Chapter 33 #2
I squinted through the haze of dark smoke billowing from scattered fires.
Too many buildings lay in ruins. My heart ached, thinking of the soldiers who’d been hiding inside them.
How had Ophiucae breached the city? Even hidden by illusions, I should have sensed his approach.
The fact that I still couldn’t feel his aura sent dread slinking up my spine.
I jogged back to retrieve Sorrow’s Edge when I heard a gurgling groan from Francis’s body. I knelt and laid a finger on his wrist. It was a miracle he had a pulse, considering where the arrow had pierced him. His eyes fluttered as scarlet liquid dribbled from his lips.
I wanted to believe it was a healer’s reflex, not my own pitiful weakness, that sent healing magic flowing from my fingers.
Unfortunately for Francis, Ophiucae’s shield was too strong for it to get through.
What was meant to protect Francis had now become his tomb.
I murmured the Rite of Endings as I watched understanding, then terror flicker over Francis’s face.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. I looked at my sword’s godstone blade, wondering if the kindest thing to do was to end his suffering now.
And then I remembered Sophos. During the attack, Luther and I, along with the Sophos guards, had combined our magic to build a massive shield. The strategy backfired when Ophiucae brushed his fingers against it and siphoned our magic for himself. Could I do the same?
I set my palm against Francis and let my magic test the shield that encased him. Not pushing or piercing, but feeling. Merging. My skin began to tingle, then glow, and my godhood swelled with a surge of new fuel.
The enormity of it left me breathless. It was like sipping water from an ocean, but the more I drank, the more unquenchable my thirst became.
Each gulp of potent magic left me greedier, pulling more than I needed, perhaps more than I could even hold.
I wasn’t just absorbing it, I was swimming in it, bathing in its intoxicating caress.
Gods, what I could do with this much power. No mortal would ever suffer again. If I had this magic, I could bring a peace this world had never seen. No one would dare to defy me. One flick of my wrist, and even my most dangerous enemies would kneel.
A dark chuckle rumbled nearby.
“You’re more like me than I thought.”
Shadows clouded my vision, my eyes blinking through the fog as an image took shape: grey skies, hard soil, a raging fire, and trees. So many trees, blackened and leafless, gnarled branches in a canopy of tangled knots. The kind of trees I’d only ever seen in one place.
“Ophiucae,” I whispered. “You’re in Montios—the Forgotten Lands.”
An angry hiss shot out behind me, and I turned to see his glowing silhouette. “This is not Montios. This realm belongs to me.”
My stomach dropped. Ophiucae hadn’t come to Fortos with his army. He didn’t need to. His power was potent enough to cast his shield from half a continent away.
“What a troublesome child you’re turning out to be. Always underfoot, interfering with my plans.” His head cocked with a predatory tilt. “I said I would kill you, if you came to me like this again.”
I resisted the urge to shiver. “I don’t even know how I came here. I was never taught to use my magic. I saw what you did in Sophos, taking power from a shield. I only wanted to see if it was a gift I inherited.” My chin lowered. “You are my father, after all.”
Though I felt like a traitor using that word on anyone but Andrei, if it took stroking Ophiucae’s ego to gain his trust, so be it. His Umbros magic prodded at my head for some proof of deceit, but my mind was a vault his magic could not crack, as closed to him as his was to me.
“If you wish to learn from me, daughter, then come to my side. Show your obedience, and I will teach you everything I know.” His lips rose into an ominous smile. “There are a great many gifts you may inherit.”
“If I do, will you leave the Descended alone and let them live in peace?”
His amusement vanished. “I was offered no ‘peace’ when they cast me into the darkness to rot.”
“It wasn’t the Descended who did that. Must they all suffer for your siblings’ crimes?”
“The Descended have crimes of their own.”
“As do the mortals. As do you.” His eyes narrowed, and I hurried on.
“My mother told me about the dreams you spoke of when you were locked in that cell. She said you wanted to help people and rid Emarion of war. I want those same things. Maybe I do take after you.” A nagging unease nipped at me with those words, but I shoved it aside, offering him an encouraging smile.
