65. Lora
Lora
The world was a blur around me, muffled and distorted.
I’d seen everything, heard every word the pirates had spoken, felt the heat of those metal shields protecting me. But all of it floated at the edges of my awareness, lost in the fog wrapping around my mind.
My glare locked on the silt-waste of a man before me, his palms raised as if pacifying some rabid animal. The dissonance of him jarred my senses—like two versions of him existed in the same body.
The one who’d stood between the pirates and me, protecting me.
And the one who’d killed Erion.
The version stained with blood drowned out everything else. It consumed my mind until nothing remained but rage and grief twisting in my chest.
He’d murdered Erion. Our savior. My mission. My one purpose in life. My friend.
Without Erion, the rift would keep expanding, spilling monsters into the land. They’d lay waste to every village and town across the Queendom and devour everything in their path.
I’d failed.
Failed to protect Erion. Failed the world. Failed Mother. Her sacrifice had been for nothing.
Devastating shame carved through me, hollowing out my chest.
The only way to carry it was to latch onto the rage burning beneath it all. My white-hot fury over the man who’d caused it.
My fingers curled and magic roared through my veins, demanding release. Shadows twisted around my legs—not conjured by my conscious mind, but by the frantic pounding of my shattered heart.
“Lora.” His eyes swirled with raw emotion. “You’re hurt. We need to—”
“We don’t need to do anything,” I snarled.
The tenderness in his voice sliced against my nerves, igniting something feral inside.
I yanked every droplet within reach—and found a new source of moisture pooling on the forest floor.
The thick liquid rose at my command, viscous and dark.
I shaped it into dozens of spikes, flooding them with cold.
They crystallized into frozen shards hovering between us like deadly stars, all of them tinged in crimson.
Crimson?
Pure horror squeezed my heart. I wielded Erion’s blood.
But one look at the man before me sent new fury surging through me. Maybe ending him with his victim’s blood was exactly the gruesome fate he deserved. Poetic, even, in the most vulgar way.
For all I knew, he might have orchestrated all of this. Maybe the pirates’ ambush was just an excuse to kill Erion, and now he’d sent them away to claim the body for himself.
My hands shot forward and the frozen blood sliced toward his chest.
A metal shield erupted from the ground, intercepting the shards. They hissed against heated metal, dissolving into wisps of dark smoke. The metallic stench flooded my nostrils.
“Lora.” His voice was a low growl. “You’re hurt.”
With a roar, I shaped more blood into frozen daggers.
His hands moved and more metal rose to block them. “Lora, stop this. We need to tend to your wounds before—”
“Shut up!” The words tore from my throat as I launched another volley.
His shields reformed, swallowing each attack, but no retaliations came.
That infuriating restraint—his mercy—stoked the fire in my chest. How could he stand there like some righteous protector when he’d just murdered Erion in cold blood?
My fingers twitched, yanking more crimson liquid from the earth. Shadows writhed around my ankles, feeding on the storm inside me. Ice crystallized across my skin as the temperature plummeted.
I flung one spike after another. He blocked each one, still refusing to counter.
“Fight back!” I roared. “Why won’t you fight back?”
I pressed forward, boots crunching leaves I’d drained dry. I hurled wave after wave at his infuriating face. The silt-rotten traitor blocked each stream of bloody shards until I was no more than an arm’s length away.
Just as I reached for more liquid, his hands shot out and seized my wrist. The heat of his fingers burned against my icy skin.
The world tilted as he spun me. He pressed me against a wide trunk, stretching my arms overhead and pinning my wrists in his iron grip.
Steam curled between us as his heat collided with the frost coating my body.
Light shimmered around him, illuminating his features in an ethereal glow—a stark contrast to the shadows coiling around my legs like vengeful spirits.
My chest heaved against his, our faces no more than a hand’s width apart.
“Can you just listen to me?” Annoyance laced his growling voice, but something desperate quivered beneath the words.
I gritted my teeth, clinging to my fury. “You killed him.”
A storm of emotions swirled behind his eyes. “I did it to save you.”
“You’re a monster! I hate you!” The words trembled from my lips—too weak, too fragile.
“Good.” He dragged in a ragged breath. “I’d rather be the monster you hate than the one who let you die.”
Heat prickled behind my eyes. “You should have saved him! He was the only one who could seal the rift!”
“Lora…” His breath shuddered against my lips. “He was already dying, and he was taking you with him.”
I blinked against the tears, but they broke free and spilled down my cheeks.
“He was regaining control,” I whispered, shaking my head.
The words rang hollow even to my own ears. Those last few moments, he’d stopped responding to my desperate pleas. The devastating truth clawed at my chest. Erion was never meant to hold that much power. He’d made so little progress and kept losing control.
But he’d been so close to succeeding. And sealing the rift might have been his own salvation, too. By fulfilling his destiny, those powers might have left him for good, allowing him to finally live in peace. Instead, he’d met his end in a senseless ambush.
The unfairness of it all crashed over me.
The monster pinning me to the tree opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw worked, words clogging in his throat.
A frustrated roar tore from me. I flexed my fingers and curled one leg around his hip, reaching for liquid. Blood rose from the ground, reshaping into jagged spikes. I’d never wielded with my leg before, didn’t even know it was possible. My fingers channeled the magic, but my foot directed it.
His eyes widened as I wiggled against him. His gaze raked down my body, as if trying to decipher my intentions.
I snapped my calf into his back and the spikes shot toward us, driving into his shoulder.
Grunting, he released my wrists, stumbling back. Shallow punctures dotted his shoulder where most of the spikes had glanced off, his bolstered flesh too resilient for them to bite deeper.
I staggered away, my boots dragging over crunching roots and leaves, back toward Erion’s unmoving form. I had to protect him.
Dropping to my knees, I hooked my arms around his torso. My muscles screamed as I rose, staggering under his weight. One unsteady step after another, I hauled him from the clearing, his feet sliding across the ground.
Branches scraped my back. Roots snagged my boots. I had no idea where to go, only that I had to get him away from the place he’d died. Away from his killer.
But no matter how far I stumbled, I couldn’t escape the crushing weight of my failure. Guilt carved deeper with each labored step, burrowing into my bones. All strength drained from me as I collapsed with Erion’s body cradled against my lap.
I had nowhere to go. Nothing left to do. No purpose. No meaning.
The world’s last hope for salvation had died in my arms—and it was all my fault.