Chapter 39 #2
She obeyed at once, pale but resolute. Her song uncoiled from her throat just as sweetly as it had twice before.
But when our fingers touched the crown, there was nothing tidy or easy about its magic; it flared brilliantly to life, bucking wildly against our power.
So much for an equilibrium of strength; I had to use all my energy to grip the godsdamned thing and keep it from flinging my sisters across the room.
Holding on to it made me feel like the whole house was tilting around me.
With our triangle unbalanced, Farrin’s song faltered, but she recovered quickly and shifted into the most complicated variation yet. Her voice was strong, her rhythm sure, but I could barely find the original melody anymore. I could barely hear myself think.
Blue lightning so bright it rivaled the brilliance of Ankaret’s eyes poured out of the crown’s carvings and wrapped around our bodies, weaving a knot around our hands.
Soon we were completely wreathed inside it, and the cursed power tugging on us, trying to pry open our fingers, made it hard to breathe.
A high vibrating whine rang in my ears, buzzing around my head like a wasp, and for a moment I thought maybe I’d lost my hearing.
Then the whine became a shriek, and I realized with horror that it was coming from the crown.
But I could still hear Farrin’s song and see the glimmer of Gemma’s scarred hand, which the crown’s anger had turned incandescent.
Anger—that was the right word. The crown was angry. I had the wild thought that maybe it had absorbed all the might of the goblet and key to use for itself.
Or maybe this was why Kilraith hadn’t yet appeared with his army; maybe he was in here, fighting us from inside the crown.
Past the sound of that shrieking fury came the sound of Talan screaming in pain outside on the landing. I looked quickly at Gemma, but she was utterly focused on holding on to the crown, her cheeks red from the effort.
“Farrin!” Ryder roared from beyond the door. Some kind of racket was clattering up the attic stairs. I heard gunfire, screams, splintering wood. An explosion from the lawn shattered the four attic windows.
The desperation in Ryder’s voice spurred something in Farrin.
Steely-eyed, she sang louder, faster. Her voice split into pieces, as if she held an entire chorus inside her and all those fierce singers were at war with the shrieking crown.
The din was awful; I strained to block it out and focus only on my sisters—Farrin’s song, Gemma’s panting breaths.
We pulled and pulled. Every tendon in my body felt ready to pop, and my talons carved tracks into the wooden floor.
Hurry, was all I could think. Hurry, faster, die, die, you awful godsdamned thing!
Then the world burst open at our fingertips, hurling us all back into the walls. For a moment I lay there in shock, my ears ringing and a white cloud shimmering around the edges of my vision. Then I saw the jagged charred spot in the center of the room. A ring of glittering ash surrounded it.
The crown was gone.
I pushed myself to my feet and ran to my sisters, heart in my throat.
But though Farrin held her right arm against her chest, and it took Gemma a moment to regain her balance, they were both alive and standing.
I pulled them both to me, folding them into the safety of my wings so I could feel their hearts beating against mine for at least a few seconds.
We said nothing; we didn’t need to. The heat of our skin, the crackle of power that still hummed around us, the way our blood roared as one through our veins—red like our father’s, gold like our mother’s—said more than any words could.
Destroying the anchors hadn’t hurt us. Instead it had galvanized us.
Breathing suddenly felt easier. When I observed that my joints ached from the stress of pulling against the crown, my power rose up inside me to soothe the pain. My muscles felt newly supple, even gilded, like I was now made of unbreakable light. I stared at myself and my sisters in wonder.
For the first time since learning the truth about our mother, I felt like I deserved the title of demigod.
Another bellowing roar from Ryder jarred us from our reverie, and quick as a shot we were back in the ruined attic, the floor heaving under our feet.
We raced to the door and found Talan leaning heavily against the wall, holding his head.
The three knots of glittering scar tissue on his forehead—remnants of the crown—stood out like beacons against his pale skin.
“There are fucking vines, or trees or something, trying to tear the house apart,” Ryder shouted. He stood at the top of the stairs, firing his crossbow at something I couldn’t see.
Gemma, who was helping Talan stand, suddenly froze, like she’d heard a distant chime the rest of us couldn’t perceive.
“It’s Caiathos,” she whispered. “He’s panicking, and the elements near him are responding accordingly.”
“What does he have to panic about?” Ryder fired another shot with a snarl. “He’s a god, isn’t he? Gods shouldn’t be allowed to panic.”
I grabbed Talan’s abandoned rifle and joined Ryder. He was right; downstairs, the Lower Army soldiers were battling a writhing knot of serpentine roots.
“I’m getting tired of fighting trees,” I muttered.
“We don’t know how long he’s been in that body,” Farrin pointed out. “Maybe he’s not strong enough yet to overpower his host’s human panic.”
Ryder grunted. “Oh, wonderful. He’ll be of great use to us, then.”
“Isn’t your mother with him?” Talan said, already looking stronger now that Gemma was nearby.
“We’ve got to subdue him,” I said, “get him under control. Otherwise he could end up doing even more damage than Kilraith. Gemma—”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said at once. “Mother might be too deferential with him.”
Farrin unclipped one of the weapons belts from Ryder’s waist and slung it around her torso. “Ryder and I will go with her and then head for the library. Maybe Gareth will let me try to help them along with music.”
The sound of his name was like cold water crashing down on my head. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten to think of him, which logic told me was perfectly reasonable. Not thinking about one’s lover while one is dismantling an evil crown was hardly some great betrayal.
And yet something about the lapse seemed ominous. My body prickled with foreboding. Suddenly it felt essential to see his face, if only for a moment.
But then another explosion shook the house, this one the largest yet.
I darted back into the attic and froze. The shattered windows framed an orange sky and a lawn swarming with enemies, and the wards—the wards were gone.
Columns of white smoke marked where the shivering shell of magic had once stood.
A few tiny bolts of blue light skittered along the perimeter before snuffing themselves out.
I hesitated, my heart screaming that I must go find Gareth even as the rest of my body roared with battle fever.
But I couldn’t ignore the disaster unfolding in front of me; my training wouldn’t allow it.
I hurled a frantic burst of love in the library’s direction—he’ll feel it, I lied to myself, and it will keep him safe—and then dove through the nearest window.