“We could make the world better together.”
He closed the distance between us, head angling in curious study. “You have your mother’s face.” He raised a hand and let his fingertips rest on the crest of my brow, his skin glimmering a little brighter. “But you have my eyes.”
I wasn’t sure what to think about the buzzing warmth that spread through my chest. There was an unexpected gleam of affection hiding in his cold, colorless stare. He’d shown me so little kindness before. Then again, so little had been shown to him. Perhaps he did not know how.
Perhaps I could show him.
“Did you ever think of me?” I asked softly. “I thought of you all the time. I wondered who you were. If you wanted me. If you even knew I existed.”
“I thought of you every single day.”
“Because of the curse? Because you wanted my blood so you could be free?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, and some vital piece of me withered away.
“But I also wondered . . . would I recognize you, if I saw you again?” His gaze roamed over me, taking me in.
“I wondered what your voice sounded like, and whether you were strong. I wondered if you would grow up fawning over my bastard siblings like the other Descended, or if you would be clever enough to see through them.”
“The Kindred will never have my loyalty. Their choices have hurt too many people I love.”
His brows rose at that final word. “And if I do the same? Will you turn on me if I do not spare your Descended friends?”
“Yes,” I said, returning the same blunt honesty he’d given me.
His expression revealed nothing. “My parents believed in peace. Even as their enemies filled our world with blood, they kept believing, right to the very end.” His lips twitched. “Cold is the body buried in the soil of peace.”
“Even cold soil can grow something beautiful and full of life at winter’s end.”
“Indeed.” His smile chilled. “But first, it must be watered in blood.”
His hand rose to my neck, thumb pressed to the place where I’d once worn the mark of his ten-pointed star. His grip was a little too tight, his pressure too firm to be casual. I tried to pull back, but he held me in place.
“I offered you my protection.”
“I don’t need your protection.” My voice softened. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“No. You want to kill me instead.”
His fingers closed around my throat, squeezing hard. He snatched Sorrow’s Edge and held its blade up to my face, all fatherly affection now gone from the icy daggers of his eyes.
“You come to me preaching ‘peace’ and ‘family’ while wielding a sword crafted to take my life?” he roared. “You’re a traitor, just like them.”
“No,” I choked out, gasping for breath through his tightening fingers. “I d-didn’t . . .” My eyes watered as spots filled my vision.
He slightly eased his hold and pressed the sword’s tip to my chin. “Lie to me, and I will carve out your tongue.”
I sucked in air as I frantically cobbled together a careful admission. “The Kindred want you dead. That’s why they gave me that sword. But I don’t serve them. Only I will choose my fate. And I don’t want to kill you.”
I reined my godhood back enough to let his Umbros magic sense the honesty in my words. Nevertheless, he pressed the blade forward. Its point sliced through my lip, sending my blood trickling down its blade.
The moment the dark scarlet drop hit the heartstone, magic exploded around us.
My body thrummed with powerful energy drenched in a heavy, soul-aching sorrow.
In the distance, the glittering silhouette of a woman appeared, hunched and weeping, arms stretching toward us.
As she sobbed, her grief perfumed the air, tart with regret.
I had the sense that she mourned a grave mistake, though I wondered if it was casting the spell or stopping short of its lethal end.
“Mother?” Ophiucae let go of me and staggered toward her, eyes wide. “How could you?”
The smallness of his voice tore at me. For all his cruelty and spiteful anger, there was a heart inside his mighty chest, and it was wounded, perhaps beyond repair.
“How could you?” he demanded again, harsher.
Her wails grew louder, but no answer came.
Suddenly, two strong arms wrapped around me from behind, and something warm pressed against my back. Then I was dragging, falling, drifting, screaming no again and again.
I slammed into Luther’s chest, and we fell together to the Fortos soil. Francis was healed and fleeing. My skin was glowing as bright as the moon.
And Sorrow’s Edge was gone.