70. Interlude 7
Interlude 7
Darian Emlyn was a mistake. His father never wanted him as his Lesser House bloodline was his dominant House, and thus, his father couldn’t use him. His mother tolerated him, but his birth had been an attempt to increase her social standing and power. Darian’s failure to become a part of the House of Steel meant her failure to fulfill her side of the bargain.
Darian was a mistake that would have become a slave early in life if a single man hadn’t stood in front of the collar for him. Cole Cyrus knowingly claimed the blame of a trick that could have started a war. He was forever marked because of his choice to protect a friend in a world where friends are weaknesses, a piece of information that Casimir had tried to instill in him for years.
Cole had never cared what House he was in. He hadn’t cared what use Darian had. He hadn’t cared about Darian’s weaknesses or tendency to get into trouble. Cole had given Darian his loyalty, no matter the cost, and without a thought for what Darian could provide him.
Cole had created a bond that Darian believed was unbreakable.
As he flew above Draenyth, he saw what no one else did. He saw the woman that Cole bartered himself for was wrong. He saw that the crystal armor on her body bent ever so slightly. He noticed that her hair was just a little too dark and her eyes were just a touch too light.
Cole would never have noticed, but Darian saw it all, and pure panic filled him as he called for Sia. It’s not Maeve! he shouted to the djinn. That’s all he could do. He was too far away. He wasn’t strong enough to fight Gethin. He wasn’t a warrior like Cole.
So a hawk shed a tear that day from hundreds of feet in the air. A hawk who was Cole’s best friend—an Immortal that was never wanted and was always just a little wrong for this world. Through the bond that came from his debt with him, he did the only thing he could do. He said, “I’ll protect her.”
And as Gethin pulled Cole to him, Cole looked up at Darian and said, “Protect her from herself.”
Then he exploded in flames.
Calyr the Gold had told Casimir Cyrus to make his son strong enough to weather any storm. He had said that it was the key to his House’s survival. He had said that nothing mattered as much as Casimir’s ability to build his son into a piece of steel that nothing could break or even bend.
Yet, now, after begging the shadow walker to bring him back to the breezeway so he could help his son, barely capable of standing on his own, he isn’t sure of anything. On the breezeway overlooking the House of Steel’s districts he watches as Gethin trades his son for Maeve, and he knows that nothing he could have done would have made his son strong enough to resist Gethin today. He had been the hammer and anvil that tempered his son. He had done everything in his power to beat the weakness out of him. Still, Cole had surrounded himself with weaknesses. How many times had Casimir proved to Cole that his friends would only cause him pain?
Now he understood. The people that Cole had surrounded himself with hadn’t been weaknesses. They’d been his purpose. He’d stood tall no matter what pain or punishment was brought to him because the thought of those people had bolstered him. Without that purpose, he’d…
He wouldn’t have been Cole Cyrus. He’d have been a ghost of the Prince that the world needed.
Casimir’s son was strong enough to keep everyone safe. Except himself. It was the only weakness he’d ever had, and that willingness to stand in front of a blow is what made Prince Cole Cyrus so much better than his father.
As Gethin pulls Cole to him, Casimir’s heart breaks. There’s no question what is about to happen. Casimir falls to his knees as he watches his son bear the wound for someone else for the last time. He sees everything, from the glance up at the hawk flying above them to the smile on his face to the muttered comment to Maeve.
Then he explodes in flames so brightly that Casimir’s eyes burn from watching it, but Casimir understands that pain doesn’t matter. This moment that his son immolates so strongly that even Inni would be proud is important. This is how he will remember his son. Pure joy. It’s the only way he could burn so brightly.
Casimir is sure that Gethin’s skin is charred so badly that even he will struggle to heal from it. But it isn’t enough. A darkness moves across Cole’s body, and ignoring the flames that cover him, Gethin presses a charred, hooked claw through Cole’s chest. A single bone blade slides through Cole’s chest and into his heart.
And the light is extinguished.
Casimir watches as his son falls to the ground. His fire is gone, and Gethin’s body is covered from head to toe in charred flesh. Any other person would be dead. Any other person.
But not Gethin.
Casimir can’t mourn the loss of the battle, the war, or even the world. Instead, he can only see the man laying on the cobblestones, unmoving. Those open eyes are bright orange, and he has a smile so wide it looks like he’d been laughing.
Cole had died happy. Regardless of everything else that had happened in his life, regardless of what Casimir himself had done to his son, Cole had found joy. Not the false joy he’d taught his son to use in battle—the kind that would power his flames even in the worst of times. This was real. This was something he’d never known.
