Chapter 79
Gideon
Gideon Sage had so many things in his life worthy of his regret.
He had allowed the burden of running their family to fall to Evie.
He’d escaped the pressure of their mother’s erratic moods instead of supporting her through them.
He’d narrowly avoided his father’s devotion to Benedict and the cruelty that happened as a result, but he’d allowed it to fall to his sisters instead.
And when his memories finally returned…he had chosen the easy way out.
The coward’s way.
And now, he had decades of shame built up. If there was anything he knew about hiding the difficult things, it was that they always found their way out into the open.
Twisting in the knight’s arms, he searched for Keeley, feeling a shot of panic, hardly noticing the poison burning its way through his bloodstream. “Where is she? They were right behind us.”
“Stop moving, you bleeding deserter.” The knight jerked him up and held a sword to his throat. The chains around his wrists were so tight it felt like his bones were being rubbed raw.
“Keeley!” Gideon bellowed, ignoring the commands of his old comrades. Gods, if they touched her…if they hurt her— “Where is she?”
“I am here. I am all right.” Her smooth voice felt like ice held to his flaming skin. His heart pounded in his chest when he turned to see a knife at Keeley’s throat.
“Oh yes. That appears all right.” Gideon’s sardonic response was lost in his thrashing to get closer to her. “Unhand her.”
A fist landed in his gut, and Gideon fell to his knees.
When he looked up, Evie was charging for him but was stopped by another knight grabbing her from behind, clapping cuffs on her wrists to subdue her.
“Remember these, Trystan?” the king taunted. “They once belonged to you.”
The handcuffs Gideon had imbued with his shielding magic, which repressed the magic of whoever wore them. Yet another thing for him to feel deeply ashamed of.
Evie was defenseless.
Gideon turned again to see his father come up next to the king. Griffin let loose a sound of outrage before shuttering his expression, tightening his lips before speaking. “This brutality is unnecessary. You need her willing to help.”
Evie noticed—Gideon could tell by the slight twitch in her jaw—but she showed no indication that she was touched by their father’s concern. Instead, his sister’s immediate response was…to laugh.
“My goodness!” Evie shook off the guards, and they let her, the light sounds of her merriment drifting to the sky, her head dropping before looking up with a hopelessly amused expression. “The concern for my well-being is flattering but far too late.”
Griffin glared at her. “I wasn’t looking for absolution.”
She smiled with gentle menace. “Good. Because you’ll never have it from me.”
Gideon tried to help, inching closer until the guards released his arms and he fell to the ground, the burning in his chest making it impossible to stand. “Eve.”
His sister locked eyes with him, and he gave her a stiff nod he hoped she’d interpret as, I’m all right. Are you?
She nodded back, her mocking smile going softer before turning on the men holding Trystan. “You’re going to do what, exactly, if I don’t comply? Let the poison kill my brother? Have you some kind of fixation on attacking siblings? Is it only-child syndrome?”
“Let’s not give them ideas,” Gideon pressed lightly, trying not to notice that several swords were unsheathed and about two steps from running him through.
Benedict waved a dismissive hand at Evie. “Ms. Sage, please. I’m simply presenting you with a choice: you proceed with enacting this curse or your brother will never get the cure.”
“Don’t make a choice, Evie,” Gideon demanded. “Don’t play this out with them. You’re not responsible for anything they do.”
Evie stared at him, something unreadable in her expression. It looked startlingly close to resignation. It was a look he had never seen on his sister’s face. There had always been a drive, a wheel turning, an energy that she seemed to wield in endless supply.
This look now? It was that of a shell.
“Sage,” Trystan called carefully.
But Evie ignored them all, addressing only the king when she asked, “What does the curse involve?”
“Evie, no!” Gideon yelled.
Benedict appeared surprised, his eyes going wide for a fraction of a second before he schooled his expression.
“I will need each of the Sage children’s respective powers.
I have a bit of Lyssa’s starlight magic in the memory flower; fortunately, I believe it will be enough so that we might leave the child out of this. ”
“Do not speak of my sister,” Evie seethed.
“You mean my mother’s magic. That’s what’s within the flower. Not Lyssa’s. Lyssa has no part of this,” Gideon objected, a shot of fear knocking the breath from his lungs.
King Benedict sighed. “I forget there are just so many secrets we’ve kept over the years.
The magic I ‘stole’ from your mother wasn’t hers to begin with.
