Chapter Thirty
Dietan
The sound of her voice shouting my name gives me something to fight for.
I need to face the Kilandrar alone. She’ll be safer with Marcus, I try to tell myself. They’ll all get back to Loegria. They’ll survive this, and if I don’t… I don’t want to think about that. For once, I actually have something to live for.
But the look of betrayal on Aren’s face when she realized I wasn’t behind her will haunt me. I broke her trust, and if I live, earning it back will be a top priority, right behind saving the realm. But like I told her in my tent the other night, I can never be with anyone.
Not when this curse is embedded in me.
It’s too dangerous to love anyone. It’s too dangerous for her to love me.
If I die, at least I’ll die knowing I saved her life.
The Kilandrar encircle me, calling for the Rings, which vibrate in recognition. The sensation snakes down my spine with eerie intensity.
Dietan of Loegria. So-called heir to Alarice. You have taken what is not yours. Thief of breath. Brigand of the zephyr. We shall return the Whisting to its true master.
Sure, I think. Whoever the fuck that is.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come and try, you assholes!” I shout.
The Whisting swells inside me, filling me like the deepest breath, and I exhale. The Rings on my back come to life. I try to focus the magic, to wield it like I would a sword in my hand, but the power bursts out of me like a tempest.
Buildings on either side of the bridge crumble as a sphere of pure energy explodes outward from my body.
The ground beneath my feet, already weak and crumbling, starts to give way.
Cobblestones drop into the chasm below, leaving gaping holes in the road.
The stones don’t fall straight down. No, instead, they are borne away in the gales whipping between the two kingdoms.
I struggle to maintain a grasp on my power, but it’s like trying to hold on to your cloak in a hurricane. I have no control; I’m at its mercy. It’s wild, untamed…
And it strikes me that I can use that to my advantage.
I raise my hands, like I saw Veteria do in her cottage. The storm whips around, now emanating from my body. The force dispels the smoke, letting me see the Kilandrar clearly.
None of them move. They aren’t afraid of me.
They’re testing me.
Let them.
Sheer ignorance and desperation spur me forward. I’m not afraid of them, either.
I focus on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I feel strong—stronger than ever before. Wind courses through my fingers, tearing the roofs off the nearby buildings like they’re paper.
Dietan of Loegria. We will destroy you and everyone you love.
I glance behind me at the gap in the rubble where Marcus and Aren watch, faces etched with fear for me. Aren shakes her head and screams something I can’t hear over the roaring wind. The Kilandrar turn toward them, hissing, rising into the air—about to attack.
“No!” I shout, facing down the Kilandrar. “You will not touch them!”
I summon a gale so powerful, my feet begin to slide along the cobblestones.
The Whisting encircles the Kilandrar. I trap them in the eye of my storm despite their attempts to push back with their own squall.
Pieces of buildings tear away, and the air explodes with the sound of beams snapping and stone falling.
The wall of debris behind me starts to blow away, large pieces breaking off and tumbling backward toward Loegria.
All I feel is the magic rushing out of me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, except in my dreams. It’s pure, raw, elemental power—and I want more of it.
I let go. I give myself over to the Whisting inside me. My feet lift off the ground.
The Kilandrar fight furiously against the tornado entrapping them. They howl, growing more frenzied. They’ll break through soon—I can feel it.
But they won’t get past me.
Two rings of light appear on the bridge, circling the Kilandrar in thin, glowing lines. The wind carves a clean line around them. Then, with a high-pitched screech, the wind slices all the way through the cobblestones like a knife through butter.
With a groan, the entire section of the bridge falls into the chasm below. The Kilandrar plunge through the gap, followed by a wave of rubble. They screech and flail, cursing my name as the winds of the canyon engulf them, and they vanish from sight.
My vision goes dark.
In one breath, I’m floating above the bridge. The next, I’m on the battlefield, surrounded by corpses.
Then I’m back on the bridge again, my tempest ripping the overpass to pieces beneath my feet.
I’m consumed by a vision of the entire kingdom engulfed in shadow.
Back on the bridge where I’m losing control of the Whisting. It was never yours to control, screams a voice in my head. The bridge is crumbling. Soldiers are yelling. A voice cuts through the chaos.
The battlefield. Everyone I care about is dead on the ground.
“Dietan!”
My name—someone is calling my name. I almost forgot I have a name.
