55. Keldarion
Keldarion
Iwill not lose him again. I am leaving this cursed place with the man I love.
With everyone I love.
It’s not as it was before. I see him flickering in and out like stars, purple eyes, then green. I fight with the pure intention of holding him off.
“Cas, come back to me,” I growl as he slams his shadow blade against my ice one.
Nothing.
Caspian’s not only fighting me.
He’s fighting himself.
And losing.
The baron’s grip is deep now. Cas’s movements are sharper, faster, less fae and more…something I don’t understand. His blade sings with green fire, and behind him, the Baron’s silhouette looms.
The bastard’s got a sword the size of a damned tree. It looks like it could carve the mountain in two.
I wouldn’t want to see it up close.
Too bad I don’t have a choice.
Frost climbs my arms. My blades are light and quick. Good for slipping past armor. Good for making monsters bleed.
But Caspian’s faster now.
I risk a glance across the chamber. Aurelia’s still chained, hanging limp between the crystals. Her light flickers like a candle in the wind. Rosalina’s driving briars against the obelisks, eyes wild. Not working.
Fuck.
Dayton’s down. Collapsed in a heap, his trident slipped from his hand. Not moving.
“Damn it,” I hiss.
But Farron’s still up, wreathed in orange flame. Ezryn’s beside him, hammer raised. They’re driving Sira back inch by inch, matching her blow for blow.
A force knocks me away, and I crash against the wall, pebbles raining on my head. What—
A glowing figure steps in front of my vision. Towering, with long, white hair, eyes flashing green. He moves beside Cas like a second shadow, wielding a sword longer than I am tall and twice as heavy. It hums with power. The kind of power that splits worlds.
So he’s got enough magic from Aurelia to be physically here, at least partly.
And father and son are coming for me.
I stand and parry left—Cas’s blade. Block right—the Baron’s. Ice sprays with every hit, frost trying to slow them down, but it’s no use. I’m getting pushed back. One step. Then another.
Cas moves fast, brutal. No hesitation. And the Baron is not even fully here, and I still can’t land a strike.
I duck under a slash, feel the heat of the green magic skim my cheek.
Too slow.
The Baron hurls a blast of energy, and I take it full in the chest. I hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me. Both my ice swords shatter.
This is bad.
Caspian stalks forward, face half-lit in sickly green. His eyes flicker for a heartbeat with something real.
Then it’s gone.
“Damn it, Cas,” I mutter, spitting blood. “Fight it!”
“The Green Flame cannot be caged, not by him. It is woven into his very blood. It is him.” The baron raises that monstrous blade again.
I try to form a new blade, a shield, anything. There isn’t time—
“Two against one isn’t fair.”
Ezryn.
He crashes down between us, hammer slamming into the ground with a blast of light. The shock wave ripples out, knocking the Baron back a step. Cas stumbles too, snarling.
Ezryn flashes me a grin. “Let’s even the odds.”
We fight, the four of us: me, Ezryn, Caspian, and the damned glowing form of the Baron. Blades and hammer and flame and shadow. Ice splinters underfoot, and green magic spits like venom.
Ezryn swings heavily, every hit a quake. I dart around him, cutting where I can, but the Baron doesn’t falter. Caspian’s not holding back anymore.
It’s chaos.
And we’re losing.
I’m losing.
I feel it in my arms, heavy now, slow. My breath fogs in front of me, coming too fast. Frost crawls over my shoulders, trying to brace what strength I have left. Even with my blessing, it’s hard to reach its full potential in the Below.
It’s not enough.
We can’t win this.
Not like this.
Caspian leaps at me, all fire and rage and something I can’t name. Our blades crash together, and I stagger from the weight of them. A twinkle of light flashes at the nape of Caspian’s neck.
Rosalina’s moonstone necklace, the one she gave Cas. One of five precious tokens, made for the first high rulers.
Images blaze into my mind. Carvings in a cave. The warriors of old etched into the stone. Justus’s voice echoing in the dark. One hand to the chest. One breath. One release.
My hand moves before I think.
It drifts to my sternum, right over my snowflake token, fingers splayed, pressing hard. There is ancestral memory buried inside me. I inhale slow. Deep. The cold fills my lungs.
Then I lift my palm outward.
Fingers curl into a fist.
I hold.
Then—
I unfurl them. And I release.
The air shifts. No, it snaps. Magic jolts up my spine. Ice rushes up my legs, over my arms, wrapping me in something older than armor. Something given, not forged.
Magnificent sapphire plates form over my chest, edged in silver-frost filigree that pulses with light.
Bracers shimmer over my forearms, carved with snowflakes.
My pauldrons are wings of crystal, flared and jagged like frozen mountain peaks.
A cloak of the deepest blue whips behind me, tethered by pins shaped into wolves’ heads.
A helm curves around my head, leaving my face exposed.
The temperature drops.
Even the Baron hesitates.
I exhale slowly, mist curling from my lips. “Let’s try this again.”