Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
DEATH WITH HONOR
I hold the line, almost dropping my blade as the icepicks of. . .another mind. . .layer into mine. I instinctively resist before realizing Darkan's intent. It feels as if I'm strapped to a table, struggling while a giant rock presses into me.
“Aerinne,” Juliette hisses. “What’s wrong with you? Numair, cover her.”
Distantly aware of them shifting to stand in front of me, I sift through the deluge of information settling into my brain.
In a moment of clarity, I understand Darkan's lesson. Aggravation nips at my heels. He could have taught me this before now, like say, during training rather than in the middle of a battle.
The middle of a battle presents the most effective incentive for a lazy student to master the lesson.
I ignore the insult. He’s already made known his opinion of my haphazard approach to formal education. I don't have the power to pull it off .
Look deeper. . .very good. Now prove that you should be called Lord.
I grasp Numair's shoulder, requiring the physical anchor. He’s thrown off balance as I absently blot blood at my nostril, the bleeds more common these days, then stiffens when I infiltrate his shield and?—
Link it to mine, nonexistent until moments ago.
You’ve always had, Darkan says, everything you need.
Numair looks worried. “Rinne, what are you doing?”
My mind skips over tedious internal explanations, using mental muscle memory that hadn't existed minutes ago.
Now the next one. Bridge them one by one.
You've been holding out on me, I say.
It is difficult for me to fully grasp what you’ve failed to learn. Like trying to fit a horse into an ant's glove.
That is utter horseshit. What I'm doing now is not in any standard training.
Besides, the consequences of this kind of teaching. . .
Are what?
Unpleasant, halfling. For you. You'd best hope you do not find out. I’ve seen a locked box open too soon.
I bridge my people one by one, that mind layered on mine, adding those who have shields and extending to those who don’t. Some of my warriors fight when I try to bring them into the strengthening link. Blood drips down my nostrils. I was already hovering at my limit.
What you perceive as your limit.
“What is this?” someone asks. “What's happening?”
“It's me,” I say, bending my knees a little as the weight of the magic settles over me. “Don't fight me! ”
“Interesting,” the High Fae male says, halting. “Do you see it?”
“Yes,” his companion says. “But it’s weak.”
Fire rushes toward us, streaming from the hands of the red-haired female. So cliché: a flame-haired fire wielder. I widen my eyes, astonished when the bridged shield holds against the strike. But as the flames lick our defenses, something else comes with it. The male walks forward again.
Fear.
My knees almost buckle under sudden cold certainty I will die here painfully, screaming the names of my family as we perish. I should simply give in and meet my fate in the flames. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, not only from the strain of working unfamiliar magic.
Hold it, Darkan says. A little longer. His voice sounds stronger, clearer. . .deeper?
I’m going to burn out.
Then burn out. You are Lord. You protect those you rule or you are unworthy of their fealty.
Contrarily, the whip of his merciless words feeds me strength. Purpose. They ring true, more true than anything he’s ever said to me.
Hold the line. The flames will eat me from the inside. But I will hold the line. Unworthy, foul halfling. Fit only to lick the boot of my betters. I inhale, trembling, sick to my stomach.
“Don't struggle against the fear,” édouard says. “It's in your mind. The more you fight, the more it controls you. Rinne, hold the bridge. Think of nothing else. You’re doing well.” He raps out several orders, organizing the units while I focus everything on keeping the High Fae off us .
Of course. He’s impervious to mental manipulation.
His Skill, though Danon once said it took centuries to realize it was a Skill.
But somehow, the Commander knows I’m the bridge between our personal shields.
For once there’s no dislike in his voice, no contempt.
It’s steady, offering what Darkan offered; strength.
Instead of fighting the fear, I let it wash through me. But Realms, the pain. It feels like carrying a horse on my back while hamstrung and stabbed all over. I fall to one knee, the bridged shield starting to crumble.
“Hold.”
Hold.
Two male voices speak. One external, one internal.
Hold the line. Tears stream down my cheeks to mingle with the blood, my face twisting. Hold the line. Death before failure. Surrender my life before I surrender my duty.
I scream.
My mind breaks, goes black, something hungry and feral rising to take its place before I tamp it down. The shield splinters.
