Chapter 47 Unless. #3
“Since Ajun. Yes. Ajun, where he closed the iron gate that protects the city, again with his bare hands. He knew that would kill him. And it should have. But Bal and Mithin chose to take pity on their favorite, didn’t they?
They saved him. They gave him a sword of iron, because he had shown strength enough to wield it.
And there on the killing fields, his friend was slain by the dragon they fought.
The very same whose skull you display behind your throne as if it were you who slayed him.
“You chastise me for claiming what’s rightfully mine? The spoils of war always belong to the crown, you fool.”
Another step. I was nearly close enough. Almost, now . . .
“Her name was Merelle, twin sister to Renfis, the male who later became general of your army.”
Wrinkling his nose, Belikon shook his head. “Am I supposed to feel something? How am I supposed to remember everyone who falls in service of their king? I didn’t even know the male had a sister.”
I swallowed down the bile that rose up the back of my throat.
“She died screaming. Fisher and the other members of the Lupo Proelia brought down that hateful beast, and Fisher found himself trapped inside its jaws. Merelle came to him there. Her spirit, that is. She bound her soul to that blade, so she would always be with her friends. That’s why he named the sword that. Ni’ Merelle. For Merelle, in Old Fae.”
Orious sneered, his top lip curling in disdain. “Do not lecture us on the etymology of words formed in a language you do not speak.”
Another step closer. Only one more, and I’d be close enough.
I made a point of ignoring Orious’s jab.
“The blade, then, as you can discern from the tale, is no simple god sword. It’s made of iron.
It houses the echo of a soul that died because of you.
It doesn’t matter if Kingfisher lives or dies.
You’ll never be able to wield Nimerelle.
If the metal doesn’t kill you, then the warrior who lives inside it will. ”
He clearly hadn’t known about the iron. God swords always made the people they weren’t bonded to uncomfortable.
That was just the way of them. He’d put his unease around the sword down to that.
He hadn’t touched the sword without gloves yet.
That would have been a death sentence, given who he was and the fact that the blade was still bonded to Fisher.
The realization came crashing down on the king now—a hole in his plan.
A disruption, souring the taste of victory in his mouth.
He tried to wave the matter off. “So be it. Fine. If no other member of the Fae can touch the damned iron, then it’ll be disposed of. Buried in an unmarked site. Thrown into a chasm. It will be forgotten, and you will make me a new god sword—”
There is one,” I interrupted.
Orious’s mouth flapped, his anger over the fact that I’d spoken over his precious king evident. Belikon just sighed. “One what?”
“One other who isn’t affected by iron.”
“Pray enlighten me. Who—”
“Me.”
I called the sword, and the sword came.
I sent up a fervent prayer as Nimerelle shot up from the stone at the foot of the tree and flew through the air . . .
Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t fucking kill—
The sword slammed into my bare palm, and the Wicker Wood stood still as I closed my hand around the hilt of the mighty Nimerelle. A brief, unpleasant shock wave traveled up my arm, but then it was . . . gone.
There was no voice in my head. No chiding from the small thread of quicksilver it contained, nor from the gods who had made it, nor the warrior who possessed it.
The faintest smell of juniper tickled the back of my nose.
I heard distant, playful laughter on a breeze that wasn’t there.
And then, simultaneously, the god sword in my left hand formed a pillar of blazing white .
. . and the god sword in my right erupted with a wall of shadow and smoke.
For the first time in Yvelian history, a god sword had entrusted itself into the hands of someone it wasn’t bonded to. Because Kingfisher loved me. I had come here to save him . . . and that was good enough for his sword.
“Impossible,” Belikon whispered. But of course it would seem impossible to him. A heart ruled by hatred and fear could not experience miracles. You had to know love, joy, and trust for that, and those concepts were as foreign to him as the idea of Yvelia had been to me not too long ago.
“He’s dead. The second you touch the dryad with either of those swords, he’s dead!” Belikon shouted.
“The swords aren’t for the dryad, Belikon.” I spun them end over end, trailing light and shadow. “They’re for you.”
I’d experienced the male’s power back in the throne room of the Winter Palace.
I’d felt like crawling out of my own skin.
Again, I’d witnessed it in Gillethrye, when Fisher had run him through with Nimerelle and the male had not died.
His power snapped against my skin again now, as I prowled toward him.
It tried to stop me in my tracks, but I wasn’t the same girl who’d stood there and watched him torment her mate.
I had power of my own now, and it was just as formidable as this pretender king’s.
