Chapter 75
DIEM
“Look—his shield. It’s moving.”
“Is he retreating?”
“It’s working. He’s running away!”
Excited voices buzzed around me as members of our third and final wave inched forward for a closer look.
Our second wave had done exactly as we’d hoped, decimating Ophiucae’s numbers.
We’d taken losses, too, but the tide had turned in our direction.
Ophiucae had pulled his shield back, forming it into a dome that covered him and only him.
It was as clear a message as he could send that the only life he cared to save was his.
And mine.
But my soldiers had mistaken his change in strategy for a defeat. Ophiucae wasn’t running. He wasn’t retreating.
He was still just waiting.
“Get back in formation,” I barked. “Prepare to engage.”
Alixe shot me a questioning look that I didn’t return.
Our third wave was our most vulnerable, made up of our weakest and least-trained troops.
Their purpose, grim as it was to admit, was to form a human shield around our long-range weapons—the Guardians’ ballista, catapults to launch their bombs, and our cadre of archers—but the battle had become such a scrum that using any of them now would kill as many of our troops as theirs.
Our best strategy was to let the first and second waves finish off Ophiucae’s army, then turn our collective strength on him.
“You heard Her Majesty,” Alixe said loudly. “Don’t get distracted. Be ready to move on my command.”
The soldiers grudgingly returned to their lines, though the excited whispering continued. I glanced at Luther. “Any sign of Taran or our parents?”
He shook his head, but his eyes weren’t on the fighting, they were on the miles of empty flatlands that led to the Sacred Sea.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Every time magic goes that way, it disappears.” He pointed, and I watched a stray flame from an Ignios soldier fly off the battlefield, then blink away.
“Isn’t that what happens when magic runs out of energy?” I asked.
“Maybe for weaker Descended.” He raised a palm, and a glowing orb shot across the sky, into the open expanse, then vanished. “My godhood is stronger than that.”
“Are you sure? The flatlands are deceiving. Everything’s further than it looks.” He looked so offended, I almost smiled. “Send Sorae. If there’s something there, she’ll sense it.”
He sent a series of short bursts toward the sky. Sorae acknowledged with a trill and dropped her wing, banking toward the coast. The movement caught the attention of my troops, who fell silent as they watched her soar.
She crisscrossed the eastern stretch, surveying the land and the distant sea. While Luther tensed in wait for her assessment, my attention drifted back to Ophiucae and to the confrontation that neither of us could avoid for much longer.
“Whatever you sent Sorae to look for, she can’t seem to find it,” Alixe called out.
“She’s too high,” Luther said. “She needs to get closer.” He lifted a hand and fired off more signals, and Sorae dove toward the soil.
“It’s almost over,” a soldier said behind me.
“Not long now,” agreed another.
“Assuming a victory is the surest way to lose it,” I warned, reciting words Andrei had drilled into me over the years.
As a child, his lessons on combat had been like reenacting a fairy tale, something I might play at but would never live.
I had expected my life to mirror my mother’s, and what use would a mortal healer in a poor forest village ever have for warcraft?
Perhaps he knew that my mother was more than a healer—and perhaps he was preparing me to follow in her footsteps more than either of us could have ever imagined.
“Do you have any more surprises?” a different soldier asked.
“No,” I said, “but Ophiucae might.” I glanced over my shoulder. “That’s why you have to stay aler—”
I froze. The soldier was staring at me. They all were. The mortals, at least—hundreds of brown eyes, locked on me with unwavering focus.
I shifted uneasily in my saddle. “No matter how close we seem to winning, we have to stay prepared. My father used to say, ‘Always expect the hidden dagger.’”
“Andrei Bellator was a smart man,” a fourth soldier said.
“But he wasn’t your father,” Cordellia added.
“He was,” I snapped, “and my mother would have your head for saying otherwise.”
“Ah, yes. Your mother.”
Those last two words rolled with a masculine growl that felt out of place on Cordellia’s lips. I met her stare—her expression was blank, and her eyes seemed unusually dull.
Hair rose on the back of my neck.
“Cordellia?” I asked quietly.
The corners of her lips slowly rose.
“Luther!” I shouted. “Alixe! Shields up—hurry!” A dome began to shimmer around me, and I frantically shook my head. “Not me. Shield the mortals, they’re—”
My words were drowned out by a shriek. Sorae tumbled through the air as if struck by some invisible force. She fell toward the ground—and vanished.
