CHAPTER 81
Tyghan and his officers saw their chance.
Their troops had overcome and killed the restless dead, and thanks to some bizarre intervention of the gods, dragons in the distance were culling the incoming troops of Fomoria.
Their warriors were either roasted or retreating.
It was a mystery to all of them, but it gave Danu the edge they needed to snuff out hot spots on the valley floor.
Now they attacked Kormick’s last precious stronghold, the already diminished shield guard of warriors and wizards around the Mother Ring.
Danu hit them from all sides, Cully attacking with archers on the other side of the ring and Tyghan leading forces who paved the way for Cael.
Bristol’s squad had reported that she made it into the interior, and it was clear she had been successful in stopping her mother from reopening the Abyss, but Tyghan was desperate to reach her, to hold her—to tell her that her father was here and fighting on their side. Fighting with Tyghan.
His platoon broke through the wall of warriors, and as they charged through the standing stones, he caught a glimpse between them.
A tunic. An arm. A flash of brown hair. They emerged onto the sacred grounds, but after only a few steps in, a sound he had never heard before drowned out all the chaos.
Everyone froze, unsure where it came from.
It swept upward through the stones, like wind plucking a tune through the trees, exultant.
Decisive. The sound vibrated through Tyghan’s bones.
The Stone of Destiny. It was hailing a new ruler of Elphame.
Bristol dragged herself to her feet, her legs weak, every part of her unbelieving. She turned. Every direction she looked, she was met with blank stares. Disbelief. Cael. Tyghan. Kormick. Shocked. Silent. “No,” she said, “No. No.” She couldn’t think what else to say. To do. This was a mistake.
The silence was fractured by Kormick’s enraged scream. He yanked someone out from behind one of his guards—a man bound and gagged—and held a wide dagger to his heart.
Panic gripped Bristol. She couldn’t summon even the smallest fireball to her fingertips. Magic didn’t work within the sacred ring. But a dagger—
“Let him go!” Tyghan yelled. “It’s over.”
There was a crazed glint in Kormick’s eyes. “It’s never over.”
Maire screamed. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please—”
“You did this, Bristol,” Kormick said. “Remember that every day of your miserable reign. You should have left when you promised.”
Before any of them could move, he plunged the dagger into her father’s chest, then ran through the stones, disappearing instantly.
A nightjump. His guards fled too, knights in pursuit.
Maire ran to her husband. Tyghan was there first, pulling Kierus into his arms as he collapsed.
“Outside the ring!” he yelled to everyone else—where magic would work.
Dalagorn helped him carry her father out to the meadow, and they laid him on the grass.
Maire fell to his side and pulled away his gag.
“Do something!” Bristol screamed at Tyghan. He was already pressing on the wound and whispering spells, Kierus’s blood pumping through his fingers.
Bristol vaguely heard shouts to summon the High Witch. Get her! Now! Sashka raced away. Tyghan worked furiously to heal the wound to Kierus’s chest. Julia dropped to her knees beside Tyghan, using all her healing powers to help him too.
“Maire,” Bristol’s father whispered, a peaceful sound among the panic. “Maire. I’ve saved you. Again, my love.”
“Yes,” Maire answered desperately, her hand cupping his cheek. “Yes. Again. We’ll go home now. We’ll go home to our daughters.”
He smiled, so faint his lips barely moved, and then his eyes stilled.
Maire stared at him, like she didn’t understand, or maybe she was just absorbing the peace in his face.
Something snapped inside Bristol then. Something behind her sternum, kindling set afire.
Tyghan still worked on Kierus, refusing to believe he was gone. “Come on, you bastard. Come on.” She heard the tears in his throat.
Bristol stood and stepped back, pulling up her hood as she walked away so no one would follow. She summoned Zandra and took to the sky, her face numb, her hands numb, but a blaze burned in her chest. No nightjump was far enough away that she couldn’t find him.
Never over. And she believed him. One day he would come back for her mother. Or for Bristol.
From high in the sky, she saw a few hot spots still flaring in the valley below.
But her sights were set elsewhere, and it didn’t take long to spot Mick far ahead of her, his creamy regal cape flashing in the wind and sun.