Cole had died with a smile on his face, and that’s how Casimir will remember him.
Rhion Rahn had known Cole Cyrus since he was born. He was the Immortal that all children worshipped and all parents hoped their children would become. The best warrior. The cleverest. The fastest. A born leader.
Gethin had compared him to Cole so many times that he’d lost track. His father had told him he’d never be strong enough to be King of Steel until he could beat Cole in a duel. Cole Cyrus had never given him the chance. Every time they fought, Cole had found a way out of finishing the duel.
Rhion had come to hate Cole. Not because he had ever done anything wrong to him. In fact, ever since they’d been young, Cole had been nothing but respectful to the younger Prince. Sure, they’d fought, but that was how Immortals dealt with each other. When two powerful Princes tangled, it was sure to come to blows.
No, Rhion hated Cole because of what Cole represented. Perfection. Something unattainable. Cole was the crown that he’d never wear. Cole was the mountain that he’d never reach the top of. He was the wall that a man could fight until he was bloody, and the wall would never even notice that the man was fighting.
He’d tried to force the fight to the death on multiple occasions. He’d tried to fight him outside that tiny village, and maybe he’d have won. Then his Wyrdling bride had jumped into the fight and ruined it. After the battle, he’d replayed that memory so often he was sure it had all been a farce. Cole had kept Rhion busy. That’s all.
He never wanted to help his father trick him because, while he may have wanted Cole Cyrus dead, he wanted him dead in a duel. In fact, he’d flatly refused to help his father this time. He’d never stood up to his father before. Somehow, just like every other time someone had tried to defy Gethin Rahn, he’d had the perfect leverage.
For Rhion, it was Ainslee Emlyn. He’d been sure that he’d hid their betrothal from his father, but he’d been wrong. Gethin always knew. He hadn’t needed to harm a hair on her because Rhion knew the cruelty that his father was capable of. Death would have been a kindness rather than let his father torture her.
So he’d done what his father had asked. He’d become Maeve Arden, the Queen of Earth and bearer of the Painted Crown. He’d changed his skin to mimic everything about her, including the Crown.
He’d let his father trade him for Cole. He’d let his father smother his pride once again. He’d done it to save the woman he loved, and in his heart, he knew that even Cole would understand.
Then, after his father had his hand on him, Rhion had looked into Cole’s eyes and realized that Cole knew him as his rival. Cole hadn’t been furious. He’d smiled. He’d never been angry at Rhion. No matter how much Rhion had pushed the Prince of Flame, Cole had never given in to anger.
Cole knew what would happen when Gethin got his hands on him. He knew he was going to die. Nothing in the world could stop Gethin. And Cole smiled. He didn’t struggle or fight. Just like every other moment in Cole’s life, he stood proud and strong and was a pillar that every other person compared themselves to. Could Rhion have walked to his death as proudly as Cole did? He doubted it.
He was what the High Fae should aspire to, and his father was about to kill him. Then he exploded in flames so bright Rhion had to shield his eyes and take a step back. He’d seen House of Flame soldiers immolate. He’d fought against them when they’d taken the Keep of Flames, but this was something different. This was…
This was something from the dragons. This was magic in a way that Rhion had never experienced.
And then he fell. His father was brutally burned, but Rhion knew just how quickly he would heal. In seconds, Gethin would have killed the best man Rhion had ever known, and no one could punish him for it.
Except him.
Rhion had thought that he’d been standing up to his father earlier when he’d refused to help him. He’d thought that he’d been strong. All these years, as he’d done what his father had commanded, regardless of what it had been, he’d thought he’d been doing what was right. He’d thought that if he could earn his place as the Prince of Steel, he’d earn his father’s crown eventually. Then he could fix things.
Until the Shade… no, until Cole had told him what had been in his father’s journal. He’d made a deal with the Shade. A debt for the knowledge of what it would take for his father to give his crown to him. His father had written that no matter what Rhion did, only killing Cole Cyrus would be proof that he was strong enough to sit on the Throne of Steel.
Now Cole was dead. He could demand the crown. He could use this to prove to his father that he had earned his place. He was now the second strongest Immortal alive. He could protect the House of Steel. He could get the only thing he’d ever wanted.
When he looked at Cole, though, he forgot all of those things. All he remembered was the man that had stood up for Darian all those years ago when his father had demanded Darian be collared. He’d been burned to within an inch of his life, and he’d never given up his friend. He’d endured so much. Now, he’d given his life for who he thought was his wife. How many times could he have killed Rhion and saved himself? How many times could he have taken the easy way out and didn’t?
