Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Kallias
The sword felt like a boulder, its weight grinding through my shoulder and down my spine, my armor pressing into muscle and bone as though I bore the Andeluith itself across my back.
Each step jarred my ribs. Exhaustion slowed my movements, dragging my boots along crimson-slicked stone.
Blood seeped through the cracks of my plate, sticky against flushed skin, mixing with the sweat that soaked my clothing.
I stumbled backward. A sharp yank at my cuirass wrenched me aside before a blade could split my throat.
Greaves surged in front of me, a Velli grappling with him in a snarl of limbs and steel.
My thoughts moved through mud, tracking the struggle a heartbeat too late.
With a savage thrust, he drove his sword through the soft flesh under its chin.
The tip speared through the top of its head in a wet burst, bone cracking, dark spray misting his vambrace.
He shrugged the body off with a curse, letting it crumple at our feet, then backed into me while our troops flooded past in a roar of shields and boots.
Stone met my spine as I slammed against a wall, closing my eyes against the burn in my lungs.
“Kal, we’ve got to stop.” Greaves growled, shoving me deeper into the alcove where shadow clung to damp mortar. “Let the fresh troops clear the lower levels.”
I was a walking hazard. My fingers locked around my sword hilt, knuckles blanched beneath leather, frozen in place. My grip refused to release the blade, but I could barely stand.
Light crept through the smoke. Morning broke above Sol, pale and thin, and Elohios’ radiance faded from my skin like heat slipping from cooling metal.
I had fought through the night, leading my men with the glow of their god burning beneath my flesh.
That radiance dimmed now, leaving only ache and cold.
They could fight without me for a few hours.
The manor seemed leagues away.
Lead pooled in my thighs. Each shift of weight felt like wading through tar, thick and sucking at my boots, a labor that demanded more than I had left.
“Send the Fourth to lead,” I rasped. My throat scraped raw. “The Twenty-Seventh will flank them.”
“Fallione knows.” Greaves pressed his brow against my pauldron with a dull clang, breath rattling in his chest. He drew in a wheezing lungful, shoulders trembling as he gathered what strength remained.
A bitter laugh tore free before I could stop it. “We’re not as young as we used to be.”
“I’ve been telling you that.” His reply came with a strained huff. “One day you’ll be fat and have to use your sword as a cane.”
“May it be sooner than we think,” I muttered. Rest. I wanted a bed, cool sheets, silence. To earn it, I would need a few more days of this slaughter.
Greaves gave a breathless chuckle that turned into a cough. “Back to the manor.”
Together, we peeled off the wall, arms braced against each other for balance. A shared groan slipped between us as we prepared to launch onto the street and carve our way up through the levels.
“The king! Where is King Kallias?!” The cry sliced over the clash of steel and the thunder of hundreds of soldiers pounding along stone roads.
I stepped from the alcove and raised my sword high, teeth grinding with the effort. My golden armor caught what little light filtered through the haze, setting me apart from the sea of silver-toned steel. The motion drew a young lad in Radaanian green, a yellow feather trembling in his cap.
A messenger.
“My king!” He darted between shields and shoulders, ducked into our shelter, and doubled over, chest heaving. Dust streaked his freckled face. “General Fallione says the queen has entered Sol!”
I straightened. My scalp prickled. Unease crept cold beneath my armor. “Where is she?”
“In Sol–”
“Where?!” The roar ripped from me, harsh enough to sting my throat. My heart stuttered against my ribs. She couldn’t be here. She was meant to be on her brother’s withering dragon or safe within the manor’s walls.
Not here.
“Inside the city!” He gulped air as if drowning. “She was seen on the tenth level heading into–”
I plunged into the river of soldiers before he finished.
My pauldron slammed against steel plates, sparks flaring as metal scraped.
Exhaustion vanished, buried under a surge of dread.
I fought toward a side door and wrenched it open.
These roads and halls lay etched into my bones.
I knew which paths the people of Sol would barricade and which corridors they would leave clear for retreat.
Doors burst inward beneath my heel. Empty halls swallowed my footfalls and hurled them back at me in cruel echoes. Smoke clung low, carrying the sour stench of char and fear. Greaves stayed close, breath harsh, boots keeping pace with my frenzied speed.
She could not be there—of all places! She should’ve stayed in the manor. Helpless frustration coiled tight in my gut. I never thought her capable of such recklessness.
