Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Prince Who Fell #2
Aleksander’s shadows seem to find my previous wound, and with a spell, he directs them into my flesh.
The shadows rip and claw their way through me, sending me into the dirt.
I grab at the wound, trying to stop the newly resumed bleeding.
I bite my tongue so hard that it also bleeds, but the grave fog still hasn’t reached me.
I find that Thorne has turned his magic to fight it, trying to help the people both in his court and out of it.
He’s focused on helping those who wish him dead just as much as he’s trying to help those of us on his side.
In this moment there is a sense of relief. Relief because Aleksander’s hurting me instead of Thorne.
What have I become?
I try to summon my snakes but my magic gives out in response to my pain. I see it then, the blood blooming on Thorne’s tunic, my pain becoming his through this life bond. He’s putting so much of himself into—
Aleksander’s foot smashes into my face.
I guess I deserved that.
The world spins as he sends a pillar of dark magic stone up from the earth and through my thigh.
I black out, I think.
There’s shouting. He’s definitely cursing me, trying to make me get up and fight him.
“Here, birdy birdy,” Aleksander drawls and my eyes widen for a moment. No.
He whips out a band of dark magic to where Crowley is flying towards me.
“No!” I scream.
For a terrifying instant there is a puff of feathers and I think my familiar has been hit.
But through the gloom, I see he has banked out of the way just in time, diving towards Aleksander.
He is trying to distract him from me. Pride swells in my chest and I could cry if not for this excruciating pain.
Fable, that beautiful bird, is right by Crowley’s side.
She turns her attention to one of Aleksander’s soldiers who appears to be throwing daggers made of dark magic at her mate.
My vision blackens a moment but when I open my eyes again, she is tearing his eyes out.
Atta girl. His screams fill the air and my chuckle makes me black out again.
In between darkness, stabbing wounds that grow in number, and my magic begging me to give up… I become aware of myself being dragged.
“Stop,” I groan as a piece of flesh from my leg tears off in the dirt. Or is this a stone corridor?
Where is Thorne?
Why isn’t he helping me?
Crowley? Fable?
“IIzayah…” I whisper. Only one serpent is summoned to help me.
When Aleksander stops dragging me, the snake curls around my arm as if to offer comfort.
She’s not been tamed, but she senses pain.
Her small tongue skates across my skin and Aleksander is talking but I can’t hear him over the blood rushing in my ears.
If he kills me, Thorne dies.
I can’t let him kill me. My life has been expendable for a while, but not now. Not when it’s linked to him.
I grit my teeth and with all my strength, I kick out, successfully getting Aleksander’s shin.
He winces and I crawl away, ignoring the blood loss because I simply can’t do anything about it.
I realize I’m laughing as I crawl away. It’s as if I have lost my mind.
Am I chuckling after such a cheap shot? Did the grave fog get to me?
Ow!
I think Aleksander hits me in the back of the head but I can’t be sure.
“Stop struggling!”
I whirl around onto my back with a great deal of effort and silently plead with my magic to obey me.
I send a torrent of fire towards him from the walls around us, begging it to pull from the earth instead of my internal magic wells.
This elemental magic lives in the earth, is home in the ground beneath me.
It can be called upon by an Arcanist in distress, but only if Xeusis wills it so.
Xeusis aid me!
Aleksander wails as the flame catches on his clothes, his own dark magic warring against it to get his shields up, to fight my fire with his own, something.
Instead he flails his arms and drops to the floor as he screams. I’m laughing again, my shoulders sagging in relief so much that my head smacks the stone floor beneath me.
Ow. I send silent thanks to Xeusis as I gasp for air.
The snake on my arm crawls upward to my chest, whispering something that I can’t make out right now.
Finally, I hear footsteps rushing in my direction.
Thorne stumbles to the ground next to me and vomits up blood, clearly affected by my wounds. He’s experiencing every ounce of pain that I am. Blessed Titans.
The flames extinguish as Aleksander’s dark magic takes back control, but still, he’s marred and injured so badly that he’s hardly moving.
Good. Somewhere I hear people clambering together and screaming as chaos unravels either because of the grave fog or because Thorne dispelled it.
I can’t be sure. I haven’t the energy to ask. I black out. Again.
When I come to, my wounds are stitching themselves together and I see Thorne and Aleksander fighting.
