Chapter 32
dash as far as the central staircase before I hear oncoming steps.
As I turn into the hallway, still gripping Dante against my chest, I encounter eight VIA soldiers with swords drawn.
My vow to Sandria rings through me. This time, the monster in my chest does not hesitate.
I extend a hand, palm open, and the air fills with the sound of sixteen snapping femurs.
Groans erupt as the soldiers crumple. The impulse only took a fraction of my power. My magic surges, blazing hot, ready to meet whatever lies before me. I dash ahead, vaulting over the injured VIA.
I tear toward the hospital. I’m approaching a corner when I crash into someone also racing at top speed, and we both topple to the ground. Dante scrambles out of my arms on my way down, yelping. I stagger upright, whirling to meet the enemy, and stop dead in my tracks when I realize it’s Cygnus.
He’s wild-eyed and sopping wet, covered in mud. His sword is sheathed at his hip, and he’s panting, like he just ran all the way back from Ruin.
“Cygnus.”
I’m so shocked, that’s all I can say. His name. Like it’s a revelation. Like it’s a prayer.
“I—I came back for you,” he wheezes. “I couldn’t let you face them alone.”
We stare at each other, breathing hard, and it occurs to me quite abruptly that I have perhaps never seen Cygnus clearly. Not all of him.
But there’s no time to make sense of those thoughts.
I grab his hand. And then we’re running together.
Dante becomes a blur of copper at our ankles. Together, we clear the open doors, coming onto a balcony…
And find a wall of armed paramilitary waiting.
These aren’t guards or VIA. They wear black tunics and gray boots, a uniform I recognize instantly.
They’re agents of the Frumentari.
Cygnus takes the offensive. His sword rises to meet the nearest Frumentari’s blade with an earsplitting crash. I’ve already gathered a cord of my power to prepare for this moment, and as the agent nearest to me swings for my right side, I dodge and shoot the magic toward her sword-bearing arm.
Her humerus snaps clean in half.
The Frumentari screams, clutching her arm.
But to her credit, she doesn’t drop her sword—just transfers it to the other hand.
Her companion, the third agent, lunges in another attack in the same instant.
Some never-before-heard animalistic noise rises out of me as I drop to dodge, seizing an ankle of each agent in either hand and then blasting magic with all the strength I can muster.
Flesh, bone, and sinew explode between my fingers.
Both agents fall.
I clamber to my feet, preparing to deliver another blow.
The third agent doesn’t rise, but the second agent is already staggering up, trying to gain ground on her remaining good foot.
Her sword is too far away to reach, and she looks white-eyed, sweating, frantic.
I’m sure I look the same. I don’t know how much blood has splattered over me.
I feel clumps of it drying in patches on my face and my neck.
“Surrender!” I scream, but she just shouts something I can’t understand, her free arm swinging.
I don’t see her dagger until it shoots into my thigh.
I scream. Pathetic, humiliating, and weak as it is, I shriek as I involuntarily crumple. From the placement and surge of blood, I know immediately that she struck my femoral artery. This is not a fresh-faced agent. This is a trained killer who knew exactly where she needed to strike.
A growl sounds, and there’s a blur of orange fur as Dante launches himself at her.
But it’s followed by a whimper as the agent knocks him aside, lunging to grab her sword. My eyes shoot to meet hers and I find them dancing with pleasure.
“You’re going to die for that,” I snarl.
A vow.
Her sword arcs again over me, and I try to summon my magic. But all my power is surging toward my own wound, and I swear time slows down as her blade drops toward my exposed neck. I brace for the blow…
That never comes.
Because Cygnus lops off her arm with a single swipe.
At last, the Frumentari falls and does not rise.
I’ve got my own problems, though. I’m bleeding out. My whole body shakes as Cygnus crouches beside me. He grips my upper thigh with both hands, squeezing around the dagger still embedded in my flesh.
“Pull it out,” I beg.
“That will just make it worse,” Cygnus murmurs, utterly calm. “You need to clamp the artery.”
“I can’t,” I sob. I can’t function through the pain. My magic is everywhere and nowhere. I try grasping for threads, but there’s only fire—fire and agony.
Cygnus is beside me, still calm, issuing instructions—even as I can hear more guards charging up the stairs toward the balcony—but I can’t find a thread to hold on to. I can’t fix this.
“Lyria, I can’t do this for you. You need to focus and clamp the artery.” He takes my hand, pressing my palm against the wound. Blood blooms over my fingers; I’m in a puddle of it now. “Now, Lyria. Do it now. Clamp the artery!”
