57. Tempest
57
TEMPEST
T he light winked out in Vexxion’s eyes. He breathed. He lived. But the glorious, wonderful man I’d fallen in love with was gone. Stolen by the ether.
Stolen by Ivenrail Levestan.
He’d captured the villagers and drained them.
He’d killed anyone standing in his way, even my brother, Kinart.
And now he’d stolen Vexxion from me.
Tightening my grip on the invisible blade, I rose to my feet.
Chaos erupted around us, lords and ladies flitting from the throne room or running down the aisle. They shoved open the doors at the end and fled out into the enormous foyer. Brodine hovered near the throne, staring passively into the air.
Madrood stalked close to the dais, cracking tiles with the thunder of his clawed feet. Enormous, he towered over everything. Unchecked fury blazed in his eyes. Would he blast both Vexxion and I at Ivenrail’s command?
Ivenrail reeled away from Brenna and spun to face us with shock cratering his face. “Brenna is not the heir. She’s not the Lydel heir! The taste is right but also wrong.” He flitted to Vexxion and grabbed the front of his tunic, lifting him into the air, shaking him while his head flopped. “Where is she? Where? Tell me right—”
I raced toward Ivenrail, my grip snug around the blade.
High Advisor Adwarin flitted, thrusting himself between us, and I gouged my arm upward, driving the blade into his wretched hide, piercing his belly. As I tried to yank it out, he slithered to the side. The blade wrenched free, and I lifted it once more. I flung myself onto Ivenrail’s back and brought the knife down hard. It skidded near his ear, slicing across his scalp. His skull was too hard to drive my blade deeply.
His eyes. I’d go for his eyes.
I wouldn’t kill him, but damn, I’d make sure he didn’t have a mind left to do anything again. My friends had proven that someone could live without their mind, and he could too.
As long as he lived, so would Vexxion.
Gurgling and snarling, he flung me off, dropping Vexxion at the same time.
Vexxion slumped on the floor, unconscious.
I landed hard on my back and skidded across the floor before scrambling to my feet. I drew in power. More. So much I could feel my skin shimmering with its might.
With a flick of his finger, Ivenrail froze me.
I gasped, struggling to jerk in a breath while he wrenched the blade from my hand and tossed it toward the wall. It landed with a clatter, and Vexxion’s magic left it, making it appear on the floor.
I twitched my finger.
The knife hitched toward me, jerking across the tiles, but it was still too far away for me to grab.
Ivenrail spun and hauled Vexxion up, holding him at eye level, shaking him again. “Where is the true Lydel heir? You promised to deliver her to me but you—”
The high advisor flitted over and whispered in Ivenrail’s ear; his sly gaze locked on me. He clutched his belly, but he’d already stopped bleeding. It would take more than a stab wound to kill this fiend.
He’d insisted he’d find out what I was hiding. What had he discovered?
Ivenrail’s head snapped around, his gaze landing on me. “There you are.” He dropped Vexxion and sauntered toward me while the man I loved toppled onto the floor. “Did my son truly believe he could mask you from me? I knew there was something different about Brenna. Something different about you.” He stopped in front of me, his slimy gaze drifting down my body.
He yanked up my skirt, exposing my left thigh, and stared at the scars that had networked my skin from the time I was little. “They sliced off your mark and burned you, didn’t they? Poor wretched Nullen who never was a Nullen.”
No, Brenna was the Lydel heir, not me. She had the mark. She was Vexxion’s —
“What’s this?” Ivenrail asked in a jovial voice. He latched onto my arm and wrenched it up in front of his face.
I gaped at the symbol that matched Vexxion’s—no longer magicked because he didn’t have the ability to mask it to protect me.
“His fated and bonded mate? He thought he could hide the Lydel heir, who also happens to be his fated and bonded mate, here within my castle.” Leaning close, he snarled in my face. “He thought he could take what has always been mine!”
This couldn’t be true. I . . .
But it was.
I’d been called Tempest for all of my life, but I’d known it wasn’t my real name.
The words spoken by the Liege before I killed him filtered into my mind.
“Seek and you shall find your future and your past,” he’d said.
“I know who I am,” I’d barked, much too confident.
Only now did I truly see.
My mother and Aunt Vera hid me, dumping me, yes, leaving me at the fortress, though not until they’d made sure no one would discover the mark that would identify me as the Lydel heir. All these years, I’d thought no one loved me, that I was abandoned, when instead, they’d done all they could to protect me.
“We’re not the only ones, and neither are you.” The Liege’s words had slithered around me, scraping through my skin, stabbing deep .
I’d thought he spoke in riddles, that there were no true clues in his words.
Neither are you . . .
I was Brenna.
And Brenna was Layla. My younger sister.
When they found Brenna, she kept repeating what they thought was her name, but just like I was looking for her—my Layla—in the vision, she was looking for me—Brenna—when they found her in the garden.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zayde slink up onto the dais. He rushed to Brenna and with a wink, they flitted from the throne room.
My sister. All this time, I had a sister, and I never knew.
“I should’ve seen this,” Ivenrail marveled, unaware that his bride had been stolen. He slammed his thumb against my forehead. “Give me Lydel’s core power and with it, your throne.”
I tightened the guards on my mind, covering them with stones, a thick forest, and every thorny shrub I could haul in my direction.
He barraged my mind, slamming his mental fists into it, sending bits of my thorn bushes flying.
“Such a puny thing you are,” he crooned, pushing his strength harder, shattering trees I struggled to replace. “And they call you the Lydel heir?” He pressed his face close to mine. He made my eyes lock on his. “Give me that power, rider. It belongs to me.”
Reyla leaped off the dais and raced our way, her hand lifting.
“Let go of her,” she snarled, shooting out with the magic she’d driven into her finger. A bolt of white lightning surged into Ivenrail’s face and blasted upward, raking across the top of his head.
He reeled backward, his hands slapping his hair while it crackled with smoldering magic. Spinning, he flung himself away from us, rolling before coming up to a crouch. A flick of his finger, and his hair no longer flamed. Rage burned across his features, turning his skin scarlet.
With his hands fisted at his sides, he stalked toward us.
Our death shone in his eyes.