Chapter 78 #2
I heard Diem’s panicked voice and realized, with growing dread, that it had come from the side of the battlefield closest to Ophiucae.
I hurried my pace, practically shoving the poor healer toward Aemonn when we arrived.
She gawked at Zalaric, then at me, then back at him, both of us still wearing Diem’s face.
“Don’t just stand there,” he yelled at her. He opened the shield around Aemonn. “Save him. Your Queen commands it!”
She shook her head in bewilderment, then crept to Aemonn’s side and set to work. I spun to Zalaric. “This illusion—how many people can you transform?”
“Many,” he admitted, “but if Ophiucae sees what I’ve done, he might order his soldiers to kill anyone who looks like her. It would put the real Diem at risk.”
I gazed across the battlefield. Ophiucae was staring at the sky, where Luther and Sorae were locked in battle with his gryvern.
“Do it,” I said. “I’ll distract him.” I dropped my knife, then pulled another from my thigh and two from my boots, dumping them at Zalaric’s feet.
“Auralie, no—you can’t face him unarmed.”
“I can only face him unarmed.”
I stared up at him, looking at my daughter’s face but only seeing the little boy I’d ferried to Umbros, his frail body fighting for life as we sailed across the Sacred Sea. I smuggled countless orphans to safety over the years, but none had been as hard to leave behind as him.
My voice turned softer. “I prayed the Old Gods would send you a family who cherished you, Zalaric. I couldn’t be happier that it ended up being mine.”
His throat bobbed. “I don’t want to lose another mother.”
I gave his cheek a gentle pat. “I’m a stubborn old bird. The Undying Fire will have to wait until my work is done.”
I left before the silver pooling in his eyes made me doubt my plan, and I ran for my life. My daughter’s likeness shimmered around me, cloaking faces as I sprinted by, while Ophiucae’s soldiers staggered in fruitless search of someone that his orders allowed them to kill.
I pushed myself harder, thighs burning, joints aching, in obstinate defiance of my exhaustion and my age. Somewhere nearby, my daughter’s voice called out again, and newfound energy surged. My plan had put Diem at risk—I had to make that risk worthwhile.
Ophiucae grew nearer, and the magic thrumming over my skin began to fade. I jogged to a stop, fearing I’d gone as far as Zalaric’s illusion could reach. Ophiucae’s soldiers looked at me and cocked their heads.
“Ophiucae,” I shouted.
Slowly, his stare turned to me.
I took a few more steps. Zalaric’s magic flickered, and Ophiucae’s soldiers lifted their blades.
“You have a debt to pay,” I called out. “I’ve come to call it in.”
His eyes narrowed. “Auralie,” he growled.
I strode forward, steeling my shoulders as the illusion around me stretched and snapped away.
In seconds, I was surrounded. The sky disappeared beneath a mass of bodies as Ophiucae’s army clambered to tear me limb from limb.
Hands scratched at my face and yanked at my hair, while roots cracked like whips against my back.
It was only the godstone breastplate that kept their blades from slicing through my chest.
A hand closed around my ankle, and excruciating pain radiated up my leg. The nauseating rot of Fortos magic filled the air, igniting memories of the brutal interrogations I’d faced while imprisoned and the Fortos King’s sinister smile each time I was healed so his torture could start again.
The Guardians had declared me a hero for refusing to break, but in the delirium of agony, breaking had ceased to be a conscious choice. I would have confessed even for crimes I didn’t commit just to make it stop.
What stilled my tongue during those endless hours of pain wasn’t courage or strength—it was my children.
So many of my secrets had been crafted to keep them safe, and I didn’t know which revelations would bring an end to my torment and which would bring a start to theirs.
My loyalty to the Guardians, apparently, shamefully, had its limits. My love for my family did not.
So I clung to them now, as I did then, and I fought.
For Diem and Teller, who I’d cherished from the day they drew breath, I dug in my heels and pushed against the soldiers’ crushing weight.
For Taran, who needed me when his world was dark, I grappled to block the wrists of swinging blades.
For Luther and Lily and Zalaric, the hearts who’d made my children whole, I ignored the magic that stung my skin.
For Eleanor and Alixe, who’d comforted them when I couldn’t, I endured the pain.
And I screamed as I broke through the horde—for Henri, the boy I’d embraced like a son, for whom my hatred and my love had twisted like twine.
Ophiucae raised a hand, and the soldiers around me stilled. “What a shame our daughter isn’t here for this lovely reunion,” he said, chuckling darkly.
I collapsed to my knees, clutching a wound on my arm. “You don’t deserve to call her ‘our daughter.’”
