Chapter Thirty-One
We gave Tona to the sea this morning. She asked that we preserve these journals, unread, until the pain within them is not so fresh and the generations that follow need the wisdom of the last priestess who knew our goddess.
I leave my own request to those who come after: do not let her be forgotten.
She carried us through the darkest times Rahvekya has ever known.
You are alive to read this because of her.
Note found with the lost journal of High Priestess Tona
Naia had tried to think of a way to separate Eirika from Gwynira and Isa. They had too much history, and nearly all of it bad. Though Eirika fully deserved their wrath, their anger and vengeance could only cloud their judgment. Make them take unnecessary risks.
But she needn’t have bothered.
“Focus on the others,” the Stalker barked to her companions. “This one is mine.”
Gwynira flung her hands out at her sides, frost already creeping up her arms. “Naia?”
“It’s all right,” Naia answered evenly. “I can handle her.”
“Oh, I like confidence.” Eirika grinned and slowly circled Naia. “Even if it’s unearned.”
It was so strange. Initially, Naia had marveled at how much Eirika resembled Elevia.
While Sorin had loathed the Huntress, he had obviously respected her.
Out of all his replacement court, Eirika was the one he’d sculpted most in her inspiration’s image, both in appearance and in ability. He’d even given her a similar name.
But the longer Naia looked at this pale shadow, and the longer she listened to her cruel, taunting words, the less of Elevia she saw in her.
Eirika lightly swung her flail as she edged closer. The movement should have looked lazy, but all Naia could see was the coiling of muscle and the sharpening of her gaze as the Stalker studied her, looking for weaknesses to exploit.
This one is devious. The island’s words filled Naia’s head. You mustn’t be unarmed.
Her palms tingled, and for one moment, it felt as though her hands were both empty and wrapped around the familiar hilts of two heavy, curved swords.
They were an ancient style, one Naia had not seen since her rebirth.
But Theron had loved them, and he would often regale her with tales of how he’d learned to fight with them even as he taught her in turn.
Naia hovered in that liminal space, then tightened her fingers. As she did, they closed around solid, leather-wrapped handles, the swords brought forth by her memories.
“Oh.” Eirika stopped and tilted her head. “Very nice. Though I must admit, I’m rather more fond of your lover’s sword. I recognize Isa’s work. She never would make me anything like that.” A slow smile curved her lips. “I wonder why?”
Naia quelled a shudder. “Likely because she’s always had excellent instincts.”
“Well.” Eirika shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to get rid of her.” With that, she lunged.
Naia blocked the flail and managed to keep her blade from getting tangled in the chain and yanked out of her hand. “I thought you planned to kill everyone anyway.”
Eirika looked almost affronted as she danced back out of range of a counterattack. “Why would I? How terribly wasteful. Besides . . .” Another lightning-fast attack. “Gwynira is my sister.”
“And?”
“And that means something to me.” A sudden, chilling smile. “Everyone else is fair game.”
She truly did not seem to understand that if she killed Isa, she would have to kill Gwynira, as well. This terrifying woman had her loyalties, but they were mercurial, conditional. They were based on emotions, but not good ones. Just trauma and fear and retribution.
This was Elevia’s allegiance and constancy, viewed through Sorin’s flawed eyes. From the skewed perspective of the only person to ever lose her faith and devotion.
As Naia prepared to strike, a flash of movement stayed her hand. Omira shot past her with a screeching roar and pounced on Eirika, who dropped her flail.
“Omira, no!”
Claws and wickedly sharp teeth flashed in the morning sunlight as the cat hissed and slashed at the Stalker’s face. Eirika did not scream, only shouted angrily as she ripped at Omira’s fur in an effort to halt the brutal assault.
She finally managed to fling the cat away, and Omira went down hard. She tumbled across the ground, leaving an unending smear of blood behind as she rolled out of sight.
Naia started after her, but barely managed to block a heavy blow from Eirika, who had snatched up her flail.
Eirika attacked again and again, never quite engaging Naia, but keeping her occupied and on the defensive.
It left Naia with precious little attention to devote to the rest of the battle, much less Omira’s fate.
