Chapter Thirteen
Aemyra began to shake as the cobalt dragon flew closer. She could not yet see the rider on his back, but the tug behind her navel told her the man she was oath-bound to kill was there.
“Aems…” Adarian said warningly, as if he was in any fit state to restrain her.
When Aervor landed in the river, a huge tidal wave of water sprayed over the fighting soldiers. Iona’s magic halted the wave before it washed Maeve’s infantry away.
The Covenanters were cheering Fiorean’s arrival, the few remaining insurgents looking relieved.
When the spray cleared, Aemyra finally saw him.
His hair was pulled back into a knot, the three puckered scars on his face bared for all to see.
Despite everything, Fiorean’s beauty stole her breath. The angles of his face sharp enough that she wanted to throw herself upon them until she bled.
With the river swirling beneath Aervor, Fiorean leaped from his dragon.
Where he landed, the water evaporated.
Power hissed out from him with such ferocity that the river turned to steam, and both armies shrank from his advance. His boots striking dry silt, the ground cracking with heat, Fiorean’s emerald eyes sought something in the fray.
Aemyra swung Fearsolais in her wrist. He was looking for her.
The promise mark flared, an intense burning in her very soul at the thought of him planning this attack with Alfred.
With a screech from Terrea high above, Aervor took flight, leaving his Dùileach alone on the riverbank.
Thank Brigid for the she-dragon’s dominance.
Fiorean was frantically scanning the crush of soldiers. He hadn’t even drawn his sword despite the phoenixes swarming above the town.
Without her magic, she needed to be flawless.
The tug behind her navel lessened with each step she took, and she prayed to Brigid she would be able to fulfill her oath.
When she had killed him and rid herself of this torment, the Goddess would finally allow her magic to return.
There would be no mercy today.
Drawing the memory of those she had loved and lost close to her heart, using their deaths to bolster her, Aemyra advanced.
The fighting soldiers gave her easy cover. She wore no armor, only the bloodstained shirt on her back and traveling breeches, her hair darkened by mud. Fiorean wouldn’t notice her until it was too late.
He held no weapon, but the power leaking out of him was more than enough to decimate her army if he chose to wield it.
What in Hela’s realm was he waiting for?
The moment her boots struck dry sand, Fiorean turned.
She had expected to find the haughty arrogance of the prince who had sat her throne, not the face of her husband. The same face he had worn while cradling her in his arms, while he had whispered painful truths and sweet endearments into her ears.
In a flash, she was trapped in his emerald gaze, her sword lowering of its own accord.
“Aemyra…” Fiorean breathed.
The word wrapped around her more intimately than an embrace.
Gentle hands washing her, a taunting nickname, secrets whispered by firelight…
Blinking furiously to clear her mind, Aemyra forced her sword between them as Fiorean’s surprise gave way to something harder.
“I knew you paid little regard to the cost of war, but this is egotistical even for you,” she growled, gesturing around them.
Fiorean’s jaw hardened and he straightened. “A little hypocritical coming from the woman so eager for battle she ordered her father to attack on the plains of Fyndhorn and more recently abandoned her army to beg the chimeras to fight for her?”
“My father acted of his own will. I gave no such order,” Aemyra ground out.
“And your excuse for Clan Leòmhann?”
“They made their choice, as did you.”
Wearing traveling clothes splattered with mud, Fiorean looked even more bedraggled than she did. Her eyes roved over his slovenly garb; she had never seen him so outwardly rumpled.
“Keen to supervise the carnage yourself, were you?” Aemyra asked, making a shield of her heart, curling her fingers around the mark that was suspiciously quiet.
Fiorean’s face grew taut. “I take no pleasure in this.”
The urge to punch his teeth down his throat was growing, but Aemyra hesitated without access to her magic.
Her sword was now the only thing between them. “Why should I believe a single word you say?”
Fiorean took one step closer. “I could ask you the very same question. You have allowed your father free rein to play at war, and yet you are still blinded by your own ignorance.”
Aemyra’s temper snapped. “I will not listen to your manipulations any longer. Everything we shared was a lie.”
