Chapter Thirty-four
Rising to its full height, the Nightshade gives a thunderous roar, its serpentine tendrils brandished like deadly weapons.
In four of its shadowy appendages, I’m surprised to find it’s still holding Cyrus, Gideon, Kara and Savannah.
They’ve been reduced to pale, emaciated figures hanging limply in its grasp, but they’re still alive. Barely.
The beast drops them on to the floor, and they try to scramble away, but their limbs are weak, affording only a slow crawl.
It doesn’t matter. The Nightshade isn’t focused on them any more. Its eyes, two glowing embers within a murky storm, are fixed on Madame Vera.
She staggers back, raising her head in bewilderment. I revel in the sight. I want her to fear for her life the way Elara did.
The sharp cold bite of vengeful energy pulls at the air around me, like a bowstring being pulled too tight.
It’s a sensation that grows, spreading like a creeping frost, relentless and inevitable.
I taste it on my tongue – metallic and frozen-over, almost numbing, with a hint of something bitter and charred that lingers in the back of my throat.
Somewhere at the edge of my consciousness, I’m aware of the Astrals helping the competitors to their feet.
In the corner of my eye, I can see Cyrus looking back at me.
He’s barely able to stand, and his eyes, usually sharp with arrogance, are wide with shock, flickering with something akin to pity.
Then he’s gone. The monocled man sweeps him through one of the moonlit arches along with the rest of the injured competitors.
“There’s another exit,” I hear the Astral in green murmur. “A path leading down to the beach…”
“The Principal Guard should already be waiting there,” adds the monocled man. “We must alert them.”
That was fast. How did the Principal Guard know to come here? Then I remember. A small fleet is always dispatched to sweep the island for survivors after the tournament, before Aurora Isle descends into the ocean again.
Hope floods me. Then it curdles in my veins. I can’t let Madame Vera escape before the Guard gets here.
“Well,” Madame Vera says, looking between me and the Nightshade. “I admit you’ve put up a very impressive show, dear. But do you truly think you stand a chance against me?”
“I want my sister back,” I demand. “NOW!” And as I scream the word at the top of my lungs, the Nightshade lashes out at Madame Vera with a murky tentacle.
She stares at the foggy appendage wrapping around her wrist and, for a moment, there’s a flicker of uncertainty behind her mask of arrogance. It doesn’t last long.
She fearlessly seizes the tendril of energy. The Necroseals on her fingers pulse as she draws power from them. The Nightshade’s tentacle sizzles from her touch and the beast emits a high-pitched squeal as her fingers melt right through the energy.
The Nightshade takes flight, seeking refuge in the shadowy corners of the temple. I sever myself from its consciousness and drop to my knees. The next second, she’s on me, her palm flat on my chest. Her nails curl forward, digging into my skin like daggers.
I try to back away, but Madame Vera has a hold on something deep within me, and she’s squeezing it, tightening her grip around it. She pulls on it, and my chest feels like it’s about to burst.
It’s my soul, I think. This is what she did to Taron. I choke and gasp for air, my vision swimming as I feel my soul beginning to leave my body.
“You’re still young. So very talented,” Madame Vera says, her voice a twisted melody of persuasion. “Things don’t have to end this way. Why don’t you work for me? I can teach you things.”
Never, I want to mutter, but my lips refuse to move.
“Pity about your scruples,” she adds. “A little less conscience, and you might have been truly magnificent. Like me, perhaps.”
My breath comes in bursts, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me. I can make out Taron, watching, fists balled. I can feel the thick black energy of his hatred.
But he doesn’t intervene. He can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Never, I try to mutter once more, still to no avail. But there’s a flicker inside of me. A little ember that refuses to be snuffed out. As Madame Vera begins to feed on my soul, I grit my teeth, harnessing the full extent of my anger and my hatred and my sorrow.
Every sinew in my body coils as I concentrate on gathering the energy, on flooding it back into the Nightshade. As I watch it rise from the shadows behind her, I, too, stand taller, my knees strengthening beneath me.