Arktikos had thundered off into the village.
The one with the rotting touch and the man who could only have been the Seducer were also gone.
To Naia’s left, Aleksi and Sorin still fought in their tiny, sequestered bubble.
And to her right, Gwynira and Isa were clashing with the other attackers.
The woman who wielded the Dream like a sharpened claw had squared off with Gwynira, who was jerking oddly as the woman flicked her fingers. She was trying to control Gwynira’s attacks, to prevent her from raising water from the bay.
Finally, Gwynira screamed with fury and exertion, and the other woman stumbled. A heartbeat later, blood gurgled from her mouth, and she fell to her knees as a jagged shard of ice pierced her chest from the inside out.
Two men dragged forward a third. He had some sort of metal bridle securing his mouth, and Naia watched in horror as one of his captors ripped it off his face, tearing flesh along with it. An ear-splitting shriek rent the air and slammed into Gwynira like a physical force, knocking her over.
Isa slid over, beneath the murderous wave of sound, and circled the man. After dispatching his two captors with breathtaking speed, she stabbed both of her short swords into the man’s lungs through his back.
The screaming stopped.
But another, more distant scream tore through the morning air. “Eirika!”
The Stalker’s head jerked toward the sound, and she faltered. “Enzi?”
Naia could have no mercy. She surged forward, swinging both swords. Without an opportunity to block the attack, Eirika fell back onto the rocky sand. She rolled completely, head over heels, and sprang back to her feet with a growl.
“It wasn’t enough to take Hinrick from me?” she demanded.
Grand Duke Hinrick. Aleksi had fought and killed him at Queen Anikke’s court. “The Shapechanger? He tried to murder a young girl.”
“And what has Enzi done?”
“If I had to guess? Far, far worse things.”
Eirika swung the flail over her head and lunged with a shriek. Naia parried the attack, but fought to keep her footing. The enraged woman had been biding her time before—playing with her food, Naia thought wryly—but now . . .
Now she was out for blood.
The rest of the battle faded as Naia focused on Eirika.
She was fast, so fast that Naia had to anticipate her attacks in order to evade them.
They clashed and separated, advanced in both strikes and feints.
Eirika’s spiked flail grazed Naia’s arm, and she returned the blow with a slice across Eirika’s shoulder.
Naia saw the moment when Eirika’s rage burned itself out, and self-preservation overrode any desire to avenge whatever had befallen Enzi. Her dark eyes flashed in brutal assessment, and she stumbled back.
“Stop, please.” Eirika dropped her flail and raised both hands. “I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Sorin forced me.”
She sounded absolutely sincere, and the bleeding claw marks across her face made her look almost vulnerable. If Naia had not been able to sense the mercenary anticipation that glittered around the woman like shattered glass, she might even have believed her.
Instead, Naia shook her head. “You must think me a naive, ignorant girl.”
For a moment, Eirika’s wide eyes still beseeched Naia in pleading desperation. Then she sighed heavily and huffed out a growl as she pulled a push dagger from her sleeve. “Fine. We can also make this painful for you.”
Naia dropped her swords, and they dissolved back into the aether before they hit the ground. She let Eirika charge at her, but as the woman moved to strike, Naia grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. The push dagger fell from her hand, and Naia caught it and thrust it into Eirika’s midsection.
It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it still had to hurt. Eirika’s eyes went wide again, this time with shock and pain.
Naia released her, but before she could fall, that tiny woman materialized again. Naia barely had time to register a missing arm and a brutally tight tourniquet wrapped above a ragged, bloody stump. The woman grabbed Eirika’s sleeve with her remaining hand, and they both vanished.
Gods damn her.
Gwynira stumbled over and skidded to a halt. “Where the fuck did Eirika go?”
“She ran, like the coward she is.” Naia dropped Eirika’s dagger on the bloody sand and looked over to where Aleksi had erected his barrier. He and Sorin were inside it, bloody and battered and still fighting.
She did not want to leave him, but she had to respect Aleksi’s choice. “Come.” Naia grasped Gwynira’s arm and pulled her away. “They need us in the village.”