With every step I took toward him, overcoming the shield he’d thrown up around himself, Belikon’s eyes widened. “What do you hope to accomplish? You cannot kill me, girl.”
Killing him would be a win for Yvelia, but I did know that I wouldn’t accomplish that goal tonight. That was for another day, another time, and another hand to plunge the knife. All I had to do was keep him busy long enough to say the words . . .
“Orious, I’m done with this nonsense,” Belikon spat. “Tell the dryad to take him.”
Shit. Once that tree closed around Fisher, this was over. I had to act. Now.
Belikon’s seneschal darted toward the tree. He placed a hand on its trunk, and the whole thing shook at the contact.
I hurled Solace, throwing the sword like a spear. It struck Orious clean through the side, cleaving him straight through the chest. But the damage was already done. A groaning, cracking, creaking sound filled the air, and the open, festering trunk around Fisher’s shoulders and head began to close.
Belikon was in front of me.
He’d moved so fast. Too fast. I’d let my focus drift for a split second, and now I was going to pay.
The air rushed out of me as he punched me in the solar plexus.
I should have flown back and slammed into the tree—the dryad—behind me, but I didn’t.
I was anchored in place. Belikon had hold of me from the inside.
He hadn’t just punched me. He’d punched through my breastbone, into my chest cavity .
. . and now he had me by the heart. “This seems to be the source of our issues here. Such a problematic piece of meat. Could you survive without it, I wonder? Half-ling that you are, I still think you need your heart, Saeris. Are you going to make me rip it out? Or will you start behaving so that I’ll let you keep it? ”
I couldn’t answer. I could stop my heart from beating, but I definitely still needed it to stay inside my chest. Panic cinched tight around my chest, taking hold . . .
“Bend the knee, Saeris,” Belikon rumbled. His breath fanned over my face, foul and reeking of death.
Monster.
Murderer.
Villain.
I would rather die than chain myself to a demon like him. Blood spewed up and out of my mouth. It ran down my chin in a river and coated my tongue in metal. “I have . . . a message . . . for you,” I wheezed. “From . . . your dead . . . wife.”
It happened so quickly that anyone could have missed it, but not me.
I saw the bastard flinch. I choked on another mouthful of blood.
“She told me . . . to tell you . . . never.” Quick as lightning, I called Solace back.
At the same time, I drove Nimerelle into Belikon’s stomach and up, out of his back, mirroring the blow Fisher had dealt him back in Gillethrye.
The king dropped me, tottering back, eyes locked on the sword buried in his stomach and the glowing point of the other protruding from his chest. Funnels of shadow whipped around the male, spinning faster and faster, cocooning him in a lethal shroud.
Cuts began to form all over his skin, crosshatched and bleeding, but they healed before they could fully form.
Impaled upon the huge god swords and wreathed in smoke, he fell to his knees, but still he threw back his head and laughed.
“Not enough,” he bellowed. “It’ll never be enough! ”
There was a fucking hole in my chest—a big one—but even as I took a staggering step toward the dryad, the wound was knitting closed.
It should probably have killed me. If I had been only Fae, or only vampire, that might have been the case, but it seemed my Fae powers coupled with high blood powers had increased my healing capabilities exponentially.
I didn’t understand it, but I’d take it.
I would live long enough to finish what I’d started here, at least, and for now, that was all that mattered.
“An Oath Bound Fae male cannot walk away from the promises he makes,” I said. “On pain of death, they must obey.”
“Have you just learned this lesson, half-breed? Kingfisher is already mine to command. You may as well join him.” The king moved to pull Nimerelle from his stomach, but he had nothing to hold her hilt with.
I left him where he knelt and made for the dryad. Only Fisher’s face was visible now. Soon, it would be gone. “Unless . . .” I said under my breath. The wording was important. I had to get it right.
“What do you mean, unless?”
“Names hold meaning in this place. There is no power in this realm or any other that can supersede an order given using someone’s true name.
A true name can undo oaths. It can open doors.
” I pressed my hand against the dryad’s trunk, and I felt him for the first time.
Fisher was in there. And he could hear me.
Saeris . . .
The sound of his voice inside my head, weak though it was, filled me with courage.
I steeled myself and spoke in a loud, steady voice, for all the realm to hear.
This was a tricky maneuver. One that had to pay off.
I crossed my fingers and prayed. “Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate, I hereby call you by your true name. I declare all oaths you have sworn null and void. Rise, Khydan Graystar Finvarra, in honor of the name you were given at birth! Rise up and fight!”