He’s finally able to fight back, and my heart swells with pride.
I drag myself to standing and grapple an unsuspecting Aleksander from behind to stop him from punching Thorne.
I see now we’re in the throne room; the heart of the palace.
“King Zephyr is coming for you, you wretched thing,” Prince Aleksander spits at Thorne as he thrashes against my still-weak hold. He stumbles out of my arms, but the serpent that is wrapped around my arm lashes out and bites him on the neck.
“Ow!” He shouts and seethes in anger at me.
“You’re done, brother,” Thorne decrees with eyes raging black shadows. Something white drips from those eyes and it reminds me of fresh snow.
Thorne gestures for the Black Lanterns to drag in the remaining members of the King’s cabinet.
Thorne sends forth a wave of cleverly controlled ice magic that I have never witnessed, and I find myself stumbling backward while beholding it.
The room chills around us, ice crawling over the onyx stone, the silver embellishments, and even the dark blue flags that fly above us.
A thin layer of ice, not enough to consume, but enough to remind the kingdom of dark magic that he has always been here.
That he is a part of Netherhelm, whatever else he is.
“I hereby sentence Prince Aleksander to death. His negligence cost the life of the young Prince Julius when he took him into an active war zone. His war crimes against his own blood notwithstanding when he tortured me, Aleksander has been an active participant in the use of the old binding magic to keep another Arcanist leashed. A crime punishable by death as decreed by the Titan Xeusis himself. What say you, Council of the King?” He turns to them.
Aleksander has gone from shivering to dangerously still as frost starts to crawl over his skin. I release him and he drops to his knees. I brace myself on a statue of Xeusis behind me.
“You yourself have been colluding with the Serpent of Netherhelm!” Lord Matthias coughs, still trying to free himself of the grave fog’s magic.
“You’ve allowed this rebel scum into our palace!” Lady Braker wails.
“Make no mistake, I do not need your permission. You serve me or you die,” he declares, and bares his perfect teeth. Then, in a display of carefully controlled shadow magic, he tilts his head. Lord Matthias’s neck snaps in unison and Thorne’s shadows fade away. Lady Braker cowers and cries.
In that moment, I see his calm brilliance fraying in the wake of such loss today.
I see the way sorrow for his younger brother darkens his features.
I see his hand shake as he holds Aleksander frozen in time until a slow painful death takes him.
He was made into what he is. Forced into the mantle of the Executioner Prince, and he shrugged it on without another choice.
His soul is straining under a burden never meant to be his.
I chose my path. I chose to become the Serpent.
I chose the blood on my hands. I relish it.
It fortifies me. It gives my existence meaning, and I will use it to spare him.
I whisper a small prayer that he forgives me for robbing him of his vengeance, then I rip the scabbard from Aleksander’s belt and shove it through his back. The blade finds his heart. The miserable muscle splits open and skids to a halt.
Thorne’s eyes widen as his head snaps to me.
“No!” Thorne roars and closes his fist extended before him to freeze Aleksander. He crumbles like stone, the throne room quaking around us.
I smile at Thorne, accepting his anger instead of bearing the weight of such a kill. My pulse thrums as his eyes skate over me, Lady Braker screams something about me being a Kingkiller and runs from the throne room.
Reese hurries in with a sea of Black Lanterns as Thorne paces back and forth on the dais with his hands pushing through his hair.
“They’re going to place you on the throne, Serpent!” Thorne screams in my face and I realize that I don’t know when he moved in front of me.
Reese is talking rapidly to about twenty rebels. “We need someone to give commands to Netherhelm’s forces! Julien is catatonic!” Reese grabs Thorne.
“They won’t take orders from me,” Thorne tries to explain. He blinks slowly, staring through Reese.
“King Zephyr demands an audience with you, or his army will march,” Reese continues, his eyebrows raised in concern.
“What for?” I ask, my strength increasing after another momentary blackout. Finally, the blood loss is slowing but the wounds still ache.
“Prince Caelthar Cryovale is dead. It would seem their king has come to claim his last heir,” Reese turns to face Thorne.
I growl low in my chest because I wanted to be the one to kill him. Reese stands before me with his hands folded behind his back.
“And you,” Reese points to me. “You will be forced to take the Throne of Netherhelm.”