18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter eighteen
‘NO!’ I spring forward, scrambling to grab hold of my mother’s outstretched arm. But even as I clamp my fingers around the bony flesh of her wrist, I am too late. She brings her hand downwards, sending me tumbling to the ground with the surprising force of it.
An agonised scream erupts from Eliaz, a sound that jolts my heart into a standstill. A noise that seeps into my very bones and freezes me rigid. I wait for the subsequent sound of Eliaz’s body as it falls lifelessly to the ground, but it does not come.
I dare a look over at him. Tears immediately fall when I am hit with the immense and overpowering relief at the sight of him still standing, still clutching at his leg. Only this time, because of the large Reyheni sword protruding from his thigh.
‘You fucking stabbed me!’ he exclaims, almost comically, looking to my mother as though she is the most aggravating sight he’s ever laid eyes upon.
The sight of his flesh speared through with the guard’s blade sets my blood to boiling.
And the fact that my own mother put it there brings my power up into my throat so violently I fear for a moment that I might vomit fire.
‘He is only trying to help us. Why can’t you see that?’
Angrily, I clamber to my feet. My mother doesn’t regard the movement, that aggravating blankness sheets over her face once again.
The only emotion in her face now is the slight curling of the corner of her mouth, as she regards her work on the Umbrian king’s leg.
The guards clamber back into their wakeful selves, murmuring their confusion at their sudden lapse in memory.
The one swordless guard looks confused for a second when he looks to his empty hand, but raises his chin smugly as he notices his sword in Eliaz’s leg, proud of the work he thinks he somehow carried out in his sleep.
‘You will let him go,’ I say to my mother, through gritted teeth. ‘And you will not get in our way as we take the girl in order to provide her with the help she needs in order to keep her life.’
My mother turns her head slowly in my direction, extended arms still using the energy of the Relic to fix the agonised king to the stone cobbles.
‘I cannot let you go with her. She is a citizen of Reyhen and she is in perfect health.’ Her pupils widen at me as something close to desperation seeps into her voice.
Her forehead wrinkles. ‘He has gotten into your mind, tricked you into believing suffering is sweeping through our kingdom.’
My power swells hot within me. ‘Lies,’ I spit.
‘He is what plagues us. You are a fool for believing otherwise.’ She curls her fingers around an imaginary object, eyes still fixed on mine and twists.
Eliaz screams out in agony, his cries gargling out with anguish.
Why is he not fighting back? It was barely five minutes ago that he tormented her mind, why refuse to fight her now as she grinds the blade into his thighbone?
Now – as my mother is distracted by the ultimate disappointment of her daughter – would be the perfect time to dive into her mind.
Her mental barriers are weak, paper-thin. She is not as strong-minded as she wants me to think, I know her. I know how easy it is to get under her skin. Her mind should not be any different.
‘If the girl stays here, she dies an unbearable, drawn-out and ultimately preventable death. She is someone’s daughter, and who are you to get in the way of her chances of one day being someone’s mother. Her blood will be on your hands.’
I swear I can feel my own sweat sizzle into steam from my skin as I try to appeal to the emotions of my mother, knowing full well that efforts of such kind are usually exerted in vain. ‘Just another drop of Reyheni blood you seem indifferent to spilling.’
‘Eira,’ she says. A warning. A plea. I cannot be sure.
‘Tell me.’ I step closer to her, chin raised, our noses almost brushing with the proximity.
She mirrors my action, straightening her spine and perking up her jaw and peering down her nose at me.
‘Did you stand idly by as you do now when father acted against the gods? When he performed sacrilege against the Virtuae Relic itself under the false pretence of protection.’
My mother sniffles, unwavering. Indifferent.
‘What part did you play in the murdering of those who voiced their opposition in order to protect the sanctity of the Relic – of Reyhen – as you continuously fail to do?’
‘Eira,’ she breathes out. I step back from her, making a show of looking her up and down. I don’t need to feign my disgust at the ornament of a woman I take in before me.
‘You are no queen.’ Without taking my eyes from her, I raise my hand in Eliaz’s direction, mirroring my mother’s outstretched limb, feeling the energy of the Relic buzz in the atmosphere around my fingers.
I too, latch my fingers around something, but I do not twist, I pull.
The phantom tearing of flesh tugs at my hand as I wrench the sword free from Eliaz’s thigh, wincing slightly at the noise that breaks free from his throat as I do so.
My mother, still holding a regal and composed disposition, begins to tremble as she tracks the sword's leisurely journey through the air towards her. The muscles in my arm are tight and aching as I hold the sword to her face, the blade’s point stopping mere centimetres from the spot between her eyes.
Her body melts loose into pure fear, trembling now with the absence of subtlety. I am too blinded by anger to consider even the concept of guilt.
‘You are no mother.’ Traitorous tears stream down my cheeks, trickling over my lips until my spit tastes like salt. ‘The only thing you act so vehemently against is the will of your own daughter.’
I see no wetness of upset trailing the face of the Reyheni queen as she stares down the blade of her own guard’s sword, which only makes the fire within me blaze to an uncontrollable heat.
Her lips quiver, but something in her silence tells me that she does not really believe me capable of harm – of violence.
My entire body hums with resentment for the woman who does not expect anything of her daughter other than beauty and grace. I flex my arm, reeling it back, preparing for the force of release.
‘Eira, that’s enough.’ Eliaz’s voice is low and gravely as it cuts through the action I would have regretted deeply without the intervention.
He sounds stilled, unpained. Suddenly aware of the gravity of the scene before me, I release the sword from the thickness of the air, flinching as it clatters clumsily to the ground at the Queen of Reyhen’s feet.
