Chapter 15 #2
The field turned to madness. Doriel’s gryvern unleashed a wall of blush-colored flames to push the mortals back, while Faunos did the same from the sky. Ophiucae cast answering waves of ice and water, and scores of his men slipped through with every break.
A somber realization dawned. This battle could very well be the final stand for Emarion. If Ophiucae won, he’d kill us all. New Crowns might emerge, but no one would be fool enough to challenge him after that.
Everything was on the line.
I raised my sword and walked into the fray.
I fought for my sister and all of my young, innocent cousins hiding inside the palace walls.
I fought for all the half-mortals I’d saved over the years, whose second-class status would not spare them from Ophiucae’s wrath.
I fought for my friends—for Alixe and Taran, who had trusted me through so many secrets and so many lies.
And I fought for my Queen.
My love.
My heart.
The woman who’d fought for me when all seemed lost. If I could do nothing else, I could at least return the favor.
The battle became a whirl of glittering black and liquid red, my skin burning hot as dragonfyre danced perilously close.
Blows landed, mine and theirs. Pain was present, but distant, my wounds less important than the ones I bestowed.
At some point, I spotted Taran and Zalaric in the melee, and the feeling of all that was at stake grew darker and weightier.
Sorae’s screech cut through the din. The terror in it drew my eyes—not to her, but to Tybold, who was pinned beneath the Meros gryvern, one claw pierced deep in his chest. Behind them, the Meros King emerged from the palace, dragging Ignios along the ground by his hair.
Ophiucae crooked his finger, and a knifelike burst of wind slashed through the center of the fighting. It sent bodies flying, mortal and Descended both, clearing the way for Meros to shove Ignios in a heap at Ophiucae’s feet.
“I understand you’re the one who killed my daughter,” Ophiucae said.
Certain death had made the desert King brave. He raised his orange eyes and jeered. “I put her in a grave. Where you both belong.”
Ophiucae gave no reaction. He flicked a hand, almost boredly, and Meros stumbled back, his mind again his own. Sophos and I pulled him away, and the fighting slowed as mortals stopped to watch.
“The Prince seems to think you’re lying,” Ophiucae said. “Perhaps I should see for myself.”
“I’m not ly—”
Ophiucae’s hand squeezed around his throat. Ignios’s eyes went glassy, and both men fell silent.
Like a reflex, my hand slipped into my pocket and palmed the compass. Still whirring, still aimless.
“Interesting,” Ophiucae murmured. His head angled to me. “Interesting, indeed.”
I took a step closer, heart stuttering with an uneven beat. “What do you see?”
Thunder boomed in the distance. With the sky clear and the day sunny, the sound took us all by surprise. Eyes turned skyward as low, dark clouds began to form. A buzzing current electrified the air, the hair on my arms stretching high.
CRACK.
Silver-white light exploded around us, leaving me blinded. When the world returned, there was something . . . different. Something I could sense but couldn’t see.
Not until my focus settled on the Ignios King.
His Crown was gone.
I glanced up at Ophiucae in search of an answer, but he looked equally perplexed. Our eyes moved in unison to Sophos.
No Crown.
Arboros—no Crown.
Meros—no Crown.
A woman’s scream sounded above us. I looked up just in time to see the Faunos Queen—Crownless—bucked from her gryvern. She fell through the air and hit the cobblestones with a loud, sickening thud.
“My magic,” Mireille cried out, staring at her palms. “It’s gone!”
Matching looks of horror flashed across each of the monarchs’ faces. But Ophiucae no longer looked puzzled—he looked furious.
“One betrayal was not enough?” he roared at the stormy, darkening sky. “I was going to spare them. I would have let them bend their knees to save their necks. Now I will savor their deaths.” His glare dropped back to his soldiers, his voice dropping to a growl. “Kill them all.”
The fighting reignited, with a new, critical problem at its center.
Without their Crowns, the former rulers had become normal Descended.
Outside their home realms, they had no magic.
They had no gryverns, either. Except for Sorae, who was still embroiled in battle with Xipherus, the other creatures had begun backing away from the fight.
“Alixe, Taran,” I shouted. I pointed to the ex-Crowns. “Get them out of here!”
Though I couldn’t have cared less whether any of them lived or died, if they were the focus of Ophiucae’s ire, getting them as far as possible might draw him away and give our soldiers a fighting chance against his men.
They leapt to obey my orders. Taran barely managed to deflect an axe aimed at Mireille’s skull just as Alixe shoved Doriel out of the path of a swinging black mace.
Ophiucae’s glare returned to the sickly man at his feet. His lip curled back as his palm stretched forward. Ignios let out a bloodcurdling scream, and a breeze carried the stench of decay to my nose.
Fortos magic.
“Stop,” I said loudly. “His death is mine to claim.”
Ophiucae paused. Turned his head. Narrowed his eyes. “The suitor again.”
The thick, toxic heat of his aura pulsed around me, rippling with rage that felt as infinite as the sky, as turbulent as the oceans.
This anger had been brewing for lifetimes and rotting in the darkest of shadows.
I had seen raw fury in my life, certainly felt it myself, but I had never felt hatred as potent as this.
What I couldn’t tell was how much was directed at the Ignios asshole . . . and how much was directed at me.
I forced myself to keep advancing. “If he truly hurt Diem . . .”
“Oh, he did. Put a knife through her heart, just like he said.” Ophiucae sneered. “Just like her mother did to me. My mother, too. Ironic, is it not?”
Ringing filled my ears. I’d been certain that if Diem was really gone, existence itself would change. How could it not? How could the sun shine as bright without her smile to light it? How could the wind smell as sweet with no scent of her on its breeze?
How could my world stay upright if the woman I’d built it on turned to dust?
Everything about it felt wrong. My godhood still snarled at me to find her. My heartbeat kept echoing like it was calling for hers. I was connected to her in a soul-carved way, and the cord that bound us pulled more strongly than ever.
But no one could survive a godstone blade to the heart.
And yet . . .
“You survived it,” I said.
Ophiucae whacked the back of his hand across the Ignios bastard’s jaw, sending him crumbling to the ground, then turned to me.
He closed the distance between us. “You still think she’s alive.” His head cocked. “And if she is . . . you think she’ll still want you? You, who abandoned her on the island? The man who saved himself to let her suffer alone?”
It would have felt less violent if he’d struck me with his fists. I could offer up excuses in my defense, but I wouldn’t believe them any more than he would.
“I asked her if I should test your worthiness for her hand,” he said. “Perhaps if I had, she might still be here.”
I searched the barren field of his face for a sign, wondering if he’d seen Diem’s fate in Ignios’s thoughts, if he was toying with me to see what I might give him to reveal it.