79. Harper
79
HARPER
W hen Harper awoke, it was to darkness, silence, and solitude. Heavy chains slithered and clinked as she moved in the small, confined space—but not too far, for she could do little more than sit or lay curled up, thanks to her restraints. The metal was freezing—and yet it burned her and made nausea swill in her belly.
With great effort, she quieted her panic and reached for her magic, which bubbled and simmered deep within her, as closed off as it had been since Saradon’s subjugation of her obedience. Far beyond her reach. These bonds were made of iron, she knew with instinctive certainty—the antithesis to magic. Harper huddled, shivering and freezing in the dirty rags of the once fine dress, having no protection from the freezing stone all about her. Strangled, her magic could not help with that. The cold seeped in relentlessly.
She did not know which was worse—the waiting, or the not knowing who would come for her. Saradon? Dimitri? Or… someone else? Harper fired a silent prayer into the heavens that her companions had escaped somehow. On a second thought, she sent another, hoping for Dimitri’s safe return. Out of all of them, he stood the greatest chance of seeing them both escape from Saradon’s shackles.
For now, Harper had no inkling what had passed. They were all gone, far beyond where she could perceive, and so was the safety net she had found amongst them all. Now she was at Saradon’s full mercy. Not that he possessed any. He had been furious . That was the last thing she remembered. That, and the pain that shattered through her. She shivered even more violently. She was certain worse would be her fate.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over her, threatening to completely fog her already drained mind. She was exhausted, bone crushingly tired, yet she did not want to sleep alone, vulnerable, and isolated. Not there. Her stinging eyes betrayed her anyway and slipped shut.
Soft fingers lifted her chin, and Harper blinked into the pure, bright light. A hint of a smile on the face too light to behold. The golden, flowing hair. The endless robes of white light. Erendriel.
“Be well, daughter. Rest at ease, and I shall watch over thee.”
Harper struggled to stand, barely able to rise to her knees, the chains still binding her. “Help me! I must escape him!”
Erendriel bent low and cupped Harper’s cheeks with her hands. “I cannot make it so. It is not your destiny to run, but to endure, child.”
“Endure what?” Harper asked desperately, even though half a thought later, she was not sure she wanted to know.
“The trials that will make you. I can offer you no guidance. It is not fated. Yet I will give you my gift.” Warmth spread through Harper, banishing the cold and the pain. “It is of utmost importance that you succeed, to be the flame forever lit against the darkness coming. It will be so very easy for you to fail, to be led astray. Do not let it pass. Do not let the mouth of Valxiron tempt you with foul sorcery.”
“But I don’t understand! If I am to succeed, you must help me.”
Harper started to fade back into the darkness. Erendriel’s cool hands found her own, squeezing reassuringly.
Harper felt an entirely different set of hands upon hers. Not cool and slim, but warm and enveloping.
“Wake up, Harper.”
Harper jolted awake, pulling her hands out and shrinking away, disorientated and fearful after Erendriel’s cryptic warning, before relief blossomed as she recognised the voice and blinked open her eyes to the dim light of Dimitri.
“Harper. It’s me. Are you…?” Dimitri trailed off, and he swallowed, his lips thinning. “No. Of course you aren’t alright.”
She was still within the confines of those chains. In silence, Dimitri released her, his hands caressing the spots where they had sat heavy upon her skin and marked her. “I’m so sorry, Harper,” he murmured, so quietly that she barely heard him.
When she did not reply, too numb from everything to form words, he rose, and then drew her to her feet. “Come.”
When she shuddered, so cold that she could not feel her feet, he swore—and his magic bloomed through her, warm and comforting. She let out a sob of relief.
“It will be okay, Harper,” he said, but she heard the desperate edge upon his voice—and knew he could not promise it. Folding her into his arms, he spirited them away into shadow and wind for a moment.
The jarlshalle rumbled with thunder as Dimitri and Harper materialised. The lights were dim, the entire hall cast in shadows and the acrid tang of bitter smoke choked the back of her throat.
Harper froze at the sight of Saradon, prowling through the hall with vengeance wrought upon him. Dimitri slid his arm through hers, tugging her into a bow at the door, then forward, into the hall, even though every muscle in her clearly longed to run away.
“What is the latest?” Saradon fired at Dimitri.
“The dwarves are gone, Lord Ravakian. No more left alive within a day’s travel. The survivors made for Keldheim.”
Saradon growled, and the thunder in the hall grumbled with him. “Curse them all! No matter. They will be gone from all Valtivar soon enough. I do not need them to come to me to die.” He wheeled away. “The goblins suffered heavy losses. The pascha no longer wishes to ally with our cause.”
“They will cease the alliance?”
Hope pricked at Harper.
Saradon barked a laugh. “Do not be a fool. Of course they will not break it. They will serve whether they will it or not.” His lip curled as he turned to them. “As will you,” he added flatly to Harper. She met his stare like a rabbit caught in a wolf’s gaze.
Saradon advanced upon them, and Harper stilled at Dimitri’s side. “I will suffer no more defiance from you. You are my blood daughter, and you are my heir. You will act as such. Do I make myself clear?”
“ Agree ,” Dimitri said into her mind. “ Placate him .”
After a pause, Harper bowed her head. Relief bloomed in Dimitri and she felt it as if it were her own.
“ We can get out of this mess later .”
She hoped he was right. It stalled Saradon, who must have expected defiance, for he narrowed his eyes at Harper, then nodded, perhaps satisfied that he had broken her spirit.
“We are to leave this foul pit at once. I have had my fill of dark halls and death,” said Saradon. “I will leave it to the goblins to fulfil my mission in Valtivar. They will kill every last dwarf in the realm until there are no more, then it will be mine.”
“Where are we to go, Lord Ravakian?”
Saradon glared at him, but a grim smile broke through his stern visage. “Tournai. It is time to break the wheel, my friend, and may it bring death, devastation, and destruction to all those who oppose me.” He savoured every word. “Let us go.”
Dimitri shivered, and his voice rolled unbidden through her mind. “ I am not your friend .” Had he meant to say that to her? To let her hear the innermost of his thoughts? A wave of uncertainty rolled off her, and he held her closer as though he sensed it ripple through him. Had he? But he could not offer her any comfort, some reassurance that all would be well, for she knew he had no certainty of it himself. Despite their trepidation, they had no choice. As Saradon faded into the ether, Dimitri followed suit, holding Harper in his arms.
Dimitri
It could not have been more starkly clear.
The Saradon he thought he had raised… the visionary, the fair, the downtrodden… was gone. Whether he had ever truly existed was beyond Dimitri’s ken. What was left was nothing more than the remnants of Saradon, held within the grip of a greater power, whose name had faded from memory for three thousand years.
Saradon was a servant of the Dark One himself, Valxiron, and nothing more than his puppet. Now, Valxiron would move, and Dimitri was certain they were all doomed, for there were no legends to step from lore to save them. Erendriel and all her kind were dead and gone.
He looked into Harper’s eyes, as they appeared in the royal hall of Tournai beside Saradon and the screaming of the courtiers began, to see his own despair mirrored in her gaze. Dimitri had succeeded, and yet, he had failed. He had broken the wheel. Utterly beyond repair.
THE END