Chapter 81 #3
I looked over the structure. While serving as Remis’s High General during Diem’s exile, he’d ordered me to pull a ballista from the Royal Guard’s armory that had been gathering dust since the Blood War.
He’d insisted that it was just to scare Diem off from returning to the palace with her mother and getting herself killed by the Emarion Army, though I’d never been entirely confident that he wouldn’t use it.
It had, however, given me a chance to study the weapon up close and learn how it worked.
The rebels had been clever enough to anticipate something like this—they’d built a frame around the ballista’s sides to protect the curved arms of its bow.
However, the handle of the tightening wench had been damaged in the fall.
I could fire the bolt that had already been loaded, but then the ballista would be no more useful than a pile of firewood.
“We’ve got one shot,” I told him. “It has to count—if I don’t hit the gryvern’s heart, it won’t be enough to kill him. Can you find a way to draw him close?”
“I suppose now is the time to confess that I saved a little bit of my magic, in case I needed it to get out of this alive.” His stare rose to the darkened sky. “Drusila was right. I am a selfish prick.”
“You’re not selfish, Symond. Maybe you can use your magic to—”
“Sorry, High General. You’re on your own here.” He turned on his heel and walked into the haze. “May the Blessed Father forgive me.”
“Symond, wait,” I shouted. “Come back! Symond!”
The smoke enveloped him, and he was gone.
Panic began to rise. I climbed off the ballista and searched the area, shouting for soldiers to help me, but the rebel bombs had sent everyone in the area running to get away.
I managed to find Cordellia, her body slumped on its side.
I felt for her pulse—strong, thank the gods, and no serious wounds that I could see, but no matter how hard I shook her, she wouldn’t respond.
In my war against fear, the tide took a decisive turn.
My magic and my allies had abandoned me, and my hope wasn’t far behind.
I considered calling a retreat—praying for Diem to save us, begging Ophiucae for mercy if she didn’t.
A wise general would cut their losses and save what lives they could. I knew Diem wouldn’t blame me if I did.
But no matter how bad things got for her, she had never given up. When the Centenaries had played their dinner game and asked her which of us she’d save if we were trapped in a fire, she hadn’t missed a beat.
All of us, she’d said. She’d run into the flames, again and again, until every last person was safe.
I ran to the ballista and shoved the launch arm down, pointing the bolt as high as it would go. “Xipherus,” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The gryvern ignored me, circling over the western front and gleefully spewing flames.
“Xipherus,” I shouted again, waving my arms. “Over here!”
Still nothing. He was either too far away to hear me or too engrossed in burning my army to care.
“Xipher—”
A crack of lightning shot from the sky and struck the ground a few feet in front of me, sending a cloud of sparks flying into the air. I stilled in surprise—then held my breath as Xipherus’s slitted eyes slid across the battlefield.
“Over here,” Symond’s voice rang out in the darkness.
Another bolt of lightning splintered from the clouds and snapped against Xipherus, scorching his hide. In the brief flash of light it cast, I spotted Symond standing just ahead, gripping a Sophos Descended by the temples.
“Get over here and fight me, you ugly lizard,” Symond yelled.
With an outraged snarl, the beast flared its wings and turned toward him—toward us.
Symond glanced at me over his shoulder. “Take your shot, High General.”
I nodded, gripping the ballista’s controls with both hands.
The gryvern speared closer, steel-grey fire smoldering in its throat.
It cracked its jaws to prepare a flood of flames, and I steadied my aim on its chest, shifting one hand to the trigger.
One shot to the heart. One shot to save my people.
Symond’s hands went slack, and the Descended whose magic he’d commandeered collapsed at his feet. He turned his back to the approaching gryvern and stared at me, expression solemn.
This was my war to finish now.
I’d spent my life fighting my Corbois name. I’d been so desperate to prove that my accomplishments were earned, not gifted, that my name had become a burden. In many ways, a mark of shame.
But I could make it something to be proud of.
I was Alixe Corbois.
Like the sigil of my House, I was a phoenix.
And like my Queen, I would not fear the flames.
Xipherus opened his jaws again, and a wave of dragonfyre came surging toward us.
“Now!” Symond yelled as the flames engulfed him.
Twang.
The ballista fired.
A massive beast collapsed against the soil.
The excruciating pain of the fire that consumed my body faded into a comforting, everlasting warmth, and I finally felt pride for the name I bore.
In the darkness of my mind, Andrei Bellator appeared with Teller at his side. They smiled, extending their hands toward me.
And together, they welcomed me home.