Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
At the sound of Eliam’s voice, the warmth in Briar's chest exploded outward, reaching for him with desperate intensity.
It pulled toward him so hard she gasped, and the collar interpreted this as the ultimate defiance.
She let out a whimper as it began draining her very essence at a rate that bordered on agony.
"Eliam." Malachar's voice stayed controlled, though his hand had gone to his blade. "You're outside your territory. You are in my lands now, you have no authority here."
"Authority?" Eliam tilted his head, the fire in his eyes burning hotter. "You have her in your bed. You have your hands on her. And you speak to me of boundaries?"
Malachar raised his hand and ice coalesced from the air itself, forming a blade as long as his forearm, its edge gleaming. "She was given to me. A gift for my assistance in necessary changes."
"Given? She was stolen." Eliam moved further into the room, and darkness followed him, eating the afternoon light from the windows.
Briar tried to speak, but the drain was too intense. She could feel it pulling her life away in steady draws, the warmth's desperate reach toward Eliam only making it worse. Her fingers were going numb, her breath coming in shorter gasps.
Malachar struck first, his blade cutting through the air where Eliam had been. But Eliam dissolved into the shadows, reforming behind him, thorns erupting from his hands. One clipped Malachar's shoulder, tearing through his shirt and drawing blood that steamed in the cold air.
"You've gone soft in your forest," Malachar snarled, twisting to face him. Ice spread from his feet across the floor, racing toward Eliam. "Forgotten how to fight without your trees."
They collided in the center of the room, ice meeting shadow, winter against forest. Malachar's blade shrieked against Eliam's thorns, both drawing blood, neither gaining clear advantage.
They were matched, two Great Lords at the height of their fury, and the room itself groaned under the pressure of their power.
But Briar was dying.
She could feel it, the collar draining faster than her body could sustain. The warmth, desperate after so long, kept pulling toward Eliam, and the collar kept punishing her for it, a vicious cycle that was shutting her body down. Her heartbeat stuttered and slowed.
Eliam felt it too, his attention flickering to her for just an instant.
It was enough. Malachar's blade found his side, sliding between ribs with a wet sound that made Eliam grunt.
But instead of pulling back, Eliam grabbed the blade with his bare hand, holding it in place while more thorns erupted from his other palm, driving straight through Malachar's chest.
The Winter Lord gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. Eliam twisted the thorns deeper, his face terrible in its fury.
“You should have kept to your mountain halls, Malachar,” Eliam sneered, preparing to drive the thorns deeper.
"Wait," Malachar choked out, his eye finding Briar. "The collar she wears. Only I can remove it."
Eliam's hand stilled but didn't withdraw. "Lies."
"Look at her," Malachar managed, blood running down his chin. "It's killing her, it’s tied to my magic, my life. If I die, it becomes permanent. She'll be dead in minutes."
Eliam's gaze snapped to Briar, and she saw his expression change as he truly looked at her.
She knew what he was seeing—her lips blue from lack of oxygen, her body barely moving with breath, the frost spreading from the collar as it consumed her.
She tried to reach for him but her hand wouldn't lift.
"Remove it," Eliam demanded, twisting the thorns again.
"Remove your thorns first," Malachar countered, though speaking clearly cost him.
They stood frozen for a moment, locked in mutual destruction while Briar's breathing grew shallower. She could feel herself fading, sliding toward darkness that had nothing to do with Eliam's shadows. The warmth in her chest was growing quieter, pulling less strongly, as if it too was dying.
Eliam withdrew his thorns with a vicious twist that made Malachar scream. The Winter Lord collapsed to his knees, one hand pressed to the hole in his chest.
“Get up,” Eliam said, his voice quiet.
Malachar grit his teeth and stumbled towards the bed.
"If you’ve deceived me," Eliam said, shadows coiling around him like living things, "I will take you apart piece by piece and scatter those pieces across every realm."
Malachar reached Briar with shaking hands, his blood dripping onto the white sheets. His fingers found the collar and he spoke words in the old tongue. The collar grew colder, then burning hot, then simply fell away, clattering to the floor in two pieces.
