Chapter 68 Vera #2
I scoot back, dragging the fabric of my dress with me as I attempt to gain my footing and escape as more gloam soldiers race up the steps, straight for Drade. I scan the gloamy chaos for Ikar, but he’s no longer on the platform and worry tightens my chest. He has no armor.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Jethonan leaps from the platform and into the crowd, and my energy drains from me as Renton’s cold envelops me—desperate and vicious.
His magic clings like a pest, searching for all the places it needs to connect, each wisp more painful and cold than the last. The gloam darkens around us as Renton gains strength from our growing bond, faster than I expected.
I fall into frozen darkness until I feel a single spark of warmth my magic craves, pulling me from the gloam that attempts to consume my soul.
My magic searches it out, eager—a magic I thought I’d never feel again.
Ikar. I can’t see him yet, but he’s close.
Somehow. Or my mind has finally broken for good, and I’m officially insane because it doesn’t seem possible that he made it from the platform and across the heavy battle beneath us in this short a time.
Renton must sense it as well because he returns to where I shakily hold myself on the ground and grabs one of my arms roughly, dragging me backward with him before he drops me in a heap near the castle wall and steps forward with his gloam sprouting out around him like thick, weaving snakes. He appears agitated, more than ever.
He grips the hilt of his black sword, and with a wicked grin, shouts, “You’ve come to meet my wife?” He swings his sword back and forth, preparing for the fight. “I’ve never seen a woman so eager to say yes.”
I ignore his barbed lies. My body and every sense attune to the large form that is obscured by clouds of gloam that surround us.
Could it be? But who else would Renton taunt like that?
I peer through the deep shadows as a man strikes toward Renton, and Renton roars with anger.
Ikar. Pure, unadulterated joy runs through me like a spark of lightning—the same as the horror of my new marriage grows.
I may not be able to help much in this fight, and I may have wed Ikar’s greatest enemy, but even if it means my death, I intend to help.
So much gloam and so many gloam soldiers swarm around the castle that, at first, I don’t see Jethonan running up the castle steps, the somewhat crushed tulip in hand, his long hair swinging and sweat running down his temples as he dodges outreaching hands and swinging blades.
The tulip.
I shout when a gloam master stabs the point of his sword through Jethonan’s battered robes, pinning the fabric to the steps and forcing him to his knees.
But Drade appears and forces the gloam master back as Jethonan clambers up, reaching for the tulip at the same time as another gloam master.
Before either can reach it, Rupi dives from above and snatches it once more.
She comes barreling toward me, and I prepare myself to grab it from her small grasp, but instead, she aims for Ikar.
I hope Jethonan can hold his own as sparks of magic begin belching from his hands toward the gloam soldiers surrounding him, and I wonder for half a second what kind of magic he even has.
Beyond him, I see the shard beasts and other gloam monsters wreaking havoc, screaming and shouting… How long before they kill us all?
I force my shaking legs to stand and grip the edge of the cold table as I work to break Renton’s bridging away from my magic.
With every tear my energy drains away, but I have to reach Ikar—we both must hold the tulip.
I send every bit of lucent magic I can muster to Ikar and his soldiers who battle below us.
Rupi returns, flowerless, and flaps about my head. I understand what she wants.
“I’m trying!” I shout, but how do I interrupt a sword fight between two powerful men to get to the dratted flower?
I scuttle around the side of their duel, aware that if I get too close, I could be killed on the spot.
I ignore the fear that guts through me at the thought of being stabbed, and force myself to focus.
When I get as close as I can, I summon more lucent than I’ve ever attempted to pull, so much that I begin to fear the power I hold in my hands, and push it toward Renton’s chest, catching him off guard.
He staggers back with the force, shouting in anger and pain, and my eyes widen as his chest seeps clouds of gloam. For a moment, I even wonder if it’ll kill him.
Ikar looks my way with determination in the set of his jaw.
Faster than I can believe possible, he pulls the crumpled and limp flower from the pocket in his trousers where, apparently, he stuffed it after Rupi’s delivery—hopefully it’ll still do the job.
He extends it to me, and I grasp it firmly, my fingers enclosed in his, meeting his eyes.
“Only ever you,” I say.
My words trigger that deadly half-smile.
Renton lunges forward with hot rage in his eyes. “Wrong target, wife,” he growls, swinging his sword toward Ikar.
Ikar releases the flower into my grasp, stepping in front of me protectively, already bringing his sword up to block his blow.
The ring of their swords meeting vibrates through my body, and my face scrunches in a wince as I hitch my dress up and quickly backstep until my shoulders meet the cold stone of the castle several feet away.
I wait to feel Ikar’s magic reaching for me, willing the abused flower to work, even as I return with rabid focus to tearing Renton’s magic from mine.
Does my link have to be completely broken with Renton first?
Even with most of it undone now, still all I sense is Renton’s to bridge with.
No. Panic begins to tighten my chest, but it only prompts me to free myself more fiercely while also leaving questions that sting the hope I’m clutching.
Is the flower too broken? A one-time use?
I curse when gloam soldiers and a mix of deathstalkers and gloam wolves begin to climb the stairs in waves.
Then, from within the swirling shadows a distance away, I faintly hear Drade rally the fae and soon the sounds of battle are even louder through the thickening gloam.
I look down to find the crushed tulip hanging limply in my hand—it looks about how I feel right now as despair and dark whispers of failure begin to fill my ears.
How many will die? Did I ruin everything by touching the flower with Renton?
Darvy and Rhosse jump from the crowd and join Drade in pulling their forces together to attempt to stop the wave heading up the stairs toward Ikar and me, but the shard beasts catch sight of the growing battle, and their screeching roars increase as they charge.
I don’t watch them long, my attention drawn by a pained shout from Renton who now seeps gloam heavily from his left arm and upper leg, but my vision locks on a grisly cut to Ikar’s ribs and another on his shoulder, leaving blood trailing down his skin in dark rivulets.
I force myself to look away in order to focus, my heart pounding in my ears as the kingdom teeters and sways between the two kings, and things appear to fall apart below us.
Even amidst the chaos, my battered magic, and the weakness in my limbs, I finally manage to tear away the last of Renton’s link and look up in utter surprise.
I actually did it. I have the urge to throw a victorious fist in the air, but the men’s swords meet and hold between them, pressing and battling for the upper hand, and through the crossed blades Renton’s eyes meet mine.
I know he feels the stark absence of the bridge.
He roars in anger, and I resist the urge to shrink back against the stone of the castle.
Instead I tip my chin up and narrow my eyes in challenge even though I know if he gets the chance, it won’t be bridging that he seeks with me next—it’ll be a violent death for my guiltless betrayal.
Ikar pushes Renton back, the playing field now evened with neither of them bridged with my power, freeing their crossed blades.
The fight continues with an intensity I’ve never before witnessed.
Renton’s magic still hovers near, sporadic and hungry for mine…
but where is Ikar’s? The whispers of doubt rise again, and I look at the ruined tulip in my fist. Petals are missing, and another dangles precariously.
I fight the despair, not waiting for Ikar’s to search out mine; instead, I push my magic outward, seeking his.
It has to work.
“Finish it, Ikar! Bridge!”
Both their magic rushes me, hot and cold and overwhelming.