Fiorean’s chest was mere inches away from her blade. “Says the woman recently betrothed to another.” His emerald eyes flashed with fire, his weaponless hands curled into fists.
Aemyra had never hated him more than in that moment. “If you can’t have me no one can, is that what you’re saying?”
Fiorean didn’t reply.
Aemyra willed herself to stop shaking. The last thing she had been expecting was to have an argument with Fiorean, but she had never been blessed with the ability to let someone else have the last word.
“You made a mistake in sending your mother on a ship to Tìr ùir,” Aemyra said, gesturing to the empty expanse of river to the south. “The Balnain fleet is swifter than yours. We will catch up.”
Faster than she was prepared for, fire streaked up Fiorean’s arms.
“Do not think to threaten my mother,” he growled. “My patience only goes so far. You have no idea what is really happening in àird Lasair,” Fiorean said, his voice dangerously low.
Aemyra held out her left hand instinctively before remembering she couldn’t summon her magic.
At the sight of the promise mark, Fiorean’s already sallow complexion paled further and his fire flared brighter.
“You betrayed me in every way humanly possible. You broke your word as a subject and your vows as a husband.” In spite of herself, Aemyra’s voice cracked and her grip on her sword grew slick with sweat.
“I chose my family,” Fiorean said stiffly. “Would you have acted differently had you been given the opportunity to spare Orlagh or Lachlann?”
“Do not speak their names,” Aemyra hissed. “You admitted to me that you coveted the crown. You might not wear it upon your brow like your brother did, but you have called yourself king.”
“Aemyra, I—”
She interrupted. “You gave me some advice while I was your prisoner that I hold to now.”
Fiorean’s brow furrowed.
“In order to rule, you have to become what they fear most,” Aemyra said, her voice hard. “And by the Goddess, you will fear me.”
She didn’t need the guidance of the promise mark to thrust forward with her sword. The point ripped right through Fiorean’s tunic, slicing the skin of his chest, before he spun out of the way. His eyes flew wide, expression shocked.
He hadn’t been expecting her to actually do it.
Aemyra held up her left palm with savage glee. “I will haunt your nightmares like your own personal shade until you are gone from this world.”
She needed her magic back and her territory united. This was the only way.
Fiorean glanced nervously toward where Terrea was eviscerating Covenanters on the splintered jetty, as if waiting for the she-dragon to snap him in half.
He wreathed his palms in fire and dodged her swings, ducking under her blade and skirting Fearsolais in a way that was eerily reminiscent of the day he had captured her.
“Don’t make me hurt you, Aemyra,” Fiorean warned.
She laughed again, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “You couldn’t possibly hurt me any more than you already have.”
If his hair hadn’t been bound, she would have lopped it off with her next swing.
As Fiorean drew his magic toward him, the river rushed back in, soaking through Aemyra’s boots until she was up to her ankles in water. Even still, she swung for him.
Such was the intensity of her attack, Fiorean muttered a curse and threw a ball of fire in her direction. Spinning away at the last moment, Aemyra managed to avoid it, cutting underneath his fist and slicing his now-tattered tunic further.
Fiorean swore loudly, Aervor echoing his shout high above, and Terrea began crushing Covenanters under her claws as she stormed through the fighting armies to get to her Bonded Dùileach.
With the water slowing her movements, Aemyra lost the advantage of speed, and Fiorean threw another jet of flame directly toward her face. Instinctively throwing her arms up to protect herself since she couldn’t shield, her sleeves caught fire.
With a hissed curse, Aemyra thrust her forearms into the water, the smell of her own burned flesh turning her stomach.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she grabbed her sword from the riverbed.
Fiorean’s eyes were wide as he stared at her blistering skin.
“The binding agent…fuck,” he cursed, glancing toward where the Covenanters were making their last stand.
Terrea was almost upon them.
Suddenly realizing what might give her an advantage, Aemyra thrust her hand into her pocket for the vial she had grabbed from the Covenanter who had attacked her.
Before Fiorean had time to react, she threw it toward him.
With honed reflexes, Fiorean caught it in a flame-covered fist and the glass shattered to release the noxious mist inside.