My mother.
I look at my hands through the blurring of tears, a sob rising upwards with all the acridity of vomit, a sweltering heat raging from my fingertips.
The overwhelming combination of emotions swell and slash within me, bringing my power up, up and up to the surface.
I try to douse it, thinking of gathering it all up and pushing it down with my blistering hands.
I plea with it. But in this moment, my power only takes instruction from my body, not my mind.
Pure, orange light cracks free from the wrinkles in the skin of my palms, balling high in the air above me.
Above my mother. It crackles and roars with untamed ferocity, screaming out my every feeling with each lashing of flame.
My mother begins to sweat, the curled-up strands of hair loose around her forehead stick to her skin, her chest heaves and her eyes widen with something so close to horror. Hurt.
Oh gods, she thinks I’m doing this on purpose. The sword was a warning. The balled-up fire is a blatant threat.
‘No, I—’
‘Eira,’ Eliaz says from somewhere behind the blurred sheet of heat warping the world around my power. It wavers, dips when he speaks, and I have to heave it upwards in order to stop it falling. It is heavy. Not the lightweight flames that I have yielded before. It’s substantial – oppressive.
‘We must leave. Now. Control yourself, control it. You’re not violent.’
My mother’s fear manifests in the air through trembling breathy whimpers. Emotion as real and fervent as the ball of fire hanging in suspense above her head. I look from her up to my power, the weight of it growing and growing until the muscles in my arms scream out for me to let go.
A part of me wants to. To relieve myself of its pressure or out of anger towards my mother, I cannot tell. My arm spasms, the crackling ball of my power wavers and dips in the air. My mother screams.
‘Eira, this isn’t you!’ Eliaz shouts.
‘But they don’t get it, she doesn’t get it,’ I say with gritted teeth, my eyes locked on my power. ‘I need to make her understand.’
‘She will have a hard time understanding if she’s a pile of ash on the ground.
’ I do not realise how close he is to me until his hand finds my arm.
His leg as though there was never a wound, the only evidence of the sword’s intrusion being the hole in the fabric of his breeches.
I let my eyes trail upwards, to his heaving chest, to his teary, begging eyes.
‘Please, let us go now before you do something in anger that you cannot easily take back.’
I turn my attention back to my power, the swirling blazing sun of it, and then to my mother, who has fallen to her knees so as not to be singed by it.
I lower my arms.
‘No—’ Eliaz whispers.
But I do not let my power fall. Instead, I heave it back and launch it towards the castle gates, the fire turning a violent shade of blue as it hurtles through the air, over the guards and into the wall of metal.
It burns right through, leaving a gaping, steaming hole. Big enough for us to climb through.
Eliaz pulls me away by both my shoulders until I am in front of him, and pushes me towards the gates. The guards do not move. They do not blink. As they haven’t done since I tore the sword from Eliaz’s leg.
He scoops up the sleeping Myla from the cobblestones and begins walking through the archway. I do not move. Instead, I glance back at my mother. There she is on her knees, a shaking hand reaching out to me, as though to drag me back to her with the Relic’s power.
‘Come, Eira,’ Eliaz says.
And I obey.
Calli meets us on the Umbrian side of the Divide, accompanied by a few guards who are quick into action when they notice Myla sleeping serenely in Eliaz’s arms, taking her from their king with a humble bow.
The swiftness of their action indicates that this is protocol and has been carried out this very same way hundreds of times before.
Eliaz didn’t even need to say a single word.
Just a jerk of the chin in the general direction of Lessom and they were on their way, obedient and proud to serve.
Myla gives a soft mumble as they turn from us, her hands tucked under her chin like a child in the sanctity of their mother’s arms. I suppose she is a child, but she won’t be much longer, considering how rapidly she will grow after she is cured of the affliction.
‘Please take care of her!’ I shout after them. ‘She will be frightened when she wakes.’ The second part comes out like a grainy whisper when I realise they do not acknowledge me but continue onward without a backward glance. Calli’s warm hand pats my back as she comes to stand at my side.
‘She will be very well looked after, don’t you worry,’ she says in a hushed voice, which I suspect is to stop Eliaz hearing for whatever reason. ‘I will make sure she and your friend Diarmid will have each other for company.’
I smile at her in thanks, my eyes unwilling to join the action as my eyelids hang heavy with fatigue.
‘Let’s get you home, you will be in desperate need of some rest.’ Calli drapes an arm around my shoulder and begins to walk me in the direction of the woods, towards Daegon Manor.
‘What about Eliaz?’ I look over her arm towards her brother, standing with his back to us, hands in pockets, head upturned to the air where the Divide stands invisible.
‘Don’t worry about him, he’s a sucker for quiet contemplation after a gruelling day – or night in this case. Do I need to know what happened?’
I shake my head, staring into the blood-red voids of her eyes. ‘Nothing that can’t wait until I’ve slept for a year.’
Her giggle is like soap bubbles in the air.
‘And after you’ve bathed. Girl, you reek of smoke, and not the gentle smell of a briefly lit candle either. Hell, every time I see you, you seem to be drenched in a new layer of stench.’
I shrug, ignoring the slight rolling of my ankle as my foot slips from a fallen branch as we enter the woods, a place much more enchanting when the sun casts her rays upon it.
‘I’ve been without my lavish soaps and abundance of fine perfumes for far too long it seems.’
I breathe in the catching scent of fire lingering in my nostrils with close-eyed relishing.
I much prefer the smell of change being made.
However harsh and indelicate it may be.