Far away, across the battlefield, someone began to laugh. I might have only heard it in my head, or in my blood, but the chill running through me was ominous confirmation of its origin.
“My people,” Obaneryn screamed. The former King of Meros suddenly crumpled to his knees, clutching the soil. “Blessed Mother, no, make it a lie.”
“Fuck,” Luther whispered.
I looked east, and the flatlands were no longer vacant—they never had been. An illusion faded away, and the sailors of Meros appeared in long, straight lines, their hands raised, their wind magic swirling around Sorae, who thrashed helplessly in a tangle of air.
Alixe sprang into action, firing off orders to prepare the Guardians’ bombs and wheel our launchers into place. The Descended in my army jumped to obey.
The mortals did not.
“I have a lesson to teach you, too,” Cordellia said to me. “This one may be the most important of them all.”
Luther thrust out a palm toward Sorae, stretching his magic toward her as she struggled to rip free of the churning wind. “Alixe gave you an order, Dell,” he yelled. “This is no time to break ranks.”
Cordellia’s stare, along with all the other mortals’, remained on me. “Power demands to be used, Diem. If you’re blessed with power and refuse to wield it, it will find its way into the hands of someone who will.”
“Cordellia,” Alixe shouted, “we need those bombs.”
“You stayed your hand, and look what happened,” Cordellia went on. “Your mortals flocked to me. Your council betrayed you. And the proud mountain dwellers of Montios . . .” She clicked her tongue. “How differently this might have ended for them, had you forced their hand to fight.”
“What did you do?” I whispered.
When Cordellia spoke again, it was with the low, menacing voice of my sire. “The cowards of Lumnos are about to find out.”
Luther yanked his magic from Sorae and wrapped a thick shield around the mortals. Their bodies jerked and fell, many grasping at their heads. Luther called for Alixe, who yelled orders to the Descended to pour their magic into strengthening his shield.
He swung off his horse and ran to Cordellia, gripping her by the shoulders. “Are you alright?”
She nodded shakily. “He was looking at my memories. He wanted to know everything I knew before he . . .” She shuddered at the prospect of what she’d almost become.
“I’m sorry, Dell, there’s no time to recover,” he said. “We’ve got to launch your bombs before his reinforcements reach our people.”
Cordellia looked out at the distant Meros soldiers marching toward us. She gave another, firmer nod. “Guardians, prepare the bombs,” she called out.
A handful of mortals wobbled toward the wooden crates they’d hidden in the forest, but not all had been as lucky as her.
Some convulsed on the ground, while others stood at attention, as if awaiting orders.
Cordellia grabbed a nearby woman and tried to shake her from her stupor.
When the woman showed no response, Cordellia squeezed her eyes closed, and her shoulders trembled.
It was an effort to hold back my own tears as I counted the mortals we’d lost. The words of the Rite of Endings began to flow—then choked to a stop as I remembered who else had been standing among them.
“Teller!” I screamed. I threw myself off my horse and hit the ground in a frenzied sprint through the fallen bodies, searching for his auburn curls. “Teller, where are you?”
“Look for my sister,” Luther said, running to join me. “He’ll be with her.”
We zigzagged through the mortals, shouting our siblings’ names. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or inconsolable when neither answered.
In the east, Sorae struggled for her freedom. With the Meros wind pinning her wings, she swung her head wildly, unleashing azure flame that incinerated soldiers on both sides.
Somewhere on the battlefield, my mother and Taran were fighting for their lives. I didn’t dare wonder why so much time had passed without their return.
And in the north, the threat of Ophiucae’s last words to me lingered. If he got to the Montios Descended . . . if he’d truly sent them to Lumnos . . .
In every direction, the people I cared for hovered at death’s door. One man stood at their backs, hands lifted to give them a push.
My hand closed around the warm, cursed handle of Sorrow’s Edge.
“We’re here,” a voice yelled from the trees. Two dark silhouettes emerged into the crimson light, revealing a somber Teller and a tear-streaked, red-eyed Lily.
“Are either of you hurt?” Luther demanded.
Lily sniffled, and Teller shook his head. “Lily noticed the mortal healers acting strangely. She realized what was happening, and she shielded them to keep him out. Saved me, too. All by herself.” He looked at her with a doleful smile. “Told you that you were stronger than you think.”
Lily burst into tears. She threw herself against her brother, sobbing into Luther’s chest. He wrapped an arm around her and frowned at Teller, who looked away.