Chapter 68 #2
My sneer deepens. “You haven’t the slightest idea of the monster you’ve just created.”
Yes, it suddenly all makes sense now. How Casimir arrived at his decision. Why he lost his faith—his desire for good and diplomacy. I said there was a better way, but there isn’t, is there?
Yes. It’s so clear now. Why Draven once told me he trains to never be forced to his knees. Why the depth of one’s magic holds such worth within these Three Kingdoms.
Power.
It all comes back to power.
And I was wrong.
Power is freedom.
And I only wish to be free.
Tynan smirks. “Oh, I think I’m entirely aware of the many monsters I’ve just created.” He slides his eyes to Gray, his smirk deepening.
Rage burns my chest. “You know the thing about monsters?”
He arches a polished brow. “Do tell.”
“They tend to stop at nothing until they get what they want. At whatever price necessary.”
An explosion sounds, snatching our attention. Tynan and I whip our heads to the east, finding flashes of color arcing through the sky.
Fire rains down from the inky clouds, much like it had on Anatolé’s capital city.
Yet it is not just fire.
It is water, wind, and terra. There is light magic and—
My heart swells.
Flora magic.
The echoes of pounding hooves suddenly fill the air, and I bring my eyes to Tynan, victory on my lips.
It worked. By the gods it worked.
She got my message before I found Draven. The necklace imbued with my lakt?.
And she came—actually found us.
She is not alone.
I turn back to Tynan. “You know what I love about chess?” He doesn’t answer, and my smile broadens. “I love the way you can swindle your opponents by allowing them to believe you’ve only made losing moves.” My eyes glitter with victory. “Guess what, Tynan? Check fucking mate.”
A barrage of magic slams into the ground beside us, and a band of wielders appears over the horizon, charging in on horseback, their faces lined with cold fury.
Leading the charge is Nuri, her expression written in revenge’s bold script.
To her left is Marcella, and to her right, to my complete surprise, is Klytis.
They forge ahead with probably somewhere around forty other wielders behind them, most shooting off their magic skillfully while using one hand to keep themselves secured on the reins of their horses.
Tynan scowls, biting down so aggressively on his lip, he draws blood. “You’ve made one grave mistake, girl.”
“I’ve made more than one, I assure you.”
His scowl deepens. “You’ve forgotten that you no longer have him.” He thrusts a finger in Draven’s direction, who remains standing with his arms folded, his cold expression disinterested.
I straighten my spine and roll my shoulders back. “I will always have him, as he will always have me.”
“The sentiment will be your gallows.” Tynan turns away, his movements stiff. “Guards! Fighters! Take no prisoners.”
The horses close in, and the world around me explodes with color as magics clash against each other. The force of wind barrels into the strength of rock. Fire chews at water, the smoke and steam rising to bloat the sky. Thunder rumbles, shaking the ground at our feet.
“Draven,” Tynan growls, his smooth composure fracturing. “Remove the girl from this area and keep her alive. I have need of her.”
“As you wish, Father.” Draven steps forward, his hands finally leaving the grooves of his biceps. The same hooded guard who released my manacles appears, and he unshackles the manzat from Draven’s wrists.
I hear Draven’s sharp inhale as the magic floods his veins once more.
He shuts his eyes, seeming to brace himself against the weight of it.
His veins turn black, running up into his neck.
When he reopens his eyes, they appear bloodshot.
Only, instead of being red, the lines of his eyes are dark as the night.
Yet in spite of the visual of a living nightmare, my eyes are locked on that key.
I sprint for it.
“You are on a fool’s errand,” I hear Tynan call out to me as I run.
I don’t care. I do not stop.
A lancing spear of ice shoots for me, whipped away by thick green vine coated in thorns. I quickly glance over my shoulder and find Marcella dismounting her horse, sprinting for me. Nuri is not far behind her, daggers in hand, two wielders flanking her sides.
When I reorient my attention forward, I find Draven with tendrils of black snaking over his fingers like a coiling serpent. My throat runs dry, and my knees have a momentary bout of weakness. Yet still, I do not stop running.
For now, this is what I can do, and so I will do it.
I charge on.
Draven lifts a hand as if to send a blast of his magic. Before he can, however, he is tackled to the ground from behind.
“Go!” Rhea shouts. “I’ll do what I can.”
Draven spins around, pressing Rhea’s arms to her side and hoisting her off of him as though she is weightless.
