Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Ophelia
The farther Barrett carried me, the more my thoughts scattered. The entire night melted together.
I told him of the ritual and his mother’s dagger as best I could, hoping he could pass along the information. We swept down the palace steps, toward Santorina’s workshop.
Storms of battle mounted again as we passed the entryway, and something like a roll of thunder echoed in my blood. My eyes snapped open fully.
That was where I was needed. Not in a sickbed.
“Put me down.” I swatted Barrett’s arm, a lazy brush of a slap he likely barely felt. Screeches reached my ears; iron coated the air.
“You can barely open your eyes,” he argued, arms tightening beneath my back and legs.
But a boom echoed in the distance. It sounded like one I’d heard earlier. I wracked my wrung-out brain. It sounded like—
“Tol!” I burst, summoning all of my strength to push out of Barrett’s arms.
When I staggered on my feet, he gripped my good wrist. “Where in the damned Spirits are you going?”
“Tol,” I muttered again, the only word I was able to form. I tugged out of his grip. Blood spotted the floor as I reached for my weapons, and I cradled my injured arm to my chest again. Barrett held them out of my reach.
My head cleared a bit more as another explosion rattled. Though the queen was gone, the Engrossians didn’t relent.
I looked over my shoulder, out toward the grounds. Night was quickly shifting into dawn, and through my hazy gaze I could make out the spikes of the golden gates against a pale sky.
My heart twisted at the thought of Tol somewhere out there, broken and bleeding.
Please let him be okay, I begged.
But Barrett lifted my weapons farther out of my reach.
“Listen, Your Royal Highness,” I snapped with as much strength as I could muster.
Though I was standing through force of will alone, I’d been through worse and survived.
“Hand me my damn weapons and get out of my way or send the Revered of the Mystique Warriors into a battle defenseless, but I have someone I need to find.”
He sighed, but handed over my spear, switching it from his back to mine. I slid my dagger into its holster at my thigh and gripped my sword in my hand.
I charged down the stairs on wobbling legs and across the grounds, swaying slightly when I reached the gates.
Gripping the gold bars, I squeezed my eyes tight for a moment. Deep breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. Three times, until my head stopped spinning. Screams rang in the distance, the cries of Mystiques in need bolstering me.
When I opened my eyes, I looked at Barrett. “You’re being ridiculous,” he chastised. “Let’s go to the infirmary.”
“Okay.” But I darted down the hill toward the center of the city, ignoring the ringing in my ears and the swimming of my vision.
“Dammit, Ophelia!” Barrett called, chasing after me. His footsteps hounded mine as I ducked between buildings and through streets littered with debris, but I didn’t slow.
Adrenaline mounted in my veins the closer I got to battle, my heart tearing for the warriors who depended on me and the one I couldn’t bear to lose.
“Where was it, where was he…” I panted, turning down alleys at random. The world was spinning quicker.
But as my people fell, I had to at least try to fight with them, die with them, rather than remaining locked up in the palace. I stumbled over rocks, knees still weak. My bare feet sliced open again, but I forged on.
We rounded a corner and nearly ran into the backs of a pair of Engrossians.
Lifting my sword with all the strength I could muster, I stabbed an unaware warrior. He fell hard and fast, eyes flickering with recognition as I slayed him. The half-second of shock in his widened stare was satisfying.
Beside me, Barrett used his Mystique sword to cut down one of his own men, fighting with me, though the tension bunching his muscles said it was the last thing he wanted.
He grimaced as the man died. “That was a better end than a life without honor.” There was a squelch as he removed his sword. “My mother ensured that he had none when she corrupted her army with dark magic,” he reassured himself.
I swallowed, not knowing what words to offer the exiled heir who readily chose honor at the expense of his own blood.
“Barrett,” I breathed, extending a hand.
But the thin layer of clouds blocking the moon shifted, and there was a flash behind him.
“Duck!”
I groaned as I ripped my dagger from my thigh with my injured arm and sent it spinning at the warrior sneaking behind Barrett.
It lodged itself in his throat, blood spurting from the artery. Barrett whirled, barely stepping out of the way as the warrior fell.
“Thanks,” he panted, retrieving my dagger.
I nodded, energy fading quicker now.
Lifting my gaze to the street, I froze. A wave of black-armored warriors were rushing toward us. They injured and killed Mystiques still dressed in their Daminius finery—one by one.
I was too late, I realized with a devastated slice through my heart. The Mystiques were losing. I hadn’t found Tol.
It didn’t matter that Kakias had fled; she’d left her army behind to take us out in her wake. If I managed to survive with the poisoned slice to my arm, she’d be back for me. To finish what she started.
And we’d spread ourselves too thin. We’d fallen for her trap, stationing warriors at points around the mountains instead of fortifying the city.
We had thought Damenal was safe.
We had underestimated her desperate schemes. What she’d been doing all these months. We hadn’t accounted for the tunnels through the mountains. Her plan had been to throw us off—and we had fallen for it.
And now, blood splashed across the streets. Screams tore through the air. We were dying.
My vision darkened for a full second. Holding my head up was difficult.
When it returned, a slight Engrossian woman was charging at me. Forcing my sword arm up for one last fight, I landed my blade against hers.
The impact rocked through my bones, but I gritted my teeth against the pain. My injured arm throbbed, the rest of my battered body echoing it.
I met her weapon again. The steel sparked a third time, Starfire slipping sideways.
I dropped, rolling away as her ax swung where, a moment before, I’d been standing. The Engrossian grunted, spinning to face me.
Her dark hair was chopped at the shoulders, her eyes endless pools of black ink. With Starfire raised weakly, arm shaking, I feared those eyes might be the last thing I saw.
But then, an arrow shot through one of them, jutting out the back of her skull. Blood burst between us. She swayed.
Her ax fell first, then her armored body tumbled to the ground.
More arrows rained down across the streets. Across the city.
They arced through the air, shot from the highest points of the mountains, finding homes again and again.
Not a single one missed.
And—I realized with a wildly hopeful beat of my heart—not a single one hit a Mystique.
Seawatchers. I nearly sobbed as they emerged atop buildings and cliffs, their light tan leathers bright against a sky fading from navy to pale yellow, stars slipping away with the night. They’d come to our aid.
One by one, Engrossians fell across the stone streets.
The Mystiques fought back, finishing off those who became distracted by the sudden appearance of the archers.
Hope bloomed across the faces of my people, even as bloody and defeated as they were. Their fire ignited once again, setting a peace burning through my chest, and I collapsed to the cobblestone.