Chapter 25 #2
Thessa pushed ahead, soaring past the masked rider atop his dragon. It roared, the sound resonating to Soren’s core, but she didn’t look back, not until she felt a sharp sting at her ear.
A dagger whizzed past her, just nicking her ear, and she whirled. The masked rider was kneeling atop his saddle, pointing up at where the thick cloud cover hid the sky. She followed the trajectory of his gloved hand.
Something was up there.
Mise had no dragons or even wyverns any longer, so it had to be more rebels. Except that when the first wyvern emerged from the darkening clouds, its rider carried Meesling’s flag and wore a crown.
Soren’s stomach sank. Could the rider be Prince Kellmere? His younger brother was barely out of childhood, and his father was rumored to be too old and injured to ride. Perhaps the prince had defected from the marriage agreement with Aren on his own.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Soren was going to have to kill him, and if she didn’t, Mòr Maslach surely would.
Thessa roared, a battle cry, as the prince’s small legion of wyverns descended from the clouds. Rain started to fall, and Soren froze as the icy droplets hit her face. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t kill them so brutally and efficiently as the king wanted.
The masked rider took the lead when she did not, his dragon shrieking shrilly. She was not born a monster, but perhaps she was not strong enough to stop them from making her one. Because in the end, survival won out, and she cried, “Forward, Thessa!”
Tears streamed down her face with the rain as she reached for the prison inside her.
The darkness shook the bars greedily, ready and always waiting.
Thessa roared, letting loose a stream of white fire that swallowed up three wyverns and their riders in one fell swoop.
To her left, the masked rider stood atop his saddle, throwing daggers as his dragon let loose red-hot flames, roaring as it did.
Your magic, Thessa ordered. It’s time, Soren.
She opened her palms, and shadows melted into the darkened sky as she released a wave of Death. Wyverns screeched in agony, their riders falling limp off their backs to the battleground beneath them.
Prince Kellmere was bellowing something to the riders left in his fleet, and they changed course, diving for the ground.
Thessa dove after them, Mòr Maslach and his dragon hot at their heels.
They pulled up just before the muddy ground swallowed them whole, but Prince Kellmere and his riders were sliding off their wyverns and joining the battle by foot.
He’s giving the wyverns a chance to live. He sees defeat as clearly as you can see victory.
Clarity sliced through the ice surrounding her. The prince had been foolish to think he could take on two Vemon dragons, double the size of most of their wyverns, but he was good. He had been brave when no one else from his kingdom would be.
He was going to die today, but he didn’t deserve dragonfire. She could give him nothing but a painless sleep.
Let me dismount.
Thessa snarled, her roar cutting through the screams around them. Do not be a fool. You are not trained with a blade.
Let me, or I’ll jump off now. Follow the other Vemon dragon and its rider.
Rearing her neck, Thessa roared again but flew low enough that Soren could roll off her back like they had practiced. She landed hard, the force of it rushing painfully up her legs and back. A sword swung down, and she cried out, moving just in time and shooting to her feet.
All around her, there was Death.
Through the sheets of rain, she saw blades run straight through flesh, saw blood and insides making puddles with the water, heard men screaming for their mothers.
In the chaos, she found Prince Kellmere fighting three Arenean soldiers at once, blood running down his forehead, a harsh cry escaping his lips.
She ran towards him and made it halfway there, her magic felling soldiers as they rushed at her.
But she was untrained in this body, and even the magic began to tire her.
She screamed and doubled over as someone swiped a blade against her upper thigh.
On her knees, in the mud and bloody water, she wondered if she deserved to go like this, a nameless face in the thick of the war she had begun.
She knew that now—remembered Kronos’ taunts as magic had ravaged her body, moments before her death.
“I will chain him and his world. Know, my beloved betrothed, that as you die, this punishment on mortals will outlast your end.”
This was a resource war, begun by the loss of magic that started a famine in Aren nearly three decades ago. For love, for him, she had cursed this world, and now, she would die as no one, just as she deserved.
Instead, blood rained down on her as her attacker's head flew from her body and landed with a squelching thud.
Breathing heavily, Soren turned her head to see the masked rider towering over her, holding a curved sword dripping with gore.
He held out a gloved hand, slick with rain and blood, and she shoved it away.
But as she struggled to her feet, swallowing a scream of pain, the rider caught her arm before she could fall.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” she hissed, shoving him off.
He said nothing, but as she looked at him, a strange feeling pulsed inside her. She had a strange hunch that, like before in the tent with Vane, ether was rising in her. Ignoring it, she limped towards Prince Kellmere, a dagger held in her hand.
“Prince!” she screamed over the thunder booming overhead.
Prince Kellmere whirled. He had been cornered at an outcropping of rock but had still managed to kill all who had come for him. Obviously, he was trained, probably since birth. She needed to do this quickly before he killed her.
“You,” he snarled. “I’ve heard of you. A Misean slave girl turned weapon for King Johannas.”
She took a shaky breath. “I want to help you, Kellmere.”
He smiled, and there was blood on his teeth. “You want to kill me. I’ve seen what you can do. Do you think it a mercy?”
“Do you not?”
He pushed off the rock and circled her, heavy sword in hand. “It would be a dishonor. I will die by a blade today, fighting to the end, not put to sleep like a dog by a monster.”
She backed up a step, then another, until she could retreat any further.
She had to do it now. But even looking at the prince with murder in his hazel eyes, she could not make herself pull the magic out.
Even weapons had their breaking points, it seemed, and perhaps it was a good thing that her morals finally won out, even if it meant her death.
“Goodbye, traitor,” he said in a low voice, raising his blade.
