Lightbringer

Chapter 32 Lyra #2

Iliria’s smile sharpens. “Are you still talking about that bitch? You need to find something better to do with your time than obsess over that one. She was a traitor.”

“You’re lucky Beckett confirmed she’s alive. Her hands were survivable, and it wasn’t your role to hand out punishment. She was on assignment for the Commander. If we’d found her body, it would have been on your head.”

Cindral’s eyes glance to Darian and away, lips pressing together. But Darian’s head turns slowly. He stares up at Cindral with a look that suggests he’s deciding how to break his throat with his bare hands.

The sight does something violent to my chest.

Cindral’s gaze shifts in my direction. Suddenly sharper, as if he senses something.

I don’t plan to wait for him to come and find me.

Stepping out, I keep my eyes on the two Lightbringers who swing to face me. Snow crunches under my boots. My palms glow, luminth spilling between my fingers like water against the ground. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Iliria. As you can see, I’m very much alive. Your aim needs a little work.”

Iliria’s eyes widen, then narrow into pure malice. “Well,” she purrs, but her eyes flash with fire, flames jumping. “Look what finally crawled out of the snow.”

Cindral examines my clothing, taking in the Darkwielder uniform. His gaze locks onto my face, and something ugly flickers behind his eyes. Hunger and hatred, woven together so tightly they’re almost indistinguishable.

“Lyra.” He takes a step. “It’s good to see you.”

My stomach churns. The scars on my palms throb.

“You should have finished me instead of leaving me here,” I say, managing to keep my voice steady.

Cindral smiles. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing you back where you belong?” He lets his gaze drag over me like a hand. “Absolutely not.”

Iliria shifts, circling me with her blade angled as I curve my body to keep her in sight. “Cindral, let me have her.”

Cindral doesn’t look at her. His attention stays on me, heavy and invasive. “No.”

My vision narrows.

“Let him go.” I despise that my voice shakes on the last word, even if it’s with the rage that fills me from my boots upward.

Iliria laughs again. “The dreamwalker? I have plans for him.”

Darian jerks against his bindings, snarling. “I will gut you.”

But her grin only widens. “Oh, I hope you try.”

Cindral takes a slow step forward, hands relaxed at his sides, as if we’re still in the training yard. “You came alone. Is this a sign that you’ve rediscovered your loyalty? I hear you’ve made some interesting friends in Umbraxis.”

I don’t answer.

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Or have you failed so completely that you have no one left to hide behind? Should I drag you back to Solvandyr in chains?”

The words slide under my skin like a knife, even as Darian strains against the bindings keeping him in place. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”

Cindral chuckles softly. His eyes drag over me, revulsion crawling across my skin in his wake. “Everything about you is ours, though, and we can take it back if we want it. Even if it’s marked with Darkwielder filth.”

His smile sharpens. “You were to kill Kaelen Duskbane. Remember that? The crown prince. The great prophecy.” He clicks his tongue. “And you failed.”

Iliria watches me like she’s savoring my every reaction. And Darian’s eyes flicker to my face, tightening. Cindral steps closer still.

“Come back,” he says, voice dropping into something coaxing. “This little rebellion of yours can be forgiven. Commander Vaelion will show mercy if I ask him to. He always knew you were weak-willed, Lyra. My offer still stands.”

My throat tightens. “Don’t pretend that you’re his chosen one, Cindral. You’re just another soldier to him.”

His smile is slow. “But he still gave you to me, didn’t he?”

Darian makes a sound behind him; a low, furious growl. Cindral continues as if Darian isn’t there.

“You can have a place again,” he says softly. “In Solvandyr.”

His gaze rakes over me once more. “And you can have protection. Mine.”

The word tastes like bile. “Touch me, and I will kill you.” I mean it with every single fiber of my body.

Cindral’s smile doesn’t falter. “You said that before.”

“I know. I also said I’d rather spread my legs for an entire Darkwielder legion, if I recall correctly.” Pulling the ring from my pocket, I toss it at him. When he doesn’t move, it bounces off his chest before vanishing into the snow. “I did. They were much better than you.”

Behind Cindral, Darian chokes.

Cindral’s face flushes. And his hand shifts at his side, twisting in a signal as if he’s forgotten that I learned from the same man that he did.

