliding under the sheets, my eyes drifting closed before I'm even fully settled .

A blade is in my hand before my eyes snap open at the loud knocking on my door. I scan the dark room twice before I’m confident it’s only me in here. I quietly rise from the bed, tensing when another round of pounding sounds ahead of me. I slip on my training clothes and tie my hair up before walking to the door, my heart racing. There’s a sliver of light that passes through the bottom, adjusting with the person that is on the other side.

This could be a trap. Whoever it is must have discovered my wards when they weren’t able to break in…unfortunately for them, they will not walk away knowing my secret. I tug on my umbral strand and pull apart the essence just as the person frantically knocks again.

“Ariella, please open up!” My head falls back at the prince’s whisper-shouting, flutters moving through my abdomen. “I don’t have much time before someone else comes to get you.” My brows furrow as I yank the door open, being met with Caspian’s loose-fitted pants and unbuttoned shirt. I avert my eyes to find his—interesting he appears upset instead of hungry, as if he didn’t wander to this side of the castle for one thing.

I cross my arms and rest my chin on the blade, using the sting to ground my reaction. “If you woke me thinking I’d fuck you, I fear you are incredibly mistaken on how well you use your dick.” Misleading, but partially true.

“What?” he questions, his eyes looking to the right momentarily. “I’m not—I mean I would. I want to but—wait. Did you just say I’m bad at sex? Because I distinctly remember you admitting the opposite when I made you come a third time.” My eyes narrow at the fist he holds against his side.

“Did I?” A smile plays at my lips as I lean against the door frame. “I don’t recall making such an inaccurate statement.”

He chuckles, his cheeks reddening. He runs a hand over the back of his neck as his eyes drink in my body. “Fuck, I wish I didn’t have to do this right now. I’d love nothing more than to stir up those missing memories of yours.”

“What are you doing here, if it’s not to talk your way into my bed?”

Every sense heightens when he looks down the hall again. Maybe this is a trap, after all. “I’m sorry, angel.” I straighten at his pained expression, gripping my blade tighter.

“What do—” I falter when his closed hand reaches up to toss something at my face. Powder. “What the fuck, prince? I will…” my words slur off as my entire body grows extraordinarily heavy. “Why?” He lunges forward to grab me when I stumble back. I fight with everything I have to stay awake, but the last thing I hear is the prince apologizing over and over again.

I lurch up, coughing violently at the freezing powder I breathed in. My hands immediately reach to cover my face as it gets belted with what feels like shards of ice. I will my body to stop shivering so badly, though my attempts are useless. The cold bites into my skin, burning each nerve it touches.

The only thing I can hear is the incessant howling that masks even my heavy breathing. I cup my eyes and peek through my hands—snow. When did it start fucking snowing in Valoria?

Something flaps from under my sleeve, and I pull out the paper, struggling to read what it says.

My hands touch my face and body—everything feels the same…

“That fucking bastard drugged me!” I scoff, tucking my face into the bend of an arm.

I need to move. Quickly. I’ve no idea how long I was unconscious for, and I can already feel my limbs weakening as their resources are directed to the center of my body. I carefully push up, barely managing to stand without the frenzied blizzard forcing me back down. My lungs burn as I sigh deeply when my fingers touch the blade at my thigh—Caspian must have sheathed it before he brought me here.

How did I get here?

I wince as a strong gust of wind attacks me, my fingers dotted with blood when I pull them back.

Heat, then move.

The only things I can think about right now, lest the king get his wish after all. My eyes scrunch closed as I attempt to concentrate on calling to my pyro strand; it takes several tugs before the familiar essence comes forward. I coax it over my skin, only enough to prevent the worst effects of the storm. Even just that small amount of warmth feels like it was gifted by the Angel itself.

Covering my eyes once more, I scour my surroundings, clearing my throat when the dryness tickles it. It is impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction, though the slope under my feet and the amount of snow already on the ground tell me everything I need to know—for now .

Unstable memories threaten to thwart my focus, but I shove them down and begin wading down the mountain. At least, I think this is the direction I need.

I chuckle, the movement feeling how I imagine sands in the Cindara Desert do. My legs move too slowly through the snow, and after only minutes I am panting and sweating. This is not good—I’ve no food, water, or reliable clothing. My sweat is quickly depleting my body’s heat, though I can weave more. For a while. The most pressing issues are how damp my clothes will get from the sweating and how quickly I will become dehydrated.

“I could melt some snow…” I scan the area once more, decently confident that no one would witness my use of undocumented essence. It would be a big risk, but so would not having water.

I straighten and continue inching forward, shoving each hand under an arm to conserve essence. I’ve never determined just how much I can use before my body gives out from exhaustion—and I’d rather not discover that at this moment.

I’ve no idea how much time passes before I’m cursing the Angel for not creating any useful essence. It would be a dream to fly down the fucking mountain, but instead I’m anticipating another several hours before I reach the castle. My sweat has coated the collar still imprisoning me, allowing the blizzard to quickly dry the hard material to my skin. I’m certain that moving it will only tear my skin with it; it burns, but it’s not yet important enough for me to weave my pyro strand until it lets go .

The blizzard seems to have lessened—possibly. It is a challenge to know for certain, as everything is still just as white and blinding as before. My brow attempts to furrow, barely moving from how stiff my skin has become. I’ve yet to see another competitor…the Elysaran mountains reach north for hundreds of miles, but I wouldn’t expect that we were all placed so far apart. They must be close. Or dead.

Hopefully the latter.

Images of lying down and being lost in the snow forever flood my mind. It would be so easy to succumb to the call of the mountain—give my body to it in exchange for ridding me of all my ridiculous problems.

I wheeze in another burning breath and drive myself forward. Isaiah’s death would mean nothing if I let go. My father’s death. Even my mother's. The king is responsible for each of their murders.

It may have been my mother that shoved the blade through her heart, but instinct tells me that Thalion was the reason for her decision. I’m unsure of how, but I’ll never figure it out if I die here. I must keep going.

I struggle for hours, carefully weaving heat into my limbs when I’ve no other option. I have never known such exhaustion—tugging my pyro strand becomes harder with each attempt. It slips through my calling, forcing my body to become colder while I continue to sweat more water than I can physically consume. The amount of heat I can weave is minimal at this point; it’s as if the cold is overpowering that strand. It could be affecting all of my affinities, though I will not test that theory in these conditions.

Nor will I allow myself to fear what will happen if I do not reach the base—or at least make it through this fucking blizzard. The shards of ice no longer strike me hard enough to bleed, though I can feel the rashes they’re creating along my exposed skin.

My surroundings have brightened slightly, and I’m certain I can see a bit further, though it does not feel like enough compared to how long I’ve been walking—stumbling, mostly. However I imagined I could keep Isaiah alive long enough to win…I’m not sure. My body is barely listening enough to save myself, so to ensure the safe descent of two?

My best friend’s unimpressed eyes flash just ahead, as if he’s telling me just how pathetic that sounds. He’s right—the reminder sinks into my skin, providing energy I couldn’t detect before. I’m the fucking Silver Wraith…I will not yield to a bout of snow.

I look up, nearly groaning at the hint of shapes coming into view. I squint when the shapes appear to move—no, shape. Just one.

My stiff fingers find the icy blade on my thigh and unsheathe it. The distinct features of another person fill out the closer I get. They must hear my shuffling as they spin, screeching before they stumble to their back, indenting the snow with their flailing body.

I take a step. “Please don’t!” the person croaks. A woman. “I don’t want to die on the mountain! Please just let me get down so that my family can have my body!” I recognize that voice.

I march forward and rip trembling arms away from their face to be met with—“Ally?”

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