I plunge further and further into myself. Somewhere, buried in the pain, there’s a monster howling, a soaring timbre that is somehow familiar. I feel pressure release. It’s Cygnus’s hands lifting as he’s dragged off me, and I realize that the guards have arrived.
We’re surrounded.
It’s too late.
NO.
That internal voice stirs.
This time I recognize the speaker.
My voice. Not a beast or a daemon.
A beautiful, glittery creature. The same one who delivered Finn from the swamp, who pulled Sebastian back from death’s clutches with a single thread, who restored Cygnus’s sight and opened the gates to Ruin.
This is not pain or surrender. This is power, unflinching. And that voice swells like a thousand wildfyres: LIVE, LYRIA.
I clamp the artery. I yank out the blade.
And my Talent latches onto a thread.
When I open my eyes, I see Cygnus being held between two guards. They’re holding him down as a third soldier in a VIA uniform hits him over and over. Hands close around my arms, and I cry out as I’m yanked to my feet.
IT WILL NOT END LIKE THIS.
“She’s here!” someone shouts. “Hurry, bring it over!”
More hands restrain my shoulders. I jerk around, spine torquing, and the world wheels. The tiled roof of the palace balcony rolls overhead, and then I’m shoved to my knees by the two men who’ve captured me.
A gloved hand seizes my jaw, prying it open until I hear a pop.
“You’ve got it?” the guard holding my arms calls out. “Here, Roburn! Hurry!”
At the sound of Roburn’s name, time lurches. I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it.
But as I blink against my fading vision, I can clearly see his approach. His face is grave, his gaze heavy. And in Roburn’s hands: the omnidraught.
“NO!” Cygnus howls. There’s a crack and another punch that cuts off his complaints. I want to scream, too, as Roburn slowly steps toward me. The bottle glints in the light from the torches that line the walls of the balcony.
Someone grabs my hair, yanking it back to force my face up. Moisture streaks down my cheeks. Blood? Tears? I’m not sure.
There’s one thing I know. Something I have never seen clearly until this moment: I don’t want them to take my Talent. I don’t want to lose it. I can’t. At long last, the truth plunges through me:
There is nothing wrong with my magic. There is nothing wrong with me.
Please, I want to beg Roburn. Don’t. But the soldiers are gripping so tight, my jaw feels like it might snap.
“It shouldn’t be done like this,” Roburn says quietly.
“Our orders—”
“It’s not right,” Roburn argues.
“Do it, Captain,” the soldier says forcefully. “Or I will.”
I wish I could scream my agreement with Roburn. None of this is right. I’m burning with indignation, with rage and shame, clinging to my last thread of life. In this state, I might have one more strike in me. But no more. Not enough.
Roburn sighs heavily as he carefully uncaps the bottle. When his eyes lock with mine, I can only hope he can see the plea written there. The captain pauses.
Then hurls the potion into the soldier’s face.
I’m showered with liquid and broken glass, but the ploy works. The soldier drops my arms, and with my hands free, I swing up, smashing my fist into his jaw.
Roburn’s sword sings as he draws it, and he whirls to block the next soldier who rushes me.
I roll to avoid getting trampled, seeking Cygnus.
We’re making it out of this together. One of the guards drops his arms, surging to join the fight against Roburn.
The monster in me doesn’t hesitate. With two hands, I blast power straight at the guard, shattering both his legs.
He lets out a terrible grunt, and he tumbles.
The monster purrs. Spiteful.
I lock eyes with the other guard—the one still holding Cygnus.
He drops him. Surrenders.
I grab Cygnus, yanking him toward the stairs. I spare just one backward glance, and my guts twist at the wall of guards and Frumentari streaming after us.
Roburn plants himself between us and them, his longsword rising. One man against an army.
And when he turns to watch our escape, I see everything unspoken in his eyes. Duty and honor, what’s wrong and what’s right, and the silent command, echoing Sandria’s.
Make this sacrifice worth it.
I tear my eyes away, charging with Cygnus toward freedom.
My magic flings out behind me and latches onto the familiar trace of Roburn’s life energy.
I’m still tracking—still hoping—when his life force winks out.
But Cygnus and I can’t stop. Can’t slow. Dante stays close to our feet as we push forward, limping and staggering. We stomp over rosebushes and stumble through hedges, hands locked, as the castle and its beautiful lies recede behind us…
Until we reach the distant lake where the Everwillow looms.