But before Kellmere could make the final blow, he whirled moving aside, just before the masked rider shoved his blade in his back. Soren sucked in deep breaths as they dueled. Her leg was on fire and her head felt light.
She knew she was about to watch the prince die. Even if he was a strong fighter, Mòr Maslach moved like the wind. He caught the prince’s belly, Kellmere rearing back just before the blow could become fatal.
“Coward!” he bellowed. “Reveal yourself!”
The rider only tilted his head at the prince, as if to say, make me.
Prince Kellmere lowered his chin. His gaze flicked to Soren, and then he reared back his hand. Silver flew through the air, and she swerved just before the dagger struck her in the chest. When she looked back, Kellmere was holding the rider’s mask, and the rider—
Her lips parted, her chest squeezing so tight, she could barely take another breath as she saw Vane standing in the rain. His eyes were black with rage as he swung at Kellmere again.
The prince laughed, unhinged in the face of death. “I thought so,” he shouted, glancing at Soren. “The beast has a weakness. They always do.”
She wanted to die, wanted to kill Vane and scream at the sky.
He was the leashed pet to King Johannas, the one he had spoken of with such bitterness.
Now, she knew why. But he had lied to her, was responsible for the death of so many of her people.
Her people, because Mise was where she, Soren, had been born to a mortal mother.
He had touched her with a killer’s hands.
Still, as he fought Kellmere, she flinched when the prince caught his leg with his sword.
Vane hardly slowed, ignoring the wound as if it were a mere nuisance.
When it became obvious Kellmere was going to lose, the prince reared back, breathing heavily.
Vane paused—his only mistake, because the prince was bluffing.
It all happened so fast.
Prince Kellmere bolted towards Soren, and she gripped her dagger tightly, freezing in panic. Vane sprinted towards them, his eyes wild as Kellmere lifted his sword. He reached them, wedging his blade between her and Kellmere’s sword.
“Soren,” he said, eyes wide. “Do it. If not for me, then for yourself.”
“I will not be what they made me,” she snarled, “even if you will.”
Vane’s breath shuddered, clouding in the air.
His blade slipped under the pressure of Kellmere’s, and in a blur, the two men turned.
Vane’s sword fell to the muddy earth as Kellmere sliced into his palm, and then the prince angled it for Soren’s heart.
She closed her eyes, waiting, anticipating the final blow.
But death never came.
Instead, Vane’s arms caged her, his forehead pressing to hers. “You,” he rasped. “You are my every…reason.”
He grunted, and she looked down to see Kellmere’s blade inches from her chest. Her eyes widened in shock, and as Kellmere pulled his sword from Vane’s body, she no longer hesitated to reach inside herself and deny the prince any semblance of honor in death.
Seeing Vane injured like this unlocked an innate instinct to protect him, despite his betrayal.
The prince collapsed just as Vane fell to his knees before her. Above, two dragons screeched in the air, letting loose streams of fire aimed at the retreating Misean troops. Soren stared, wide-eyed, as Vane coughed, specks of blood staining his lips.
“Go,” he choked out. “Run, Soren.”
This was… He was…
He was Vane Evva, the demi-god she had fallen in love with over a century ago, the trainer she had fallen for again in a matter of weeks, and Mòr Maslach, a killer she hated.
“Can you stand?” Her voice shook.
His fingers were covered in crimson, pressed to his abdomen. “We’ve won,” he rasped, “but there are still Misean soldiers afoot. You need—find Thessilnn. Fly back to camp. Tell the king I have a message for him: fuck you.”
His words were broken, becoming fainter and fainter as he spoke, his face pale. She sucked in a breath and caught him, pulling his near-limp body against hers.
Thessa. I need you. Now.
Heat filled the air as white fire cleared the area. I know you do. The dragon sounded enraged.
Please, Thessa, I don’t what to—
I know. We need to hurry. He is dying.
Tears of rage, at both herself and Vane, ran down her face as she choked out, “I can’t get him onto the saddle.”
Thessa didn’t move, but Soren jumped as Vane’s dragon landed with a thud, picking him up gently with her mouth. For a few seconds, Soren stared, shocked, but it broke quickly, replaced by fear.
She scrambled onto Thessa’s back clumsily, ignoring the blazing pain in her leg.
You are injured.
“Just go!” she shouted.
Thessa huffed but took off into the rain. Both dragons kept low, as if searching for something. The downpour began to slow as they landed by a small stream.
Here should do.
Soren jerked her head, scanning the area. How is this helpful?
You need water to wash the blood and dirt.
“Water will not heal him!”
No. Nothing will heal these wounds. He is nearly gone, but you have a place inside you where you keep Death, where you can coax him and cage him until it is time.
Soren watched as Vane’s dragon carefully set him down by the stream. She felt numb as she slid off Thessa and walked towards him, so still and so pale. She had no idea if she could truly do what Thessa spoke of, and if she failed, if Vane—
Part of her still hated him for all he’d done, but she had to try. He couldn’t die now.
Collapsing to the ground next to him, she hovered her hands over the gaping wound and shut her eyes.
At first, she felt nothing, but as the moments slipped by, she heard the whisper.
It was not a word, but a presence. The shadow of Death hovered over Vane, waiting for the moment he could finally take him.
Inside her, she opened all the cells. Death chuckled, smiling at her, his daughter, as if to say, You cannot trick me.
But she was Night’s daughter too, the very power that had seduced Death in the first place.
She threw a cover of impenetrable darkness over Death, the valley around her plunging into a thick, unnatural night.
Quickly, she struck in the dark, ripping him away from Vane, shoving him into her prison and slamming each barred door.
Clever, my child, he whispered.
Night faded away, Death with her.