Chapter Eighty-Five
Impossible
But the Imperial Palace is said to be impenetrable.
“Varic!” I scream again, shielding my eyes with my hand.
I blink against the dust caking my lashes and cry out his name. My feet slide over the stage as I spin with the hope he can hear me. My heart hammers as I scream for Lars with the hope that his keen hearing can pick my voice out of the chaos.
Another crack sounds overhead, and I cough and gasp as I wave my hands. Though it fails to clear the air enough for me to make out the black uniforms of my Guards.
Screams rise as more dust falls over us, enveloping everything in a thick cloud.
Why isn’t there any amber?
Why can’t I feel the heat from Varic’s gaze?
Wouldn’t I be the first one he would seek in a situation like this?
“Varic!” I scream as another section disperses the gray cloud as it falls.
I bend down and cover my head with my hands, as if that will help protect me.
The stone hurtles toward a section of pews, clearing the air around it as a group of telekinetic Guards rush to the outer edge of the stage.
I scan their outlines to try to find Malin’s hair bound above his head in any of the silhouettes, and my chest constricts when none of them wear the same style as he does.
Their magic rises to stop the giant slab from crushing everyone scrambling and screaming to make it out from below, then brings it down once the last of the citizens have left the area to crush the dark wooden pews beneath it.
“Lars!” I scream as I spin around, trying to remember which direction I last saw them, fearing my voice will reach those whom I do not wish to encounter while I try to capture my Guards’ attention. “Malin!”
Fuck. The Emperor cannot be killed by any of this. Not even if a giant boulder were to crush his chest. Or so he claims. Though nothing feels certain in this chaos.
“Fray! Please. I need you!” Please come find me.
A sob wracks through my body, and I have to rein it in. I cannot allow myself to break down right now—no matter how intense my fear is. I need to stay alert. I must be prepared to fight in case the assailants try to take me hostage.
I gather all the air my lungs can possibly hold to scream, “Cirrin!”
Tendrils of curiosity burst from my chest and search in every direction for my Guards’ magical signatures. Yet my power gets tangled in the mass of emotions being emitted from every other being.
The weight of terror overwhelms my senses as I search for them. My leg muscles burn while I remain crouched over the ground. I retract my weary magic and shake with the sensation of the last ember of hope feeling just out of reach—until a distinct purple mist billows past my periphery.
I turn to where Lars’ red streak of speed magic blurs just before his arms lift me from the ground.
He slams my face against his chest, and I pull in a shuddering breath filled with his fresh pine scent.
He rushes forward through the haze until we both gasp as our sides collide with the edge of a hidden boulder.
He releases his hold on me as sharp pain radiates from my hip and shoulder. We sputter and swat at the air to make out the shape of anything aside from the rubble around us.
“Did you see Varic, Cirrin, or Fray? Are they okay?”
“Yes, they’re alive.” Lars dusts off his shoulder. “Or at least, they were when I ran here.”
“Then why isn’t Varic shielding me?”
Silence answers me, increasing the sense of urgency to climb up and over the jagged stone to find them. My head swivels around to see where they once stood when another crack echoes through the air.
Lars and I turn to Malin as he falls to his knees and clenches his eyes shut. He sends his purple magic to swirl around the stones to bring them down carefully, aiding the other telekinetic sorcerers risking their lives to save us.
“Do you think we should try to heal him?” I turn to Lars, imploring.
He shakes his head with a sorrowful expression. “No, I don’t want us to hurt him.”
My magic detects the level of fear and anguish filling Lars’ chest as he witnesses his love struggling.
I seek what I can find inside myself and balk at the sense of something powerful infiltrating my being, thrumming like the spell I felt powering me in Annovia—allowing me to send Malin threads of focus and calm.
His cheeks quiver beneath the stream of tears cleansing the dust from his skin to the edge of his mask, and my heart quirks when he glances up at us in acknowledgement.
“Should we take her to the safe room?” Lars yells.
I break off a sliver of the hope they’ve given me and imbue it straight into Lars’ chest.