His smile twisted into a sneer. “You stabbed me and left me on that island to rot. You took my child away. You didn’t even tell her I existed.”
“I did what I had to do to protect her from the Crowns,” I rasped. “And from you.”
He walked to me and crouched, bringing his face to mine. “That was your greatest betrayal—that you ever believed I would hurt her.”
After twenty-one years, I’d forgotten how entrancing his eyes could be. Ash-grey and glowing, the color of lava as it began to cool. And just as deceptive a risk—a rocky exterior, paper-thin around its molten core.
“You’ve hurt Diem in ways you can’t begin to understand.” The quiver in my voice betrayed a pain that was more than physical. “We both have.”
Gryverns roared overhead, and his gaze drifted upward. I grabbed his wrist to keep his focus on me.
“I made you a promise that I would find a way to free you,” I said. “I kept it, did I not? You would still be in chains if not for me and Diem. You owe your freedom to us both.”
A slight smile teased at his lips, though I couldn’t tell if my pleas were working, or if he was a predator toying with his food before he pounced. “And what do you want in repayment?”
“I want you to stop this,” I begged. “Punish me, if that will bring you peace. But do not punish Diem. There are people here that she loves.”
His features softened. “It is difficult, isn’t it?
Making choices we know will cause them pain in order to spare them a greater loss.
I lost my home because my people refused to cleanse it of its evil.
Your people lost theirs to my siblings’ offspring and their greed. I will not let Diem lose hers.”
I thought of my husband and the cottage we’d built on the marsh, and my eyes burned. “Land alone is not a home. Not without the people on it. If all that’s left is Emarion’s soil, you’ll take from her the only home that matters.”
He looked at me, his shadowed eyes swirling with something that was both a desperate plea and a dangerous threat.
“Her people will demand that she lock me up. They will turn on her if she doesn’t.
” His voice dropped to a murmur. “I can’t go back to that cell, Auralie.
I will burn this world to the ground before I let that happen. ”
“A parent doesn’t burn their child’s world, Ophius,” I said, dragging the affectionate nickname I’d once bestowed on him out from its buried depths. “They throw their body on the fire to spare their child the flames.”
He leaned back as a deep crease formed between his brows. The light emanating from his skin faded to a faint, silvery glow. I felt like I was right back on that island, watching Ophiucae hold a dagger over our baby girl’s heart and wondering if I was about to lose her forever.
“I have a gift!”
The world screeched to a halt.
Time stood still. The wind refused to blow, the sun ceased its blistering shine—at least for me. Even my heart seemed to still, not even daring to tremble.
Teller walked past the frozen soldiers, shirtless and covered in wounds. He stared at Ophiucae and held up Diem’s sword. “Here. This is for you.”
A cry of all-consuming terror ripped from my lungs. I threw myself toward my son, but Ophiucae’s shadows caught me by the waist and yanked me back.
“The rogue Bellator son,” Ophiucae said, standing. “I hoped our paths might cross again.”
Teller flashed a tentative smile. “You must be pretty angry about that whole trying to kill you thing. In my defense, it didn’t work. You’re alive, so . . . no harm done?”
Ophiucae growled.
Teller swallowed.
“Have you come to try again?” Ophiucae asked.
Teller shook his head. With his other hand, he pulled two knives, each of them coated with a scarlet paste, and tossed them out of reach.
“Those won’t kill you anyway. You’re immortal.
Only Diem can do that. And I’m pretty sure she needs this to do it.
” He held the sword out. “So here’s your chance to take it. ”
“Teller, run—”
My words were cut short by a swath of shadow wrapping over my mouth.
Teller’s smile tightened. “It’s a trade. I give you this sword. In exchange, you spare my family’s lives.”
Ophiucae pointed at the battlefield. “You’re willing to let the rest of them die?”
“If you have the sword, Diem can’t stop you. She’ll have to surrender. Then no one else will have to—” Teller paused. “Then we can end this war. You, me, and Diem.”
Ophiucae tutted approvingly. “I heard you were the smarter of your siblings. So was I. It’s a curse, isn’t it, to know so much in a world that understands so little?”
Teller’s gaze drifted to me, something apologetic hiding within it. “Yes,” he murmured, “it is.”
My eyes bulged in a frantic attempt to warn him not to trust Ophiucae’s calm. It was a vicious creature, the kind that stalked and watched and laid its trap before it struck.
Ophiucae beckoned him forward. Despite my shrieks of protest, Teller approached, eyes low. He bent at the waist in an awkward bow and offered up the sword.