Chapter 48
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Kai sprinted after Atsadi and Fala, instinct alone guiding her. She already knew this would be the memory to haunt her—the one she’d relive forever.
Fala clawed at the ground until the last moment. Atsadi slid across wet stone, into the geyser’s full force.
She was going to lose them both, and there was nothing she could do.
It all happened so fast.
Fala disappeared over the side, and on that deadly ledge, Atsadi jerked to a halt, one arm and leg over the side.
Kai prayed to every god who cared to listen.
He had one boot pressed hard into the crumbling ground, one strong arm outstretched with fingers dug deep into the wet earth, and his face turned away from the geyser that hit his body.
Then, Fala sent up a plea from somewhere below, a mere whisper compared to the rushing water. “Don’t let me go.”
“Never,” Atsadi said.
The water gushed, then, and pushed him farther toward the edge.
Atsadi let out a gritting yell, the muscles in his arm straining to hold him in place. It was a sound laced with panic and desperation.
He was going to lose her.
And Kai was going to lose them both to that darkness below.
Kai dropped to her knees mid-sprint, sliding hard into the spray. It stole her breath, but she locked every muscle to hold steady. She’d only get one shot at this. The slightest miscalculation would kill them all.
She aimed for Atsadi’s tense body like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Three…
Two…
Kai slammed a boot down, halting her momentum, just before she struck Atsadi. With only her waning body strength and the traction of one sole to hold her in place, Kai fisted Atsadi’s belt.
“I’ve got you!” she shouted, the spray stinging her cheeks and eyes.
“Pull!” he shouted back, as he clawed deeper into the stone and strained. His shoulder muscles bulged as he lifted Fala’s weight.
Fala’s hand appeared—then her soaked head—gasping, choking, alive. She coughed and spluttered as Atsadi pulled up, up, up—
Atsadi and Fala rolled away from the ledge, and the three of them half-crawled, half-stumbled free of the geyser.
They collapsed to their knees together, arms tangled, sharing trembling breaths between them.
A growl echoed off the cavern walls.
Kai turned toward it.
Usti stood over Inola’s motionless body, knife still in hand, his entire body trembling with rage. His dark gaze lifted to Kai. “You ruined everything.”
Kai rose—empty-handed. Her sword lay just out of reach. “No,” she said, meeting his wild gaze. “You chose your path. You risked our people for your own gain.”
“You of all people…” He barked a laugh. “You should understand. You turned your back on tradition when you took a wife from outside your clan. No one else would get away with that so easily, but you’re First Daughter. You can do whatever you want.”
Kai’s mind went quiet, because that was the thing… He was wrong. She’d never asked to lead. Never asked for a husband. But now—now she understood.
Some burdens were too heavy for one soul. She needed someone beside her who could carry them, too.
Kai took careful steps forward. “You’re right, Usti.
I’ve been blessed in many ways. And I have a unique perspective on our traditions.
One day, I may even be the one who calls for change.
” She grew ever closer to her sword, but dared not look at it.
She held his gaze. “You’ve proved to have a unique ability to lead as well.
You dreamed of a better way, and yet you lacked the patience to achieve it. I could have been your ally. Instead…”
She raised her hands to the broken room, the ledge crumbling away bit by bit as the water weakened the stone.
“Instead, we face each other as enemies,” she said.
His breathing increased, and his hold on his knife tightened. A battle cry gathered low in his chest—
Kai didn’t wait for him to charge. She ran at him and snatched up her sword mid-run, meeting him where he stood.
He swung wild, too emotional, too slow.
She ducked, spun, and slashed. The blade opened his side.
Usti screamed and stumbled.
Kai didn’t stop. She wouldn’t—not after what he’d done. Her sister. The matriarchs. How many more innocents fell for this?
She fought for Sitsi and Inola. For the younglings and elders alike. For the future he tried to steal.
With a roar, she drove her sword through his chest.
Usti’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no words came out.
“I’d ask the ancestors to welcome you home”—she yanked her sword free—“but I don’t think they’ll take you. Not even your mother can help you now.”
Behind her, the mountain groaned. A fresh crack split the wall, and water erupted in violent torrents.
Atsadi, Fala under one arm, seized Kai around the waist. “Run!”
Usti dropped to one knee, all the fight gone from his eyes.
They crossed into the tunnel—
And the ledge gave way, swallowing Usti whole.
The cannon deck tilted under Oskar’s boots, groaning as the ship’s spine finally gave out. Beams cracked overhead, hurling splinters through the air like darts.
