48. When the City Bleeds #2
Masai gasped. “He’s faking! The petals clear his mind—”
Omiros moved quickly, leveling the gun at Torsten’s chest as Torsten raised his sword. Darien lunged forward at the same moment, his sword swinging through the air. The bullet shot out, passing through his father just as Darien’s sword sliced cleanly through Omiros’ wrist.
Only Darien heard the thump of his father’s body against the crowd as Omiros’ scream of rage triggered the opposing forces to crash into one another.
The Vienám charged forward, surrounding their fallen king.
Darien dropped to his father’s side, determined to protect him from being trampled by the fighting that raged around them.
Darien had feared for his own life, not his father’s.
He never would have expected his father to be the first to fall, yet there on the cobblestone street, Torsten lay in an ever-growing puddle of blood.
Darien leaned over him, applying pressure to stop the bleeding.
Torsten groaned under Darien’s weight but did not open his eyes.
Bodies pressed in around them. Darien dared to look up.
The sentries were closer now, but Omiros was gone.
Then came Anara’s howl as she shoved her way through the crowd with Larissa on her heels.
Larissa’s hands glowed with a light so bright as to be blinding.
The sentries faltered at her appearance, their bullets useless against her shield.
Anara, followed by Ishaan, pressed against the sentries, cutting them down with claw and fang.
Seeing their comrades fall and their commander gone, the rest of the sentries fled toward the palace, leaving the Vienám to seek their own wounded and fallen allies.
“Is he alive?” Larissa asked, falling to his side.
The Norn’s prophecy rang in Darien’s ears.
Hel’s fingers welcome his bloodline home.
Would his father be the first of their bloodline to perish under the Norn’s prediction? Masai knelt beside them, pushing Darien’s hands out of the way without a word. His large hands covered Torsten’s chest, glowing green against the dark-red blood.
“He’ll live,” Masai said shortly, his attention clearly on the matter at hand. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Darien asked, the word cutting his throat as it forced its way out.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Your Highness,” another voice called from behind.
Darien looked up at General Aiko’s pale face.
With the absence of its usual sneer, Aiko’s face was more vulnerable than Darien had ever seen it.
“I will stay with His Majesty, but we can’t lose our forward movement.
The Vienám can advance now and take Safír.
If we wait for King Torsten to recover, everything we’ve done will be for nothing. You must lead them.”
Darien’s fingers reached for his father’s hand, ignoring the blood that made their grasp slick. He would survive. He had to, just as certainly as Darien had to leave him. He squeezed tight. “I’ll make you proud, Faeir.”
Torsten’s fingers caught onto Darien’s, holding him in place. Darien stared in shock as his father’s eyes roved open once before closing. Torsten opened his mouth, his words so quiet that Darien nearly missed them. “I know you will.”
Swallowing, Darien let his father’s hand fall from his grasp. Beaten and bloodied, the rebels stared at him in uncertainty. No doubt they wondered if Torsten’s wound would be the end of their invasion, but Larissa lifted her chin, reminding Darien to do the same.
She leaned close enough so only he would hear her words. “We are royalty. If we are not afraid, they won’t be either. You can do this, Dar.”
Darien faced the crowd, lifting his own sword to point toward the palace. “Your brothers and sisters have bled too much to stop now. Today, we reclaim Safír!”
The Vienám’s response was manic and immediate. They lifted weapons and fists and shouted into the air. They rushed forward, weaving past the fallen sentries and flooding around Darien as they raced toward the palace.
A familiar face caught Darien’s attention as Marinos ran toward them. What in Hel’s name was he doing there? He was supposed to be outside the Wall. Darien grabbed his arm, yanking him to a stop. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“I want to help!” the boy argued. The splattering of gore on Marinos’s shirt showed he’d never gone back to Halvor. Blood trickled from beneath his hairline.
Darien groaned in frustration. There was no time for this. “Fine, but stay close.”
The boy’s eyes lit in adoration and praise.
Behind Marinos, one of the assumed-dead sentries stirred from the ground. Darien only just caught the flash of metal and the pop of the bullet. Marinos grunted, a soft, disbelieving cry, then collapsed into Darien’s arms.
“Marinos!” Darien shouted, but the boy’s wide green eyes had already lost their light.
Anara pounced on the sentry, swiping the gun from his hand, but he was dead.
The man’s last effort had cost the life of a child.
A sort of numbed focus quieted the world around him as Darien stared at the crumpled body in his arms. Darien didn’t even know him, but that didn’t stop Marinos’ blood from staining Darien’s hands or dripping on his boots. What would he tell Halvor?
Darien laid the boy gently to the ground, thinking it strange that he should bother. Marinos couldn’t feel it anyhow. The Vienám continued to pour toward the palace around them as Darien stared into those unblinking eyes.
A tug on Darien’s arm brought him to his feet. Larissa grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were wet, but her voice was firm. “Darien, look at me. There’s nothing you can do. We have to finish this.”
She didn’t wait for his response but yanked him forward. Darien let himself be pulled along with the tide of Vienám, but Marinos’ face remained with him. As the palace loomed ahead of them, he could not help but wonder if Marinos had taken the bullet Fate had intended for him.