Chapter 43 Skylar
Silence stretches between them as Skylar stares at Astrid.
Cam. He’s dead.
“No,” she says. Astrid doesn’t say anything, but Skylar can see the sympathy swelling in her eyes. She closes her own so she doesn’t have to look at it, because that is only going to make it real and it can’t be real, not after weeks and weeks of…
“No,” she repeats. “You’re wrong.” She feels Astrid’s warm hand take her own and snatches it away.
“Skylar, I’m—”
“Don’t,” she snaps. She doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want apologies or condolences or sympathy. She wants this not to be real. She wants Astrid to tell her there’s a chance, that they’ll try the spell again. But she doesn’t.
An awful chill spreads through her, the opposite to the crackling energy she so often feels. “I’ll kill them.” Her words are dark, lethal. And it’s so obvious—that’s what she has to do. Cam is dead. So she’ll kill the people responsible.
She strides off the balcony and back into Astrid’s room, heading for the door to the corridor, when a hand comes out to grab her shoulder. “Skylar, what are you—?”
She shrugs off Astrid’s hand and starts toward the door again—only to find a massive winged panther blocking her path. At her sides, her fingers twitch. She can feel the power thrumming from Bastet. She could take it. Take it—and turn the entire castle to rubble.
“Skylar,” Astrid says again, and Skylar can hear the attempt to reason with her. “You can’t just kill them. And who, exactly? The king?”
Skylar turns to Astrid, showing Bastet her back. If he goes for her, she’s ready. “The king. The queen. All of them.” Astrid balks at that—and Skylar wonders why. They’re her enemies, too, aren’t they? She should want this.
She makes to leave again and Bastet growls at her, his gaze traveling up and down the length of her. She knows what he’s doing. Assessing her weak spots. Maybe wondering if he’ll be quick enough.
He won’t be.
“Skylar,” Astrid says, a hint of a tremble there. “Please don’t do this. You can’t beat them all. You’ll die trying.”
“I don’t care.” And she doesn’t. Death would be welcome at this point—an oblivion to sink into. Especially if she takes them with her. Zachary. Ottilie. Zryan. Axel. All of them. Anyone in this castle who sat by and let Cam be taken. Killed.
“Even about me?” It’s a small voice, but it sounds loud in the quiet room. Skylar hesitates, glancing behind her. Astrid’s gaze is waiting for her. “If they kill you, Skylar—or if you die in the process of killing them—I’ll die.”
You’re dead anyway. She only just catches the words before they’re out. Before she sees Astrid, kneeling in front of Jessa. Sees her stepping in front of Zryan, to save him. Hot air scorches the back of her throat with the next breath she takes.
She’ll beat them. She knows, in this moment, that she can.
But what if she can’t?
Kaida pokes her head from around Bastet’s tail. Skylar almost forgot she was there.
Skylar mad? It’s tentative in her mind—almost like Kaida is scared to speak up.
Another horrible, scorching breath. Skylar closes her eyes.
“We will find out who is responsible,” Astrid murmurs. “We’ll find out—and we’ll make them pay.”
She opens her eyes—and hears the rest of Astrid’s words in her mind.
I promise you, Skylar. But not like this.
Her heart is pounding, urging her on, urging her to ignore Astrid and to act.
But she can’t. She can’t sacrifice Astrid like this for no reason, can’t leave Kaida. So she nods.
“I need to get out of here,” she says, and her voice is a husk. Bastet growls again.
“I’ll come with you,” Astrid says immediately.
“No. I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I need to move. I need to go.”
Astrid hesitates, then nods. Trusting her, against all odds. Bastet looks at Astrid, clearly not so willing to step aside, but after a moment, he moves—leaving her path clear.
Kaida come?
Skylar bends to stroke the little dragon. She would have done it. She would have gone to kill them all—and she would have left Kaida surrounded by people who want to own her.
I’ll be back, she promises. But stay with Bastet tonight, okay?
Kaida puffs out a tendril of smoke in agreement.
And, finally, Skylar leaves. Her skin feels too tight as she runs through the grounds. She wants to claw it off, be free of it. Be free of herself, because she can’t stand to be here, still breathing, in a world where Cam is not.
She drains her surroundings as she moves, plants shriveling and dying around her—dying like she wants the king to die. With each new life she absorbs, she feels the pain a little more acutely.
He’s dead. Cam is dead. She sees his smile, that faraway look he sometimes got. Sees him sitting on the rooftop opposite her, the moment she first decided to let him in.
He’s gone. And Skylar knows—she will not survive this.
She’s crying. Big, heaving sobs that she can’t control.
Crying does no one any good. Someone in the troupe told her this when she was little. But now, she can’t stop. Tears burn twin paths down her face, salt pooling in the corners of her mouth.
She’s reached the cliff edge. There is nowhere left to go, but she can’t stay here.
She can’t be here, with the people who took him from her.
She promised Astrid, but still she feels energy building sickeningly inside her.
She looks down to the crashing waves, then hitches another sob as her power trembles.
She needs to keep moving, or she’s going to explode.
Storm clouds gather. There is a rumble of thunder. Then a comforting presence wraps around her mind, soothing away the darkest of her edges. She takes a shuddering breath.
Mjolnir lands beside her, rocks falling to the shoreline.
Get on, Death Bringer.
