31. Leah #3
“Get under the table,” I hiss at Aster. I drop to my knees after her, and together we crawl beneath the far end of the table farthest from the door.
The boots are thundering just outside, and seconds after we’ve tucked ourselves out of sight, the door swings open briefly before closing again.
The footsteps in the corridor start to get further away, and I exhale slowly.
I doubt it bought us much time—when they can’t find us, they’ll likely be back for a more thorough search, but we’re in the clear for now.
Then the screams start.
Aster and I stare wide-eyed at each other as we listen hard—the shouts and cries of pain echo from deeper in the fortress, accompanied by crashes and bangs like furniture is being thrown across rooms. The floor beneath us shakes.
“Syrus?” Aster mouths to me. I close my eyes, reaching out to him like I did before, trying to nudge his awareness, but I get no answer.
“I don’t know,” I admit when I open my eyes again. “Let me go check.”
She shakes her head hard, but I ignore her, crawling out from under the table and treading softly over to the door. I ease it open, only to be confronted with a wall of pale, tattooed muscle.
“There you are,” Kaliban grunts, grabbing hold of me, twisting my arm back so hard that I immediately drop the sword, terrified he’ll break my bones.
“Syrus!” I scream into my mind, not knowing if he’ll hear, just as Aster pulls herself out from under the table and charges across the room, her delicate hand outstretched.
“Let her go, you ugly son of a bitch,” she yells.
Before she can lay a hand on him, Kaliban sweeps his huge arm wide, backhanding her hard enough to send her crashing against the wall. Something in me breaks open at the sight, a raw, uncontrolled energy buzzing through me.
Movement catches my eye at the end of the room, a cloud of darkness hurtling toward the window.
It explodes in a shower of glass, the shadow dissipating to reveal Syrus, wings outstretched as he lands.
His feet settle gracefully on the floor beside a small pool of green from the blood dripping off the sword at his side.
When he lifts his head to look at us, his eyes burn like glowing coals in a fire.
He is the picture of death and fury, and I feel Kaliban instinctively pull me closer, keeping my back pressed to his front like a human shield.
“This doesn’t have to end with your death, Lord Kaliban,” Syrus says slowly, eyeing the blade Kaliban has just pressed against my stomach. It’s huge and curved, and I’m positive one swipe of it will dump most of my vital organs onto the floor.
“No Kaldare, it ends with yours,” Kaliban snarls. “Jing and Damein will see I was right. How could a mireborn ever put Infernum’s needs first? You only make our realm weaker, and they’ll be glad when you’re gone.”
“I make it weaker?” Syrus asks. “When you’ve been sabotaging one of our most precious resources for months now?”
There’s a prickle across my neck, but I barely feel it next to the other sensation that’s been building in me since I woke up—that strange, intense buzzing, like there’s a wasps’ nest inside me, the whole colony ready to break free.
“Duck your head when I tell you to,” Syrus says quickly into my mind. “Be careful not to move anything else, or he’ll cut you.”
He can’t risk channeling through me, not when that takes concentration that could distract him from Kaliban’s movements.
“Not sabotaging. Evolving,” Kaliban says without a shred of regret in his voice.
“The lake was a learning curve. It helped me realize that what it—and Malice—really needed was a new guardian. Careful now.” Kaliban’s voice hardens with warning as Syrus takes a step toward us.
“You wouldn’t want your little toy to get broken. ”
His huge arm tightens across my chest, and it’s suddenly harder to breathe. I’m trapped, forced to stand here enclosed by muscle and steel for the third or fourth time today, waiting to die. A rushing sound rises in my ears, almost keeping me from registering Syrus when he speaks to me in my mind.
“Get ready. On the count of three…”
I won’t let this happen again—not after Hathwell. Not after the boy on the plains. I don’t have to let people rip everything away from me like this.
“One…two…”
I will free myself, whatever it takes.
The buzzing inside me reaches a crescendo, pouring out of my body in a wave of fire and light. Lightning—pure, blinding ephilium bolts of it—sear through me and set Kaliban alight, his whole body going rigid.
He roars in agony, dropping the blade in his hand and staggering backward, shadow unfurling from his palms as he tries to counteract my magic.
Syrus gets there first, his shadows hurtling across the room and wrapping around Kaliban’s neck, engulfing his head.
The Lord of Rancor falls to the ground, desperately trying to fight off the smothering darkness, but Syrus is already standing over him, seizing the chance to drive his blade hard into Kaliban’s chest.
Kaliban’s frantic movements taper off as his limbs slacken and go still.
Breathing heavily, Syrus turns to stare at me. His face is a war of emotions, each one flashing so quickly across his features that I can’t quite name them all.
There’s joy, relief, awe, and maybe even a touch of fear as he pulls his sword from Kaliban’s chest. “What happened to ducking on three?”