“Fuck!” he cursed again, his magic stuttering out.
Indulging a feral grin, Aemyra spun Fearsolais. The satisfaction of seeing Fiorean stripped of his gifts was almost enough to mask the pain of her burns.
Having expected him to draw his sword, she hesitated when he instead sprinted across the riverbank as Aervor angled toward the ground.
“Bloody coward!” she screamed.
Water spraying up from her boots, she took off after him, Terrea hot on her heels.
Where the fuck was Gealach?
Aervor landed with a colossal splash just in front of the rotten boat, and Aemyra increased her pace.
With his longer legs, Fiorean was going to reach his dragon before she caught him. The tether pulled her toward him, the Goddess unwilling to have them separate from each other until the promise was fulfilled, so Aemyra pushed past the pain and ran.
Terrea roared, sending the soldiers beside the river scattering.
Aemyra reached the boat at the same time Fiorean reached Aervor.
Heart thundering, she threw down her sword and jumped over Adarian’s legs.
“Aems? What is—” he spluttered.
She ignored her brother, frantically reaching for the arrows, chest heaving. Pulling the still-strung bow from the wreckage, she nocked an arrow and swung back around.
Aervor was unfurling his wings as Fiorean scrambled into position on his back and, despite the pain from her burned forearms, Aemyra pulled the bowstring taut.
“Keep both eyes open!” Adarian said.
She let the arrow fly.
It landed in the mud six feet away from Aervor.
“Beira’s tits,” she cursed.
Grabbing the three good arrows she had left, Aemyra spun to find Terrea loping across the ground, spiked tail lashing behind her angrily.
Not wasting any time, Aemyra sprinted toward her dragon with the bow and three arrows in hand.
Leaping for the closest spike, she clung on as Terrea unfurled her wings and launched herself into the sky.
Aemyra rappelled up the obsidian spikes into position on her back, the steep ascent threatening to send her tumbling again to the river below.
Once seated, she held two arrows between her thigh and Terrea’s scales, and nocked the first. Urging Terrea to the side so she could see past the fluted crests on her head, Aemyra took aim. Fiorean’s ripped tunic was flapping in the wind.
“Higher!” Aemyra screamed as Terrea climbed.
This fight was pushing Aemyra to the limits of her endurance through the pain of the burns, but she could not let Fiorean escape. With his Bond to Aervor muted, they were severely disadvantaged in the air.
So she drew the bowstring back and let it fly.
The arrow missed by inches, sailing past Fiorean’s ear without touching him.
“Fucking Hela,” Aemyra swore.
Fiorean turned, astonishment clear on his face as Aervor flew on. Peeling her lips back from her teeth, hatred coursing through her veins, Aemyra loosed the second arrow.
It shot over Fiorean’s head as he bent low on Aervor’s neck, urging his dragon faster.
Aervor gave a screech and an overwhelming burst of anger shot through the Bond as Terrea slowed.
Aemyra took aim. This was the last arrow. Her last chance to fulfill the promise she had made to Brigid to kill this man.
If she did this, she would get her magic back. Brigid needed this offering and Aemyra wanted to be free of the man who had caused her so much pain. She had to prove she would do whatever it took to protect her people.
Beira guide me.
She let the arrow fly.
An almighty screech came from Aervor, echoed by Terrea, as the arrow embedded itself between Fiorean’s shoulder blades.
Aervor loosed a bolt of white-hot fire and put on a burst of speed, pumping his wings desperately to escape pursuit. Terrea halted in midair, stalling so forcefully that Aemyra lost hold of the bow and smacked her head on the dragon’s shoulder as she tried to reach for it.
Fingers numb as the pain of her burns flooded her system, Aemyra tilted her face up to the darkening sky, waiting for the blessed rush of magic to come back to her.
The intangible tether that had linked her to Fiorean for months was indeed gone, leaving behind a gaping emptiness she needed her magic to fill.
But the minutes passed and the mark did not fade from her palm.
Brigid had not accepted her offering.
A chasm cracked through Aemyra’s chest as the Goddess she had dedicated her life to found her unworthy.