There’s movement in the corner of my eye. My heart lifts as I see Taron hurling himself towards us. But his blue irises are glassy, looking right through me as though I don’t exist. Then I realize it’s not me he’s trying to help – it’s her.
As the Nightshade draws itself up to its full height, ready to strike, Taron throws himself in front of Madame Vera. His elbow is raised as though he’s holding an invisible shield, and his heels are planted firmly on the floor.
The Nightshade’s tendrils smash against Taron’s barrier with a hard force, again and again, violently trying to reach for Madame Vera.
Taron straightens his elbow until his palm is facing the Nightshade.
He groans, and it’s a raw sound, almost a scream, drawn from deep within his chest. He uses all his energy to redirect the creature’s flailing limbs, compelling them to crash to the floor.
He’s trying to keep them pinned with all his might.
I choke as Madame Vera drops her hold on me and turns. “Such an ungrateful girl,” she says, brushing herself off. Then, with a snap of her fingers, an army of grotesque hands rises from the floor. “I was only trying to help you.”
More hands are sprouting up, grasping at the Nightshade. It squeals and writhes as the hands slowly drag it down beneath the floor, beneath the ground. Where to, I don’t think I want to know.
“You should’ve accepted my offer.” Madame Vera’s stare is full of hatred. She glances at Taron. “Kill her.”
Slowly, he turns, his movements stiff.
“Taron?” I mutter.
He takes a step forward. There is only a chilling emptiness in his eyes. I scramble back, away from him. He blinks and stops.
“What are you doing, boy?” Madame Vera grabs his chin, pulling his face towards her with a forceful grip. She whispers into his ear, and the largest Necroseal on her ring finger glows with a familiar yellow light.
I’ve seen it before, in Taron’s vision. When she first captured his soul within it.
He nods and advances. His movements are sluggish as if fighting against them.
“Taron, stop it … you can resist her,” I insist, slowly reversing away from him until my back meets the cool stone of a column. “Don’t let her control you.”
My hands are trembling. I try to conjure a whip from whatever scraps of energy I can gather within myself. But desperation is a fickle thing, made even more unstable when mixed with fear.
I lash my weak attempt at a whip at Taron’s feet, but he grabs it, twisting his forearm around it to draw me closer to him.
“Please,” I plead, warm tears trickling down my cheeks. “I know you’re still in there…”
I fight against his overwhelming strength, straining to dissolve the energy that binds the whip. One chilling thought consumes my mind. He’s going to kill me.
A cry of frustration bubbles up my throat and the energy whip snaps, sending me stumbling backwards into the column. My head hits the cold, hard stone and stars swirl in front of my vision.
“You should never have tried to fight her.” Taron’s voice is low as he strides towards me with squared shoulders.
I can’t find his eyes under his hair. One look is all I need.
He’s still in there – he has to be. The Taron who showed mercy to a street urchin.
The Taron who saved Mei from being impaled by a dragon.
The Taron whose lips are soft against mine, and whose tender touch fills me with warmth.
He extends an arm and I know what’s coming before I can even feel it. My eyes flicker down to the shears in my boot, and I know what I have to do.
Taron’s invisible grip pushes against my chest, forcing me back against the column. I grab my shears and hide them at my side. They’re heavy in my hand.
My ribs ache from the pressure, my lungs struggling to expand as I gasp for air.
Taron stops in front of me, inches away. He looks up at the column above, rather than at my face. Then he bangs his fist against the stone near my neck, and the pressure around my throat tightens.
“Taron, you have to stop.” Desperation bleeds into my words. “Taron, wake up!” I scream, and my arm breaks free.
I swing my shears at his shoulder, but he grabs my hand. His grip is strong on my wrist, twisting it until my fingers are forced to release the shears. He grabs them, and then he’s leaning into me, my own shears poised against my neck.