Iliria lunges for my back, fast and low, her blade aimed for my ribs. Pivoting, I bring up a luminth shield that forms in a curved flare. Her blade hits it with a clang that vibrates through my bones, sending sparks of light scattering into the air.

“I suppose the discussion is over, then?” I shove outward, knocking her back several steps. “You never could take constructive criticism, Cindral.”

I want him away from Darian. But he only waits, his face empty as he watches Iliria circle me. Not wasting any more energy on words, I shape my luminth into a short blade and meet her next strike with a parry that rings into the air.

We trade blows, back and forth across the clearing. She’s skilled. Quick wrists. Dirty angles, and a barrage of rapid, furious movements. She fights like someone who expects the other person to hesitate.

I don’t.

Feinting left, I drop low and slash upward with my blade. It catches her thigh, burning through metal and flesh. Iliria screams, more from fury than pain, and slashes wildly.

Stepping inside her reach, I slam my palm into her chest. Iliria flies backward, hitting the snow hard enough to leave a crater. She tries to rise, struggling upright.

I don’t let her. Flicking my wrist, I shape a thin spear of luminth and fling it across the clearing.

It drives directly through her throat. Her body jerks once. Then stills.

Cindral watches Iliria die with mild interest, as if he’s evaluating a demonstration, before he looks up. “Impressive,” he murmurs. “I’ve missed fighting with you.”

“Release him,” I demand.

Cindral’s eyes drift to Darian, still bleeding slightly at the temple.

“Why?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Who is he to you?”

When I don’t respond, his eyes flicker. The flames bank, glowing faintly. “I see.”

Lifting my hands, I let my blades draw free, the glow brightening the clearing. “Fight me, then. Like we used to.”

Cindral’s gaze sharpens. “You always were eager to prove yourself. Especially to me.”

“I was na?ve.” I shift. “I’m not anymore.”

He finally lifts his hands. Luminth blooms from his palm, smooth, practiced and beautiful. He shapes it into a long blade exactly like my father would, bright and humming with lethal intent.

Predictable. He’s so predictable. If I know anything about him, it’s how desperately he wants to be like my father. We circle each other slowly, boots crunching.

“Tell me,” Cindral murmurs. “What happened to your grand purpose, Lyra? The vows you made to Commander Vaelion? To Solvandyr?”

He tilts his head. “Did Kaelen Duskbane fuck you into failure? Always so desperate for attention.”

My lips curl. “Kaelen doesn’t have to seduce anyone to make them see what you are. You showed me that yourself.”

Cindral’s eyes flash. “Careful.”

“Or what?” I taunt. “You’ll punish me? That seems to have worked out well so far.”

I lean in. “You’re still under his thumb, Cindral. You’re under him so tightly that I can see his thumbprint in your head. But I’m free of him, and free of you, and you can’t stand it.”

His jaw tightens, and I see the first crack of emotion. “Whoring yourself to the Darkwielders doesn’t make you free.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head. “But they’re so very good at it.”

“You were trained to obey,” his voice rises along with his anger. “You’re nothing but a broken experiment.”

“I was trained to kill,” I say, my voice steady. “And you and he taught me more than enough about that.”

Our blades meet with a violent clash of light, sparks scattering across the snow.

Cindral is strong. Far stronger than Iliria, my father’s deputy for a reason.

He thrusts high and I twist to the side, letting the blade skim past my cheek.

Countering, I aim low, going for the muscle behind his knee.

He blocks, barely, and the force of it makes his shoulders tense.

Cindral attacks again with a rapid series of strikes meant to overwhelm me. I parry and retreat two steps, letting him think he’s pressing me back. He smirks, confidence rising. “Still fast. Still so pretty when you fight.”

My stomach lurches with disgust, and I show a little to him. Just enough to feed his arrogance. “You talk too much.”

Cindral grins. “You always liked my voice.”

My laugh is sharp. “I preferred it when you shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flash, and that fraction of distraction is all I need. Dropping my left blade, I shape a whip of luminth. Thin, flexible and fast. Snapping it around his wrist mid-swing, I tug.

When his stance breaks, Cindral knocked off balance, I surge forward and drive my remaining luminth blade into his side. The scent of burning metal fills the air.

Cindral hisses. His hand flies to the scorched line across his pristine, perfect armor. “You—”

“You underestimated me,” I snarl, and I twist the whip, pulling his arm off-line again as he tries to counter. “The only way you could ever win was to force me.”

