Chapter 15
LUTHER
The red-tipped wings of Ophiucae’s gryvern looked like bloody godstone blades as he came into focus.
“Make way for the Mortals’ Champion,” Vance shouted. To our surprise, the mortals retreated, leaving a wide stretch of open land between their lines and ours.
I caught Alixe’s gaze. Though she hid it well, her worry surfaced in her tense stance and bloodless lips. She had never faced Ophiucae before. She knew I had, and she seemed to be searching my reaction for a clue of our looming fate.
I gave her the respect of an honest answer with my grave, deep-cut frown. Our “victory” in Sophos had been anything but. Without Diem persuading Ophiucae to leave, it would have ended in all our deaths.
And today, even five Crowns, six gryverns, half the Emarion Army, and the entire Lumnos Royal Guard might not be enough to make up for her absence.
The wrought iron gate rattled in my hands as Ophiucae’s gryvern hit the ground, joined soon after by the Sophos, Meros, Arboros, and Faunos Crowns atop their gryverns. Sorae stayed skybound in a menacing circuit around the palace.
I’d forgotten how much they looked alike, Ophiucae and my Diem.
His ice-white hair was wavy and wild, like hers, and there was no mistaking him as the source of her dark grey eyes.
Even his silvery, glowing silhouette reminded me of the way her warm sienna skin had lit up like the moon when her power unleashed in full at the Challenging.
“If it isn’t my siblings’ favored few,” Ophiucae said. “At last, we all finally meet.”
Siblings?
“We’ve been wanting to speak,” Doriel called out. “We sent messengers to find you.”
He chuckled darkly. “How strange. I’m sure I sent them back.”
“Without their heads,” the Meros King muttered.
“Ophiucae,” Doriel went on, “I know your history. What happened to you was inhumane. Those responsible for it are dead.”
“Ah, but still they watch.” His smile was vicious yet bright, a sanguine sunset heralding a violent night. “And what a show I’m going to give them.”
“You have a Crown and a gryvern, and you have subjects of your own.” Doriel pointed to the mortals, whose smug grins fell at being viewed as a Descended’s pawns. “You’re one of us. Let us discuss this like the leaders we are.”
Ophiucae looked over them. “I see only four of you here. Not even a majority.”
“Another is inside. The other Crowns are . . . indisposed. But their Regents—”
“Where is she?”
Ophiucae’s tone changed. It vibrated in the air and shuddered through the soil, its timbre ominous and dark.
Doriel’s throat bobbed. They glanced at the Meros King, who shifted on his gryvern’s back. Even the Faunos and Arboros Queens shared an apprehensive look.
“Where is she?” Ophiucae growled again.
“The Lumnos Queen is dead,” Mireille answered. “Killed by the Ignios King.” Her fingers trembled where they gripped her gryvern. “We assure you, he will die for his crimes.”
His eyes swept slowly over the crowd and stopped on me. “You again. Her lovesick suitor.”
My godhood snarled. Ophiucae smiled.
“Do they speak the truth?” he asked. “Is my daughter dead?”
I wasn’t sure why the next words came out of my mouth, let alone with such resolve: “No. She isn’t.”
The others gaped at me, but I held Ophiucae’s stare as he dismounted his gryvern. The moment his feet hit the soil, his skin pulsed brighter, and his aura trembled like a stretching cat.
I pushed through the crowd until I was standing alongside the Crowns. Ophiucae’s eyes moved over me, pondering, assessing. “Tell me, Prince,” he said lightly, his tone almost taunting, “what do you know?”
He raised a hand, and the world disappeared, replaced by a darkness with no beginning or end, nor solid land to keep me grounded. I was falling, not through air but through memories.
Memories of the island, and just before. Of Sophos’s betrayal, of Teller’s rescue and our narrow escape. Of what I’d seen as we flew away—the Ignios King with his blade, and Diem’s collapse. Memories of today’s meeting with the Crowns, and their revelation about Diem’s fate.
And then things that weren’t memories at all. The truth of what Diem meant to me . . . thoughts, emotions, confessions, my darkest fears, my hopes and dreams. What I’d become in her absence.
As the alarming awareness of what was happening hit me, I thrashed to get free. There were too many dangerous secrets in the vault of my mind that I couldn’t let him see.
The only thing I succeeded at was piquing his interest. Though I could sense his curiosity at what I was so desperate to conceal, he willingly withdrew.
I swayed on my feet as the Lumnos sun glared back into view. The way he’d used Umbros magic to rifle through my thoughts as casually as a messy stack of papers felt nothing like when I’d let Diem into my head back in Sophos, the soft caress of her consciousness nestling in the arms of mine.