He was retreating toward Fomoria with his guards, five altogether.
No, Mick, you’re not running off. Not this time.
She eyed them, sizing them up like game.
A fool’s challenge. She was ready to be a fool.
Zandra was fast, and they were quickly closing the gap.
She heard Camille’s warning.
Some never change back. They forget their old lives.
Ignore it. That’s all you have to do.
But she couldn’t ignore it. She didn’t want to.
A guard flying ahead turned, pointing her out to the others. Kormick saw her and circled back, because they were alone in the sky and his vengeance on her father wasn’t enough. Bristol had taken something from him, and no revenge would ever be enough.
Nor for Bristol. The burn glowed inside her, no longer foreign but something she had always owned.
You soar far above it all . . .
Every part of your body moves differently . . .
Something calls to you to forget your other self . . .
New instincts overtake you . . .
It’s seductive, the incredible power . . .
Kormick was close now. She could already see the smile on his face.
A demigod raging with power and eager to use it.
He circled around her, like she was a trapped bird.
“Your father came after me, and look what happened to him. He wouldn’t give up.
Just like his daughter. How do you wish to die, Bristol?
Fire? Sword? Quick? Slow? You’ve never seen everything I can do. ”
Bristol glanced at her fingers, knowing it might be the last time she saw them, then leaned forward and whispered to Zandra, “It is time for you to go home now, Queen. Swiftly.” Then Bristol rolled from her saddle and plunged toward the ground.
Instead of resisting the burn beneath her breastbone, she welcomed it, and the flame inside her exploded into something blinding and hot.
She felt the claws first, not just the gentle blue moons beneath her nails but long, sharp claws unfurling that were meant to tear and shred.
The ground was coming up fast. She thought she heard Kormick’s laugh, and then her ribs expanded, her arms and throat grew, and finally a loud popping sound rent the air, like a sail catching wind, and she felt the updraft beneath her wings.
Its power was intoxicating, and she breathed it in deeply, like it was everything she had been waiting for, living for. Her fear was gone.
You want to fully sink into who and what you are . . .
She was a beast, and she sank into it, embracing every scale, tooth, and claw.
Mick shouted for his guards, his voice different, all sounds different, even the monstrous rumble of air over wings.
She sucked it in, her massive lungs hot and glorious.
His guards returned, creating a tiny wall between her and their king, their swords drawn and raised.
She wondered if the smile she felt could be seen, if it glimmered beneath her nostrils.
She swooped and banked, felt the battering and pinpricks of their weapons, a pain in her underside, and then the rush, the bump bump bump of her wing knocking them from their steeds.
They became screaming shadows plunging back to earth.
She angled her enormous head then, studying Mick, her large golden eyes seeing him differently.
Seeing him as prey. A thing to be roasted and eaten.
He hurled a fireball at her, and then another, the flames singeing her wings, and she heard a squeal.
Her own. And then a painful roar when he hurled his sword through the air and it pierced her shoulder.
She recoiled, thrashing, and the sharp movement shook it free.
She slowly turned her gaze back on him. Quick? Or slow?
She saw it in his face, his parted lips, his eyes. The terror he inflicted becoming his own. He knew.
Now it’s over, Mick, she hummed in the back of her throat.
She swooped, plucking him from his horse, her teeth sinking in gently at first, feeling the snap of his ribs, his back, his agonized shriek echoing inside her mouth, and the surging bloodthirsty scream inside her wanted more.
New instincts will overtake you . . .
You’ll forget your other self . . .
But enough of her remembered who she still wanted to be. She didn’t need more than what she had already taken.
She released his broken body and watched him plummet to the earth.
Go to your glory, Mick, she said to him, and strut with your demons in hell.
She watched him land, a crushed blot on the ground, twisted and still, and she banked, turning toward home.
Dragons who had been in the distance soared closer, their work finished too, the skies finally clear.
Pengary didn’t speak aloud, but she understood the language of his nod. The language of his breath. The faint rumble in his throat. She was one of his kind.
I never forget my debts, and mine are paid. Farewell, Miss Keats. I wish you peace in this world. Pengary and his companion flew away, their strong wings swiftly carrying them north.