Much like how we used the flower to move Evie’s magic to Trystan, when Lyssa was born, your mother was to take the mantle of the starlight magic in the prophecy so that Lyssa might have a normal life. Turns out, we acquired but a drop.”
Normal life. Sure. If normal included severed heads for morning greetings and an ogre for company.
“Why take it back from our mother?” Evie asked. “Why go through all this trouble when the plan was the curse all along?”
“The curse was never the plan,” Destiny hissed, her words creating an ominous air over the field of dandelions.
“I weaved the perfect tale, and you all destroyed it with your meddling and your choices. What we are about to do is not a curse—it’s a correction.
A chance at the events that should have happened.
If some did not look to overturn my will. ”
“What of Fate’s will?” Gideon asked, trying to pull the focus from Evie.
“Fate is weak,” Destiny spat. “I am the true storyteller. I decide the path of every being in this world, and I’ll allow it destroyed before I relinquish my control. I’m righting a wrong. Rennedawn will not survive without it.”
Benedict placed the memory flower before them, then turned to Evie, extending a hand. “Come along, Ms. Sage. Meet your true fate. It’s been waiting for you.”
“No,” Trystan ordered, twisting out of the guards’ arms and grabbing the nearest sword. Even under threat, he still threw himself in front of Gideon’s sister. “We’re leaving.”
Benedict’s eyes flicked over his son with distaste.
“I imagine you think you can save her. But the life I’m promising is the one you used to dream of, Trystan.
Beloved by all the people of Rennedawn, doing good deeds for others.
That’s possible in another world. It’s possible if you step aside and allow us to do this.
In the world as it stands, your status as The Villain is dwindling, and when it fizzles out, when the people find someone new to hate—as they already have in Evie—what then? What part would you play?”
Maverine’s black eyes grew darker, the sword held tight at his side, the muscles in his shoulders bunched. His jaw clenched tightly as he took one step forward, then another. Eyes not leaving his opponent, Gideon cursed the shackles at his wrists that kept him from assisting.
But then Maverine did something that appeared to shock not only Benedict, but Destiny, too. He smiled wide enough for a dimple to deepen in one cheek. “The part that allows me to remain at her side.”
“Like a lapdog,” Benedict sneered.
No one moved when Trystan Maverine lurched forward, gripping Benedict’s collar and tugging the king close enough to hear his hissed whisper, which echoed throughout the field, rocking more dandelion wisps into the air:
“Like her husband.”
Benedict choked on the word, as did Gideon, but Evie…
Evie’s jaw was hanging so low, Gideon worried it would unhinge and fall off.
“Are you proposing to me…right now?” Evie squeaked, and the rest of the onlookers seemed to avert their eyes in unison.
Maverine raised a brow, gaze not leaving Evie when he tossed Benedict aside like a bag of refuse, stalking for Evie with determined strides. “No. I am merely letting you know that I intend to.”
Evie’s eyes were so round, they were owlish when she blinked up at the man she’d once called her boss.
“Benedict, enough,” Destiny spat. “I have other kingdoms to torment; I have not the time for this. You promised me the curse would be enacted before the day’s end.” Her long braid fell over her shoulder as she moved.
“Fetch the new book,” Benedict ordered, wiping blood from his lip.
And when the book of Rennedawn was placed open on the ground, the blank pages began moving rapidly.
The monster’s hands waved in a circle, creating a cyclone of beaming light splashing to the page as an ancient voice left her lips. “In this story, a new tale to weave, where all will go back to how it’s meant to be.”
“Not the rhyming again,” Evie grumbled, but the levity fell flat when the starlight from the memory flower slipped into the book’s pages, injecting it with light so overwhelming, every person in the field winced, covering their eyes.
“Now you, Gideon.” King Benedict gave him an encouraging smile. “I promise you’ll enjoy what’s on the other side of this. A cure to the poison about to kill you, for one.”
Smoke was coming out of the book now, a smoke that looked nothing like the kind that came from something natural, such as fire. This was magic—this was danger. “I won’t.”
“I only need a touch of your blood,” Benedict relented. “You need not even offer your magic.”
“I said no!” Gideon boomed, shoving the guard holding him down, then charging Benedict—until he felt a sharp twinge and pain lancing at his middle. The sudden shock of it did not fully register until he looked down.
And saw a sword…shoved through his stomach.