Grief tightened around my heart, cold fingers squeezing in anticipation of what I might find. A whisper crawled through my skull, insisting she was too far ahead, that I wouldn’t reach her in time.
My heel drove into the final door. Pain flared up my leg as wood splintered beneath the blow. The panel cracked and gave way, shards scattering across marble, and I charged into Sol.
It was gray.
Dim.
No brilliant white sun. The mirrors that once funneled morning light into the inner city lay shattered, their frames twisted, leaving stone washed in ash and shadow. Bleak.
My armor thundered as I tore down the hall toward the railing. Each step rang like a bell struck in warning. Cold marble met my palm when I reached it, and I leaned out, scanning the city below.
Far beneath stretched the white expanse, windows small and dull, towers rising in silent tiers.
The usual hum of merchants and children had vanished.
No carts rattled. No bells chimed. The quiet lent the illusion of a sleeping city, peaceful at a glance, hollow at its core.
Long, crossing staircases laced the levels.
A complex system of elevators hung motionless in their shafts, ropes slack, platforms abandoned.
My gaze climbed the circular tiers, counting without meaning to.
One.
Two.
Higher.
I didn’t need to reach ten.
“Fool,” I hissed, already moving.
Against the gray stillness, a flicker of blue flared.
Ronan bounced a gleam of flame between his palms, its light catching on Nienna’s mantle and painting her in cold fire.
A hulking man stood at her side, broad shoulders etched in shadow, backlit by the warm glow spilling from the hall that led toward the Heart of Sol.
Every Velli with working eyes could see them.
Cursing each thunderous step, I launched for the stairs and began my ascent. My armor betrayed me, ringing against stone. They stood out like a white stag beneath a moonless sky, luminous and doomed.
My chest split with each lungful. Air scraped my throat raw. By the time I cleared the eighth level, my lungs burned as though I had swallowed flame.
“Kal!” Greaves gasped.
An echoing laugh rolled through the stone at the same breath. It ricocheted along the circular walls, thin and sharp, needling my spine. The sound mocked every labored step, taunted the drag of muscle and metal, delighted in how slowly my human body climbed.
Air would not fill my lungs enough to shout a warning for Ronan. If I heard it, he did too.
With a snarl, I seized the railing and swung my legs over the safety bar toward the hundred-pace drop.
Wind clawed at my face. My boots struck the metal grate of an elevator platform with a jarring clang that rattled my teeth.
The impact shot through my knees. I caught the thick cable that held it aloft, leather biting into my palm.
Behind me, Greaves swore and leapt. His sword flashed in a tight arc. Steel kissed rope.
The counterweight line parted like thread, and the elevator lurched, then shot upward.
The force crushed me to the grate. My armor dug into ribs and hip, breath punched from my chest. The cable sang in my hand, vibrating like a plucked harp string.
One level.
Two.
At the count of three, I pushed off.
My body flew. The jump lacked grace, too heavy, too late. I cleared the railing by inches and hit the stone in a clanging tumble. My elbow smashed down, pain flaring white, yet the golden armor cradled the blow, dispersing it through hammered plates.
I rolled once and forced myself upright.
They would not have Nienna.
They would not.
My toe clipped the uneven seam of the floor. Momentum pitched me forward. I caught myself and drove toward the shouting ahead. The Velli had already reached them.
They moved too fast. And I—too slow.
Greaves kept pace beside me, shoulder brushing mine as we charged.
Ronan flung a wall of blue fire around their bodies.
Flame roared up in a twisting column, heat licking high.
The Velli did not hesitate. They reached through the blaze, skin blistering, and clamped onto Ronan’s forearm.
He tore free with a vicious jerk of his dagger, fabric ripping, the reek of scorched flesh thick in the air.
One blur.
Then another.
Only two.
If we didn’t hurry, more would come. Too many for even me.
Nienna stood behind the hulking man and her brother, spine pressed to stone, mantle bright against the gloom.
At least she had that sense.
A dragon’s roar ripped through the mountain, deep and bone-shaking. Instinct took over as I dove into the fray. Years of battle guided my arm. A blow glanced off my pauldron, and a second force hurled me sideways into Ronan’s flame. Fire skated along my armor, harmless. Heat shimmered in my vision.
I shoved free and led with my sword.
Another dropped into the circle, filed teeth bared.
Greaves hissed. His forearm caught the prince’s wall as he lunged, smoke curling from leather.