“No! I cannot abandon them,” Malin yells back, gesturing where the dust settles around small groups of healers attending to every telekinetic sorcerer lining the edge of the stage.
“Not until we locate everyone. I need to stay and help.” Malin’s words pierce my heart, as his must be made of gold from the sheer care he displays for those we would otherwise leave in danger.
“My power holds much longer than theirs can. Just look at how many telekinetics are in need of a healer.” He breaks my heart with the plea in his expression as he looks up at Lars. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
The magic I maintain with Lars indicates his chest is bursting with enough trust and admiration to fill the room around us. “I trust you,” he yells, and tightens his hold on me, seeking the pressure he would normally require from Malin.
My stomach turns with the prolonged absence of amber and blue magic. At the way not even Fray’s light gray is discernible from all the rubble.
Nor the tell-tale heat of Varic’s gaze to prove he’s alive and can see me.
“Do you know what happened to the Emperor?” I ask, glancing around with concern that he could be the next to find me.
“His Guards dragged him to the other side of the stage while he screamed for them to bring him to you.” Lars pulls a spare mask from the compartment in his leathers.
“Here, this should help you breathe better.” He tugs it down over my head and secures it along the bridge of my nose.
Despite the fact I’ve already inhaled so much dust, every breath through the fabric feels easier.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out calmer than I feel as he grabs hold of my arms to keep me close.
The haze clears enough that I can see where my Guards once stood, and my stomach flips to witness the hunk of stone piercing the ground just inches before it.
“Tasch!” My heart pounds as Varic’s voice cuts through the shouting and screaming.
Or am I imagining what I heard with the vision?
I frantically scan the perimeter, unable to form the words to ask if Lars heard Varic—too afraid of what his answer could be.
Cracking sounds as Malin’s magic rises, catching a section of wall to keep it from crushing us.
My heart hammers harder as he tosses the fragment on top of the boulder, which juts out of the stage where all of my Guards were last known to be living, shattering my heart when both stones crumble from the impact.
Lars tightens his grip, preventing me from turning while I anxiously scan every shadow and jutting edge of stone, needing to find some sign of the sorcerers I am missing.
“Varic!” I scream so loud it shreds my vocal cords.
I hold my breath and strain to hear his response among all the screams and crumbling, when a spark—a glowing pinkish-red ember—floats through the gray and hovers before rushing toward me.
I gasp when it embeds itself in my chest. Tears roll down my cheeks as it imbues me with a familiar elixir of admiration and devotion—each carrying the hue I’ve only ever seen encapsulating Varic’s love for me.
The warmth of his gaze courses through my body until I feel that welcoming tingle as it rises up my neck to settle in beneath my cheeks like it has so many times before this. My chest shudders with my breath as I crane my neck with the need to see him.
Where is he? Did he send this? Did he send his love to find me here?
He must be able to see me, because the distinct heat is the most convincing, while the hue itself could not be fabricated.
It has to be him. He’s alive! He’s—
No.
Not necessarily.
Because my magic can conjure old emotions. My heart sinks with the awareness that my own power has imbued me with feelings from the past—oftentimes so convincingly, it feels as if it is happening, though it’s only an impression.
Out of every witch on the Continent, I am the one most capable of this.
The one who draws emotions from memories I reserve for this very purpose. To manipulate others into believing their own feelings have shifted without my influence.
“Tasch,” Lars says, as if from a distance. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head and hide my disappointment. This is not the time to be rendered helpless. Instead, I will use this power to get us through this.
“They’re alive,” he reassures me. “We are going to see them soon, I promise.”
I nod, though my eyes will not focus as I gather the love I feel for Varic, having increased since the first time I felt it—
Flames dance in his eyes as he stares back at me, sitting in the center of the white bed. His expression is filled with fear and a hint of shame as he openly shares the parts of himself others hide.
I pull on the sensation of loss at the thought of being parted from the being who so openly bared his soul to me.
I allow it to conjure my feelings of love for the same sorcerer, then tie it in a knot and send it in the direction from where the ember of his love floated.