Ophiucae looked at Doriel. “Bring me the Ignios King.”
“He is, um . . . ill. Unable to come outside. But he will be dealt with—”
“Indeed, he will.” His stare shifted to the Meros King. “Bring him to me.”
Meros’s aquamarine eyes went glassy. His gryvern squealed in protest as its master slid off its back and stiffly marched for the palace gates.
“Obaneryn, no,” Doriel cried. They ran to block his path, but Ophiucae’s Umbros magic had left Meros as bound to his orders as the Crowns’ gryverns were to theirs.
Meros flung Doriel aside, their petite frame no match for his brawn, and continued to weave through confused-looking soldiers. The Fortos Vice General watched with nervous hesitation, trapped between conflicting orders to protect the Crowns.
When Meros reached the locked gate, he hurled his shoulder into the bars in a mindless bid to break through.
“Ah, yes, that pesky gate,” Ophiucae crooned, fingers twitching. Strands of pale blue light wove through the sculpted iron swirls, and the bars began to glow red-orange. Alixe barely managed to yank Meros safely aside as the gate softened, slumped, then pooled into a molten puddle.
The mortals erupted in a triumphant shout. Another curl of Ophiucae’s finger had frost forming across the liquid metal and cooling it solid. Meros jerked out of Alixe’s grip and continued toward the palace.
From his place by the door, Tybold arched his neck with a rumbled warning and a brewing glow of orange flames.
“Surly as ever, Tybold,” Ophiucae called out. “We both know what it is to spend centuries in chains.”
Tybold stretched his wings, baring yellowed fangs.
“That’s not the only thing we have in common, is it?” Ophiucae’s lips curved upward. “Let him through to your Crown. I’ll do what you want to, but cannot.”
Dark scales rippled as Tybold’s enormous chest slowly rose and fell. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was considering the offer.
But as Meros came closer, the spell enslaving Tybold left him no choice. He shifted in front of the palace doors and lifted a sharp-tipped talon.
“Very well,” Ophiucae said. “I always wondered how strong these bonds were. I suppose it’s time to find out.” He turned to his own gryvern. “Xipherus, attack.” He pointed to Sorae. “Her.”
My heart hammered as his gryvern launched into the air. I cupped my hands at my mouth and shouted, “Sorae, leave—get away from the palace!”
With Diem’s orders hanging over us both, would she obey me? Could she?
But Sorae was so much like her Queen—fearless and ready to fight for the people she loved. She opened her wings and met Xipherus with a ferocious snarl that turned into a shriek as the beast sank his teeth into her neck.
My shout was drowned out by Tybold’s ear-splitting, ground-rattling roar.
He paced a tight circle by the doorway, muscles bunched, glare fixed on the sky.
Meros came closer, and Tybold’s jaws erupted with a flood of dragonfyre, but the moment Obaneryn staggered backward, Tybold’s focus was back on Sorae.
The Meros gryvern hissed at the attack on its Crown. It, too, set a course for Tybold.
I turned to the Queens. “Send yours to help her.”
Arboros looked nervous. Faunos pursed her lips, seeming to consider whether Ophiucae might be doing her a favor by weakening her strongest peers.
“Mireille,” I snarled. “You owe this to Diem.”
She winced and slid off her gryvern, then whispered something in its ear. The beast grunted, displeased at leaving its Crown so vulnerable, but like the others, it had to obey. With a beat of its wide, feathered wings, it took to the sky.
Faunos gave an indifferent shrug. “They’ll be fine. My Rosha can stay and fight for us.”
The clash of teeth and claws rang out as both groups of gryverns collided.
Sorae fell from Xipherus’s jaws, stilling my heart in my chest until her wings unfurled and she soared back into flight.
On the ground, the Meros and Ignios gryverns exchanged plumes of teal and orange flames while the hypnotized Meros King flung blasts of water that hissed to steam as he tried to push through.
Ophiucae laughed, his face aglow with delight, and a bad feeling took root in my gut.
He’d concealed an entire fleet with an illusion, and he’d been shielding hundreds of mortals.
He’d pierced my defenses like paper and made a Crown his puppet.
Through it all, his aura hadn’t weakened one bit.
If he could do all this without tiring his godhood, what more was he capable of?
And why wasn’t he already doing it?
Sophos stormed to the front of the lines. “There’s no need for this. If Ignios is what you want, you can have him.”
“He is only the beginning of what I want.”
“What do you want?” Arboros asked.
His eyes gleamed. “Revenge.”
The mortals let out another thunderous cheer.
Ophiucae looked at Vance, who stood nearby with a godstone sword and a venomous grin. “Make them pay for their sins.”
Vance punched his blade high. “True Guardians of the Everflame . . . attack!”