A warrior buckles; flames consume him. I shove aside a wild keen and seething anger as Numair pulls me stumbling to my feet. We shift to fill the gap while I yank on the edges of the shield and link it back together. édouard signals to advance; it’s that or stand still.
We move slowly. They learn quickly that if they move too fast, the shield falters.
Exhaustion creeps in. I must hold. I can’t let my family feel my strain.
Hope feeds strength and to their credit, they move with no doubt.
Being forced into a defensive position shreds my temper, but defense is what they need from me right now.
When I survive, I’ll pay this ambush forward.
Juliette’s shoulder bumps mine; some of her energy flows into me, a sacrifice.
The male High Fae meets us, steps unhurried. His gaze touches mine, curiosity only in his. No malice, or anger, or contempt. This is. . .just a job to him.
“How rare,” he says. “I would have liked to study you. Pity.”
In a burst of extinction energy, my thoughts clear.
So everyone but me knows what this affinity is.
I should have known too but, well. . .my tutors gave up on me by the time I was seventeen, to my Poli-Sci professor father’s resignation.
He’s hinted over the years his wish I attend Everenne University, but he won’t nag or coerce—though I have a feeling he’ll get his way one day.
He’s the bloody diplomat of Everenne. He’s biding his time.
But I’m not what one might call inclined to academics, despite a few years at State University in New York, and that might also be why he gave up. Occasionally I toy with the idea of doing something about that, but really, what for? I can kill, I can manage a business.
Good enough.
“But that is enough of that,” the mage says.
Focus, girl!
The shield breaks.
Power hits us. At least the flames wink out.
A warrior three people over is lifted in the air and thrown as the same power barrels into me.
I’m skyborne, hitting a tree trunk seconds later.
His power slowly crushes my internal organs as I lie on the ground, winded and vaguely shocked I’m still conscious; he picks me up and I’m dumped back in the clearing.
Darkan's presence vanishes, leaving an internal void that momentarily paralyzes me.
Quiet, not even birdsong or the groaning of my injured warriors, the quiet of a graveyard. I blink, shoving aside despair. I won't die grief-stricken.
The flame-thrower steps closer. Blackness creeps up my hand, disappearing under my cuff, the pain nothing I've ever felt. I cling to consciousness. What form of Skill is this. Poison? Rot? What else can these damn High Fae do?
I focus on her, wishing some of the venom I feel could be directly translated into a dagger in her gut. This is shit. Utter horseshit. And overkill. This is why no one likes the fucking High Fae.
“You fought well, child,” she says. “But you're young, and your human blood makes you unfit, ultimately. If our people are to thrive in this Realm, we must cull the weak. Thank you for your sacrifice.”
Only one dagger? No, and not in her gut, not when she has two perfectly stabbable eyes.
“Stop toying with her,” the male says. He stares through the tree line. “Kill her quickly.”
“I'd rather you did it,” I croak. “As a favor to me.”
He won't bother with the torture I see in her gaze. Not that physical pain matters, with the emotional pain crushing my chest. He studies my crumpled body with a flat expression, then nods, glancing at his partner. She frowns but shrugs and walks away.
The male crouches at my feet. “It will be quick. ”
He touches his fingers to my temple. I don't have the strength to lift my head. My ribs are broken, blood trickling from my nose and mouth reminding me I am both alive and about to die. My breathing comes in labored gasps.
Darkan abandoned me. Or maybe it's that so close to death, I don't need my splinter self anymore.
Damn it, I don't want to die this way. My avatar uncoils, peeking up and. . .out. Ignoring me. What is it watching? Stupid thing.
“Help me get on my knees,” I say, voice hoarse with the effort to hold back a storm of screaming. “You can give me that much.”
He does as I ask. “What does it matter? Low Fae foolishness.”
I grimace. “It matters.”
When on my knees with some semblance of dignity, he reaches out his hand. I don't flinch.
Juliette is dead.
Numair is dead.
None of my warriors escaped.
I close my eyes for a moment, shuddering. Gathering enough strength to die with honor. Anything to end this tsunami of grief and failure.
The enemy warriors watch me beyond the High Fae shield and if I am the last they will see of Muriel Kuthliele’s line, they will witness our blood facing eradication with honor.
Gathering my pride, I lift my head and give him a slight, grim smile, hoping he doesn't note my unshed tears. They aren't for me. I never shied from death.
“Do it.”