With the hope that he is alive. With the hope that it finds him so he might sense what he means to me—to know just how much I need him to come back to me.
Malin’s eyes widen at something just above my head, and I swivel around to where Fray drops to the ground beside me.
My heart constricts as I stare at the thick layer of dust covering him, from the top of his head to the toes of his boots.
I open my mouth to ask when he last saw everyone when Malin says something, though I cannot make out the words through the high-pitched ringing in my ears.
All my muscles tremble now that Fray has returned to us safely. And a strange urge comes over me—so I smack his chest and look around for emphasis before telling him, “This isn’t what Hendry meant when he called us the ‘Twin Flames of Chaos’.”
Lars releases his hold on my arms when Fray spins me toward him and crushes me to his chest. I pull in a breath of his fresh, earthen scent.
Yet not even his tight hold on my body can keep me from seeking the rest, as my eyes scan every pile of rubble for Cirrin and Varic.
My pulse pounds every time I confirm none of the uniformed beings are the ones I seek.
While I am grateful to have evaded the Emperor, his Guards, and every other member of court thus far, it is a stroke of luck I assume cannot last forever.
Suspicion itches beneath my skin, and I can’t make sense of it. Not even Raki has found me, and I would be the first being it would seek aside from the Emperor.
Blood-curdling screams pierce through the ringing in my ears as a group of citizens at the bottom of the stairs scramble to avoid another large section of stone from falling on them.
Malin drops to his knees once more, and my heart constricts with the strain he’s under. Veins in his temple protrude while bursts of purple magic pulse from his hands, helping the gargantuan section of ceiling descend slowly.
He slumps over once he’s safely placed it on the ground, and my heart stutters with his dire need for healing. Where the fuck is Cirrin?
Fray holds me tightly to his chest, and I send Malin more focus and concentration. I spare him a speck of hope when my body shakes uncontrollably in revolt. A warning of what’s to come should I deplete my magic much more than this.
“That’s not a good sign, Tasch,” Fray warns, heating my cheeks with his admonishment.
“I held the Emperor and his Guards back as long as I could!” Drusilla’s voice carries from somewhere behind us.
Lars, Fray, and I all turn in confusion as my attendant deftly climbs over a small pile of stone, and my brow furrows as her black dress appears to be far cleaner than the rest of us.
“We’ll keep Malin stable,” Imelda says, rushing up just behind Drusilla as if they’ve been working together—especially with the knowing way her big brown eyes cast up to mine.
“There are other witches holding them back as long as they can, but you need to go now, Tasch,” Drusilla warns.
Lars’ blue eyes stare at me in question while offering each of them a hand to steady their descent.
I remain frozen in place, assuming this has to do with them holding hands in a circle of witches at the bottom of the stairs.
Perhaps they learned some new magic in Annovia.
Could they be responsible for the ceiling caving in, only to make it seem like an attack planned by outsiders?
“He will come looking for you.” Drusilla’s pale brows rise as her gaze shifts from me to Fray, then back. “You need to go. Now!”
Fray nods to her, then reaches into the side compartment of his leathers.
“No!” I yell as he draws out the leather harness, then winds it tightly behind my back. He switches off which hand braces me, and the hooks click as he secures them on the opposite side.
“We cannot leave until we find them!” He wraps both of his arms around my back and ignores my command as he propels us up with nauseating speed.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening.
“We have to make sure they’re alive!” My heart lurches, and our surroundings meld into one giant blur when I snake my hand out of his grip to reach toward the last place I saw them.
The air grows colder the higher we fly, and I try to focus as heavy sobs rend from me. I blink as the haze dissipates the higher we rise, and furrow my brow at the now missing dome which once capped our Throne Room.
My chest constricts from the nothingness which hovers where stone once rose so high above our heads every time we were made to stand on that stage. At how it has all now crumbled and plummeted to the ground within.
Where Varic and the rest of my Guards are trapped.
Where I have no way of knowing if they’ve made it, if they’ve survived.
Because if Varic were alive, he would have stopped at nothing to find me.
He would have shielded my body. He would have been there beside me.
He would have responded when I screamed.