Oskar yanked a wide-eyed Fish off the wall by the collar, just before another beam snapped above them. “We need to go!”
“I was just about to say that!” the boy yelped, tumbling after Oskar.
The ceiling shuddered. Dust rained down in thick sheets. A cannon tore loose from its straps and rolled down the slanted floor, smashing barrels on the way.
Oskar grabbed an overhead pipe and swung past the wreckage. He landed hard on the rising angle of the next deck.
Fish scrambled after him with less grace, slipping and swearing.
They ran up the stairs, ducked beneath a crooked bulkhead, and leapt over the jagged gap where the middle of the corridor had collapsed entirely. They emerged into the open sun just as the deck cracked beneath them.
Thorne’s remaining crew were already abandoning the ship and swimming for shore.
Oskar spied the Entia’s bulkhead nearby. “Jump!” he yelled.
They did. Air roared past Oskar’s ears. The sea rose fast. Then, the cold caught and held them, punching the breath from his lungs.
Gasping, Oskar broke the surface moments before Fish. Beside them, Thorne’s ship slid under in a slow, reluctant death.
They all did. In every direction, Thorne’s mighty fleet was broken or on fire or both. One that would haunt Thorne’s name—and etch Triarius’s fleet into legend. All thanks to Selene’s planning—and a few brave, troublemaking teenagers who had a knack for sneaking aboard enemy ships.
Fish bobbed beside him, soot-streaked and grinning. “We actually did it.”
Oskar clapped the back of the boy’s head. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the ship.”
Thorne’s fleet might be sinking, but the war wasn’t done with them yet.
Blaze didn’t know how much longer he could keep going—but he couldn’t stop now.
He ducked a swinging blade and drove his dagger up beneath the man’s ribs. He didn’t pause to watch him fall—just turned and crossed swords with the next. Their blades locked, and the two grappled for dominance. Finally, he twisted free and slammed an elbow into the man’s face.
Thunder cracked overhead—no storm, just the beasts locked in battle above. Blood soaked the sand below.
Blaze had only a moment to track the dronsian’s battle as he and the Vorash vanished over the dune.
And racing after them, two figures, hands locked. Augustus and Selene.
Too far for Blaze to be of any use unless he could find a clear path through this bloody beach.
Blaze staggered under the next swing, and the pirate raised his sword high for a killing blow—
The strike never landed.
Steel rang as a third sword entered the fight. Roman forced the enemy into retreat and, with a clean arcing swipe, opened the man’s throat.
Roman stood there, sword dripping, expression maddeningly calm—murder was apparently nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Blaze should thank him. And would. But thanking Roman? He’d rather eat his own vomit.
Thankfully, another wave of attack came in, and the two men fell into rhythm, blades swinging, boots shifting through sand. Blaze fought hard, brutal and direct. Roman, however, fought like a dancer. Fluid. Fast. Unbothered. Every movement calculated for maximum efficiency and style.
This wasn’t just Okosian military training. This was lifetimes of remembered skill—reincarnated muscle memory sharpened by centuries of war. Gods help them if Augustus or Selene ever regained any of those early memories.
Blaze cut down another pirate, panting, and turned to Roman. “You’re not bad for an asshole.”
Roman flicked blood from his blade. “Centuries ago, that might’ve bruised my pride. Now?” He shrugged. “I’ve learned not to take the tantrums of children personally.”
Blaze stepped in, smirk firmly in place. “Ah, that’s what it is. Took a minute to place the stench of irrelevance. My grandfather was the same at the end—too old to realize the world had moved on without him.”
Roman pivoted, blade flashing, and killed the next attacker without missing a beat. Blaze took down another. They fought back-to-back, falling into an uneasy but lethal rhythm.
Then Roman spoke again, too casually. “You’re loyal to him. Michail.”
Blaze refused the bait.
“Our bodies might change,” Roman said, “but the soul remains the same. It would be unwise to put any faith in him.”
“Say it as many times as you want,” Blaze snapped, patience fraying. “I don’t believe you. I’ll never believe you. And neither will she. Not even death keeps them apart—and that bothers you, doesn’t it? That she chooses him every time?”
It bothered him, and this was his first and only life.
“Eva is not for him,” Roman said.
Blaze narrowed his eyes. “Maybe the centuries you’ve lived have warped your sense of reality. Or have you not been paying attention? Selene made her choice, and you don’t get a say.”