The relief was instant and overwhelming. The drain stopped, the warmth in her chest settled, and she could breathe again. Deep, gasping breaths that hurt but proved she was alive.
Eliam gathered her into his arms, pulling her far from Malachar's reach. She collapsed against his chest, her fingers clutching at his shirt with what little strength had returned. He was solid and real and here, when she'd thought no one would come.
"You found me," she whispered against his shoulder, and she felt him tense at how broken her voice sounded.
"You’re surprised?" he replied. “I’ll always come for what belongs to me.”
“I don’t…. you threw me out,” she reminded him, and she felt his arms tighten around her.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face, seeing the terrible fae features softening as he looked at her. The antlers were fading, his height returning to something more human, though his eyes still held that green fire.
“I… may have acted rashly…” his hand rose to brush hair from her face, his fingers tangling briefly in the loose strands.
Briar felt her heart skip in her chest. It wasn’t an apology, but then she didn’t expect one. It was, however, acknowledgement.
“Take me home,” she said. “Please.”
He said nothing as he lifted her gently, cradling her against his chest as he turned toward the window. She saw the movement over his shoulder—Malachar pushing himself up with one hand while the other drew a thin blade from his belt.
"Eliam—!"
The warning came too late. Malachar drove the ice blade into Eliam's shoulder, the frozen weapon sliding deep between muscle and bone.
Eliam grunted, nearly dropping her as he staggered.
He reached back and ripped the blade free, ice shards breaking off in the wound as blood immediately soaked through his shirt, but Malachar was already forming another weapon from winter air.
“Did you think I’d just let you—”
The vase shattered against Malachar's skull with a deafening crash.
The Winter Lord's eye rolled back and he collapsed forward, the blade falling from nerveless fingers.
Behind him stood Thaine, holding the remains of the vase's base, looking deeply satisfied.
Karse leaned against the doorframe beside him, Frederick's bowl clutched carefully in his scaled hands.
A shriek echoed from somewhere high above—then another, and another.
"The wards," Thaine said, moving deeper into the room. "Your magic must have triggered the mountain's defenses."
Eliam carried her to the shattered window, and she could see the first white shapes descending from the peaks beyond.
They were still distant but closing fast. Blood ran freely down his arm, and when he began speaking in the old tongue, his voice caught on the third word.
The shadows outside the window gathered but wouldn't hold, dissipating like smoke each time they started to solidify.
The shrieking grew louder. Closer.
"Eliam," she said urgently, her hand finding his uninjured shoulder. The warmth in her chest reached for him instinctively, recognizing his magic and trying to help.
He started the incantation again, and this time she felt her warmth flowing into him, mixing with his forest magic. The shadows responded, thickening, but the moth was only half-formed when Thaine's voice cut through from the doorway.
"They're here!"
A harpy slammed into the tower somewhere above, its shriek making the stones vibrate. Then another impact, and another. They were landing on the tower itself, looking for ways in.
The moth was still forming, its wings translucent and wavering. The raven beside it was barely more than a shadow with eyes. Eliam's voice grew more strained with each word of the summoning, fresh blood soaking through his shirt where the ice shards were melting, cutting deeper.
A harpy's face appeared at the window above them, upside down, teeth bared in a horrible grin. It started to squeeze through but Karse sent a weak jet of flame at it, driving it back with a shriek.
"Jump," Eliam commanded, though the moth's wings were still solidifying. "Now."
They had no choice. Briar could hear claws on stone, wings battering against windows throughout the tower.
Eliam lifted her onto the half-formed moth and pulled himself up behind her just as its wings became solid enough to hold them.
Thaine literally threw Karse onto the raven, causing Frederick's bowl to slosh dangerously, before leaping up himself.
The moth fell more than flew at first, its wings still gaining substance as they plummeted along the tower's side.
A harpy dove after them, talons extended, only to strike through wings that were still partially shadow.
The creature's confusion bought them seconds as the moth's form finally solidified completely, catching air just before they hit the mountain's slope.
Behind them, the tower erupted with white bodies, harpies pouring from every window in pursuit.