She looks into Mjolnir’s violet eyes. He bows his head. And she doesn’t think. Because she needs to escape, because he is offering. She moves to him and climbs, instinctively knowing how to, her magic helping her, making her stronger.
His silver scales shimmer in the light of the moons, hard beneath her touch. Her magic pulses with his presence even as her head pounds, the weight of her grief impossible to hold within her. But it’s okay. Mjolnir is here, and he is going to take her away.
She settles behind his shoulders, his lethal spikes at her back—almost like a part of dragons evolved so that riders could sit here.
Her hands find grip at the base of his neck in front of her, and she feels the rumble through her mind.
He doesn’t say anything, but she can feel it.
That she’s welcome here, that he’ll take care of her.
She doesn’t look down. She doesn’t allow herself even a second to think about what is happening here. Instead all she does is close her eyes, breathe.
And they fly.
She doesn’t know how long they are in the air, before Mjolnir turns back to the castle—as she knew he’d have to eventually.
Flying feels like the most natural thing in the world. She knows that Mjolnir is taking it easy, there are no sudden dives or rolls or anything she’s seen him do with Zryan. But still, it feels as effortless as drawing in energy does. Like it is a part of her.
The air is colder, somehow cleaner, up high. The wind rushes past her ears, and with her power helping her, she can see all the way down, to the streets of the city and beyond to the red desert in the south.
Cam would have loved to see this. It comes unbidden, even as she tries to block off thoughts of him, to protect herself. A fracture cracks her heart, pain ricocheting through her.
Breathe, Skylar.
Mjolnir doesn’t speak to her, but his presence curls around her mind, numbing the emptiness she knows is waiting for her when they land. She can feel Kaida straining to get to her, hopes that Astrid and Bastet will keep her safe until she returns.
Cam is dead. No matter how many times she repeats it, it’s like some part of her won’t believe it.
She feels numb and exhausted at the same time.
His voice, usually so clear in her mind, won’t come.
He’s dead. Has probably been dead this whole time.
She was too late. She didn’t save the one person in this entire world she cares about.
The one person who deserved to be saved.
Bitterness stings her eyes. She’ll make them pay for this, like Astrid promised.
Maybe not now, but later. They want an heir?
Well, they’ll get one. She’ll destroy them all—and burn the whole country to the ground.
There will be no more duel, no more conscription—because when she’s finished, there will be no more Vatra.
As they swoop in to land near the temple, Skylar sees a small crowd of people, their faces pulled into focus by the magic she’s channeling.
The king and queen. Astrid and Zryan. Axel.
In among various Dreki and witches, a few nobles.
All of them, staring up at her. She has no idea how they knew, but it’s clear that they have come out to watch.
Should I keep flying? Mjolnir asks.
Skylar squares her shoulders. No. I’ll have to face them sooner or later.
She can feel her power buzzing in her veins as they land, hopes she can keep a lid on it. If the king tries to say something…
Astrid, she tells herself. Kaida. The people she needs to keep safe, while she is blood bound.
The faces of the crowd crane to look at her as Mjolnir comes to a stop, tucking his wings into his sides.
He lets out a soft growl. All the watching party take a step back.
All, except Zryan—who is staring at Mjolnir with an expression Skylar cannot read—and Axel, who is looking not at Mjolnir but at her.
Skylar slides from the dragon’s back, like her muscles remember the action. Like she was born for it. She supposes she was, even if she never knew it.
The king and queen are watching her, she knows, but she daren’t look at them for fear of what she might do. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Astrid—Bastet and Kaida on one side, Gwen and Bjorn on the other.
No one speaks.
Skylar turns away from them. She doesn’t care what they think. She doesn’t care if she wasn’t supposed to do that. She doesn’t want to speak to any of them.
But she hears footsteps behind her. She thinks it might be Zryan, coming to demand why she rode his dragon, but when she looks back, Zryan and Mjolnir are holding eye contact, clearly having some kind of silent conversation. It’s Axel moving toward her.
He stops at whatever he sees on her face and holds his hands up, a gesture of peace.
“I heard about your friend.” He murmurs it, so quietly she doesn’t think the rest of the crowd will hear.
She can see the king striding toward Zryan, Ottilie at his side.
Choosing to ask his son, and not her, what this all means.
She doesn’t ask how Axel heard. “Did you know?” she says instead, her voice flat.
“Skylar, I—”
“Did. You. Know.”
“No. I swear it.”
“I hate you,” she spits. Hates him for making her believe there might be a sliver of good in him. For those moments, when her guard was down, when she wanted him.
His green eyes are level on hers. “I know.”
He takes another step toward her. “Skylar, I am so, so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, but I know what it’s like to lose someone, and if there’s—”
“Don’t you fucking dare make comparisons.
Your mum chose her life. She knew the risks and she chose it.
Cam didn’t. You can’t even begin to think…
” But she can’t finish. Her throat is clogged and she can’t get the words out, because saying his name causes a wrench of pain. Tears blur her vision and she blinks.
“Skylar,” Axel murmurs, reaching a hand for her.
“I said don’t,” she shouts. And with it, she lets her power pulse from her, pushing him back with raw magic, so that he is thrown a foot away from her, landing on the dying grass with a thump. Thunder cracks around them.
Axel pushes onto his hands, looks up at her. No one else makes the slightest move toward her.
“Don’t ever come near me again.” With that she turns, leaving him on the ground and heading back to her room alone.
Because alone is all she has now.