Is Dietan my name?
I turn toward the sound. A figure braces against the wind, arms up, shielding their face.
Her face.
Her beautiful face.
I know that face.
She’s on my side of the expanse, running toward me.
“Dietan!”
She’s so small, an insignificant speck compared to the power roaring around us—the power that is me.
Her voice is pleading, and the look in her eyes—
My feet hit the ground, and I take a faltering step, catching myself. She looks so scared. Why is she scared of this glorious tempest—of me?
She’s scared of me.
I try to call the cyclone back into myself, commanding it back into my body. Then I’m choking, just as I did the night she visited me—
Aren. I remember.
Her warmth, her touch, the prophecy.
The Whisting surges through me, greedy and grasping, leaving me empty. I’ve used up all the air around me, and now I have none left to breathe.
I created a vacuum. An abyss. My knees hit the stone, and I clutch at my throat, desperate for a breath that refuses to come.
The knife. I remember the knife. I reach for it at the small of my back, but my fingers are numb, and I fumble for the hilt, struggling to pull it from its sheath. When I finally plunge it into my healing hand, nothing happens.
I still can’t breathe. The blood magic doesn’t stop the Whisting this time.
I close my eyes and turn inward. I’m so cold. Everything inside me is frozen. I gasp and choke. The Rings are the only thing humming hot and strong as they unleash their power and drain me of life.
I’m going to die.
Then something hits me square on the side of the head.
A skillet?
I tumble forward, but Aren catches me before I fall.
I’m so shocked, I take a deep, dizzying breath.
A breath!
Aren is holding on to me with one hand, clutching the skillet in the other. Her face is scratched, her clothes torn and dirty, hanging off her like rags.
“Breathe!” she screams at me.
It’s an order.
But I am breathing, I want to tell her as I fall forward into her arms with a huge, gasping wheeze.
“Harvest Mother!” Aren cries, gripping me tightly. “Don’t die on me!”
I cough so hard I taste copper, burying my face into her chest. She’s the only thing keeping me from falling over.
She grabs my head, her fingers pressing into my face as she looks me over.
I can barely keep my eyes open, I’m so drained.
Her expression is racked with worry and anger, but mostly relief.
I crack a smile as my head lolls on my neck.
Everything goes black, and then Aren is shaking me by the shoulders, as if she can rattle some life into me. “Dietan!” she cries, her beautiful eyes shining with tears. “Come back to me! Dietan!”
I can’t speak.
I saved everyone from the Kilandrar, but if I hadn’t stopped when I did, I would’ve brought the whole bridge down. I would have killed everyone anyway. I would’ve killed myself, too, if it weren’t for Aren’s skillet.
“Yes?” I croak. “What is it?”
She clamps her lips tightly together, glaring at me like she wants to hit me again.
Her chin trembles. I must still be dizzy, because I could swear she holds me a little tighter, a blush rising in her cheeks.
I want to run my fingers through her thick hair, to wrap my body around hers.
How delicious it was to kiss her at the temple.
I could’ve kissed her for days. Even when she’s furious with me, she still takes my breath away—in the good way.
“You’re really pretty,” I murmur weakly. “Shall we have that talk now? About our feelings?”
“You’ve lost your damn mind.” She can’t help but laugh through her tears.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“On the other side of the bridge,” she says. “I made it to you before you completely blew the bridge in half.”
I peer down into the gap I created. The Whisting sliced clean through the stone. I can’t spot the Kilandrar below. All I can see is the canyon, blanketed in rolling clouds.
I shake my head to clear it of the remnants of my perennial nightmare and the Kilandrar’s dark whispers.
Who is this master of the Whisting?
Marcus is shouting to us from the other side of the gap, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Aren and I stand in Estyrion, but Marcus and his men are trapped on the other side in Loegria…and boy, he is not happy about it.
I ignore Marcus and focus on the beautiful woman standing next to me.
“You should have stayed with them,” I say, weakly, wheezing. I still can’t fill my lungs.
“What, and miss all this?” she says, gesturing to the blackened ruins around us.
I collapse against her shoulder, utterly exhausted.
“You brave idiot,” she grumbles, holding me close. Her embrace warms me inside and out.
Just before I give in to the hypnotic allure of unconsciousness, I realize Aren got what she wanted after all. It’s just the two of us for the rest of this journey.