“Draven, please,” she begs, locked in his grasp. “Don’t you recognize me? Don’t you remember? Think of The Polished Bookery. Remember Zumi and Atlas and your mother. Nights spent at a dinner table and with books spread out around us.”
Draven only blinks at her. “I have no such memories.”
And then he throws her aside, discarding her as effortlessly as forgotten scraps, leaving her on the opposite end of the raging battle.
Guilt weighs heavy on me, but I don’t allow myself to stop sprinting.
I reach the guard, who lifts an obsidian sheet of rock from the ground and sends it hurling toward me. It is met by an impenetrable wall of darkness.
“You heard my father,” Draven growls. “She is mine to take.”
I don’t waste a second of the guard’s resulting confusion. I drop to the ground and swipe my leg out, sending the hooded figure toppling backward. And then I swipe the key from their loose grip the moment their back slams into the ground.
With trembling yet still assured fingers, I jerk upright and slam the key into the locks, removing the manacles from my wrists.
The power rears into me, and I am temporarily overwhelmed with all the new magics nearby.
I can sense them so clearly now, each one like a glowing thread waiting to be plucked.
Casimir was right.
Accepting the flames had allowed my magic to advance. I can feel it. As though allowing myself a primary magic has brought order to the chaos.
So I embrace them fully—the flames.
Let the world burn.
Brilliant white erupts in my palms, so at odds with the smoky black pooling in Draven’s as he watches me. “Are we really going to do this?” I ask.
I swear I see a whisper of a smile on his lips, a cruel reminder of the way he would look at me. “It’s your funeral.”
Our magics sound like breaking glass as they collide in the space between us, sparks shooting off as one tries to overwhelm the other. Darkness and radiant white flames twirl and mix, creating an odd reflection of shadows over everyone.
Strangely, it almost looks like starlight.
I grit my teeth, palms stretched out in front of me. The magic surges, yet I breathe through it, remembering everything Casimir taught me.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I pull at more and funnel it against Draven’s attack.
The dark magic cedes two paces.
“I’m here,” I hear Nuri exhale from behind me. Within a heartbeat, I feel warm hands on my back, healing magic immediately pouring into me.
“The key,” I manage to grit out. “Get the key to Rhea, and then Gray.”
“Give me thirty more seconds,” Nuri counters. “Your wounds are bad, Lyra.”
I shake my head. “I don’t care. We need to get out of here before Tynan chooses to join the fight.”
One Dalmar is hard enough to contend with. Two would be nearly impossible.
“Alright,” she says, pulling her hands from me. She grabs the key which remains discarded next to my manacles and sprints for Rhea.
Gods, I hope Rhea knows what to do.
I’m counting on the fact that she does.
My muscles groan, and my vision flickers. My lakt? hasn’t built up enough stamina yet to contend with Draven on this level—to keep holding the force of his magic at bay.
I clench my teeth, and a scream tears free from my throat. I can’t hold on much longer. Can’t—
The push of Draven’s magic against mine suddenly disappears, and my chest sags at the relief. I heave in gasping breaths, my eyes whipping to him instantly.
Mother bless his fiery sister—she did know exactly where she was needed.
Rhea has her arms wrapped around Draven’s waist, her teeth gritted as she nullifies his magic. Judging from the strain on her face and the pain glimmering in her eyes, I know she can’t hold it for more than a few seconds longer.
It is all we need.
“Retreat!” I bellow, as if this small army of wielders came solely at my command. “Fall back and retreat!”
The wielders still mid-movement, the bursts of magic having a temporary lag against the night sky. Yet soon, the word is echoed, passed down between mouths as if it is now the only option available.
Retreat.
Retreat.
Retreat.
I whirl around at a touch on my shoulder. It is Marcella, dirt and soot caked over her face. “Where is Gray?”
“What do you mean? He was right there by his parents.” My eyes dart to where Sterling and Azalea remain. But Gray is no longer there. I spin, looking around frantically for him.
I find him in the distance, kicking his heel into a horse’s side.
Grief and sorrow latch onto my ribcage like morning dew to grass.
“There,” I whisper, pointing in his direction as he gallops off to gods-only-know where.
Gray disappears from our line of sight, behind a cloud of billowing smoke.
“His parents?” Marcella asks quietly, observing the bodies.
“Yes,” I murmur. “They are Sterling and Azalea Nightenjoy. I don’t have time to explain, but you should know Gray likely blames himself for their deaths. I think it might have shattered something irrevocable in him.”