Cole Cyrus was the best of all of them, and Rhion was the reason he was dead.
He looked at his father’s burned face and reached into his own body to pull out the black-bladed sword he always kept hidden there, a trick he’d learned from his father. “I’m sorry,” he said to the King of Steel.
Gethin looked at his son as he healed the grievous burns that covered his entire body, and he knew that he’d pushed his son too far. Instead of trying to explain himself, he summoned the armor from the Steel Gauntlet. It flowed over his body, coating him in an impenetrable layer of steel.
“That won’t stop me,” Rhion said softly. His sword came down in a single strike, cutting directly where the end of the Gauntlet connected to the armor that covered his body. Rhion had found the Gauntlet. He’d worn it, and he’d learned its weaknesses.
His sword swung true, separating the relic from his father’s body—along with his hand. Gethin screamed in pain, and the steel that had coated his body evaporated into mist, leaving him unprotected against the only person in the world who knew his weakness.
“The heart,” Rhion whispered. “The heart is the only thing that the House of Steel cannot rebuild or move. It is always in the left breast. It is always weak to a strong blade. Even the one who wears the Painted Crown cannot survive their heart being pierced.”
Gethin shook his head. “No. I was supposed to die to Cole Cyrus. Calyr told me that the one who killed me would have dark hair and wield a black blade.” Then he looked at his son, who still wore Maeve Arden’s face. Still had dark brown hair. He carried a black blade just like Cole Cyrus. His son had been tempered in the fires of pain so similar to Cole.
Gethin had made a mistake. He’d dismissed his own son’s sense of honor. He’d forgotten what it was like to look up to someone. He’d underestimated just how much the world cared about whether Cole Cyrus lived or died.
“No. I command you to put down your sword,” he said, hoping that the pain of disloyalty would turn him away from what he planned to do.
“No one commands me anymore, Father,” he responds. “You’ve done everything to ruin this world, and the only man to try to stop you is dead. I refuse to accept that he died in vain. Rest well, Father.”
The blade moved just as his father had taught him, slipping between ribs to pierce his heart. It was a beautiful strike.
Cole Cyrus hadn’t been strong enough to kill Gethin, but he’d been strong enough to inspire others to fight for the world. He’d been strong enough to convince Rhion to kill his own father.
Sometimes, it’s not how strong you are that matters. Sometimes it’s how much you’re willing to sacrifice, and Cole was willing to sacrifice himself.
Maeve Arden was a child in the eyes of Immortals. She’d wielded powers for less than a year when they’d trained with them for thousands of years.
But she’d proven that there was more to her than a bloodline. She’d fought every step of the way. She’d trained to become a warrior. She’d felt more pain in the last year—both physical and emotional—than most Immortals ever felt.
Only Cole truly understood his wife, and he’d known exactly what she would need to hear in that moment between life and death. He’d understood that his death would break her. Something in him had known that this moment would come, and he’d listened to that voice in his mind that was terrified for his wife.
Maeve steps around a corner while hunting for Gethin and finds him. He holds Cole in his arms, and then Cole explodes with flames. She runs as fast as the Queen of Earth can run toward them, but even she is too slow. She watches as the fires burned so brightly around her husband that nothing could survive it.
She has hope then because everyone who sees their entire world being held by a monster hopes for the monster’s death. Deep down, she knows that no amount of flames would kill Gethin, though.
A bony finger reaches around, blotting out the light of the flames, and then the flames stop. A single razor-sharp finger pierces Cole’s chest right through his heart, and blood flows over the bright red gambeson.
A moment passes where she sees him, those bright orange eyes filled with flames, and she sees the smile on his face. He’d known that he wouldn’t survive. He’d refused to go to the void with anything but joy in his heart.
A smile that she knows so well crosses his face as he slumped to the ground, and then Maeve felt the emptiness. She expected it to be like the void, but it isn’t. She thought it would be like when Hazel had gone into the Nothing. She thought it would be like when her Da and everyone else had gone into the Nothing.
She thought she would be prepared. She isn’t.
Cole’s soul is ripped from hers, and the pain hits her in the chest so hard that she falls to her knees mid-run. She gasps for breath as pain wracks her body. There is no till death do us part for soul bonds. Cole’s soul isn’t just ripped from hers. It severs a part of hers and takes it with him. She can still feel him, still feel the man he used to be, still feel the bond that should be there.
But there’s nothing on the other side. There’s no Cole. There are only remnants of his feelings. The scent of burning wind and the touch of smooth sand on her toes are still there, but there is no tower. There is no Cole.
He’s gone, and she is left. And pain is all she knows as darkness overtakes her.