He recovers quickly. Luminth flares from his free palm, blasting toward my face as I throw up a shield.

The blast hits and cracks it, heat jolting my arms. He uses the moment to close the distance between us, his blade sweeping toward my throat.

Heat singes my hair as I duck and slam my elbow into his injured side, pulling a grunt from his throat.

Cindral steps back, breathing hard now.

“You could have had everything,” he roars across the clearing at me. “And you’re throwing it away, Lyra!”

“Remind me how many soldiers are in a Darkwielder unit—”

He bellows something wordless, flinging a dagger at me that I dodge easily. “Sloppy. Vaelion would be so disappointed in you.”

The dagger that I throw back buries itself in his arm.

Cindral’s luminth flares violently, unstable.

He lunges with a brutal overhead strike, putting everything he has into it.

Stepping aside at the last second, I let his blade bury itself in the ground, the momentum pulling him forward and off-balance.

Then I flick my palm. A tiny, sharp spike of luminth forms and punches through the strap that holds Cindral’s shoulder plate. Tipping, it exposes the gap beneath his arm. My blade slams directly through it.

Cindral chokes, his eyes widening. His luminth blade flickers and weakens, fading entirely as he staggers back. His face turns pale, but his eyes still burn with familiar spite as I step closer. “He’s not going to care that you’re gone, you know. Nobody will, Cindral. And especially not me.”

Shaping my luminth into a single, long blade, I swing it cleanly across his throat.

His expression freezes in shocked disbelief. Blood—scarlet, and bright, and nothing like the highborn blood he always wanted so desperately—trickles from the cut. His body slowly collapses into the snow.

For a heartbeat, there’s only my ragged breathing as I stare at his body.

“Lyra.”

At the sound of my name, I turn. Darian’s still bound, wrists tied behind him with standard rope that’s already stiffening in the cold. His eyes are wide and fixed on me, pupils blown. He sways.

Sprinting to him, I drop to my knees, my fingers already working on the knots. They’re as tight as Cindral always insisted, and I curse under my breath, pouring a thin line of luminth over the rope to burn carefully through the fibers without touching his skin.

Darian slumps forward, into my arms. His breathing is rough in my ear, but he’s warm and breathing and alive, so I’ll take it. His gaze flicks to the dead scouts, the dead Lightbringers, then back to me.

His beautiful, amethyst eyes are hazy. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“No time,” I cut in, voice tight. I reach for his arm. “I’m taking you back to Eres. Can you stand?”

He tries, but his legs buckle, his body sluggish as he grimaces, leaning into me. His weight is more than I expected, solid and reassuringly warm even through cold leather. “Sorry.”

“They quilled you,” I mutter, anger flaring again as I take a step, testing his balance.

Darian’s mouth twists. “It’s… blurry. Like drowning.”

“I know.” Pulling him up, we stagger toward the tree line where my horse waits. I keep one arm around Darian’s waist, supporting him, and the other ready to cast if needed. Every snap of a branch makes my heart kick harder.

I fumble the blanket from the horse with numb fingers. The animal snorts, sensing my tension, but stays steady.

“Up,” I tell Darian, and eye the distance between him and the saddle. It’s not particularly small.

When he tries, he slides straight off. Swearing under my breath, I heft him up, resorting to shoving him like a sack of supplies until he’s slumped forward against the pommel, his arms draped as if he’s too tired to hold himself upright.

He’s still. Too still. “Darian?”

I swing up behind him, wrapping one arm around his middle to keep him steady. Anxiety beats in my already rapid heart when he doesn’t answer. My horse shifts, uneasy with the extra weight and the scent of blood. His ears prick, and I pause with my hands on his neck.

Sound.

Not just any sound. The tramping, heavy sound of boots, echoing in unison. It comes from behind us, and I pat the horse’s neck once more, swallowing. It’s the familiar sound of a Lightbringer infantry march. And we’re directly in front of it.

Get us home.

Lightbringers at our back, and an angry Kaelen ahead. Darian sags against me, unconsciousness pulling at him. His head lolls as I tighten my grip around him, keeping him anchored. “Stay with me.”

I will exchange one unconscious dreamwalker for one less angry Darkwielder prince.

Hopefully he’ll be too distracted by Darian to pay much attention to me at all.