I brace myself, but Taron doesn’t move. As he lowers his chin, his blue eyes find mine beneath his hair. It’s him. He’s back.
My heart leaps against my ribcage as he scans my face, following the tear tracks down my cheeks. The moment between us stretches out like a taut wire ready to snap.
“Why aren’t you fighting back?” he demands.
“Because I’m waiting for you to kill me.”
I can see the conflict etched into his features. A vein throbs between his brows, still mottled with dark energy. His bottom lip quivers. He locks his jaw to make it stop.
“That’s what she ordered you to do, isn’t it?” I ask. “I’ve seen you do it before in your memories. I saw all the horrible, unimaginable things you did for that woman. What makes me any different? You’re a monster, Taron.”
“If I’m a monster, she made me one,” he whispers, and the admission hangs between us, although I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
“Is that what you want?” My voice softens. “You said you wanted to be free … remember?”
He hesitates, and the pressure of his talents loosens more and more. I can breathe again. I peel myself away from the column ever so slightly.
Taron goes rigid, and I look over his shoulder. Madame Vera stands behind him. Her yellow-blonde hair is a tangled nest on top of her head. She’s no longer smiling.
Her sweat-soaked face is a grotesque mask of rage as she demands, “Well, what are you waiting for, Taron?”
He turns to look at her.
“I said, kill her.”
I don’t wait to find out if he’s going to. Before he has time to turn back to face me, I summon every ounce of strength I have left and push him away from me.
I run as fast as I can, sprinting towards the arch beyond which the Astrals vanished with the other competitors.
My stomach lurches when the floor beneath me shifts. Not the floor, but the air around me, pulled out beneath my feet like a rug.
I throw my palms forward to break my fall, but the temple’s stone floor is hard and uneven. I land with a thud, and twist on the floor to face the duo behind me.
Taron doesn’t have his arm outstretched, but a twitch in his finger coincides with the tightening feeling around my ankle. To my surprise, tears are welling in his eyes.
“Taron?” I breathe.
He takes a step towards me, but Madame Vera grips his arm. There’s a note of unease in her voice as she says, “Forget it, this is taking too long. We need to go before those Astrals return with the Principal Guard. We got what we came for.”
Even though I should be breathing a sigh of relief, all I feel is icy, twisted dread as they turn together and start walking towards the tunnel leading to the temple’s entrance.
“No!” I scream. I get to my feet. “Taron—”
With a wave of his hand, he sends me flying backwards through the air until I fall in the shallow pool by the foot of the ancient tree.
“You can still be freed,” I cry, sitting up. I’m too weak to move. “Please, don’t go…”
But he walks on until he vanishes down the tunnel.
Madame Vera stops to sneer at me. “Don’t you understand? He belongs to me, dear.”
“You monster,” I whimper, rising slowly to my feet. But even that requires too much strength, and I sink to my knees again.
“Oh, silly girl,” Madame Vera taunts, turning to the entrance again. “Don’t tell me you fell for Taron? You’re a fool. He’s not capable of love, you see. Or at least, not of loving anyone other than me. You were always bound to have your heart broken.”
A moment later, they’re both gone, and the sound of her boots echoing against the tunnel walls fades into silence.
I’m still on my knees, still staring at the tunnel’s gaping maw. He’s gone. It feels like a physical blow. Tears blur my vision, but I make no sound. The pain is too raw.
Taron is gone. Just like Elara.
Once again, I’m alone.
I don’t know how long it’s been before I hear the sound of movement somewhere within the temple. Footsteps. They grow louder until they’re rushing through one of the arches to my left. I look up, and all I feel is numbness.
The monocled man is leading a charge of soldiers from the Principal Guard. They’re wearing glinting black armour and have their weapons poised, the air around them crackling with whatever talents they wield.
I can tell they’re disappointed when they see me instead of Madame Vera. A young girl, battered and bruised, barely strong enough to perch upright. A criminal, a traitor to the throne.
When they approach to arrest me, I don’t resist.