Chapter 16 #2
“You dare,” I snarled and launched at him, a blur of shadow and wrath, my claws poised to strike him down for sealing my spell, ripping it from me as the seelie had ripped my bond with Saphira.
“This is quite the tantrum.” Oberon’s silver eyes flashed as I appeared before him.
His hand came up to easily knock mine off course before I could slit his throat open with my talons.
“I thought it might be you,” he drawled in that mocking way of his and I snarled in response, sounding as much the beast as I felt as I attacked him, getting nowhere.
He blocked every blow, dancing with me, mocking me in that regard too.
He smiled before he pirouetted around me, his voice close to my ear.
“Let it all out, friend. Unleash it here. I can take it.”
I was on him in a flash, little more than smoke on the wind, a roar that was half-fury, half-grief tearing from me as I slashed at him, as I pulled rocks from the sands to hurl them at him.
As I tore the heavens down, ripping those hiding stars from the vault of darkness, slamming them into the ground. He dodged every blow, every rock, every star. Too fast for me to strike him as I wanted. Frustration mounted, and he saw it.
This time, when I came at him, he did not dodge. He met me head on. He met me blow for blow, matching my strength, that look in his silver gaze telling me to do as he had said.
Let it out. All of it. On him.
I did.
Shadows tore from the ground, wrapping around his arm, halting his blow, and he turned them on me, snaring my wrist when I went to punch him.
I growled and flashed fangs, and attacked again, unrelenting.
Trying to make him bleed. Lost to the darkness that fogged my mind, drowning in the pain that burned my soul to ashes.
I gave him all of it, every drop of my rage and my grief, and he seemed to anticipate it all, every blow I tried to land on him, dancing with me until the darkness beckoned for another reason.
Oberon caught my fist when I went to hit him, his grip loose enough that I could have followed through with the blow if I had only had the strength. I had to lock my knees to keep myself from collapsing into the sands as I leaned my weight into his palm, breathing hard, too exhausted to continue.
The rage ebbed, leaving only a hollow sort of numbness.
My legs failed me.
Oberon caught me, and darkness engulfed us, cool and comforting.
When it receded, we were standing outside Wanderer’s Keep, far from where we had been. Oberon leaned me against the curved black wall of the tower and turned away from me.
“Let us fix this mess, shall we?” He lifted a hand to the sky, and slowly the crack in the heavens healed and the stars retook their place.
And that orb of dreadful magic I had summoned, pouring all of my fury into it, shattered.
The power it had contained devoured by the sands of the Wastes.
“Come now.” Oberon returned to me, wrapped his arm around my waist and draped my arm over his shoulder, and helped me towards the open door of the tower, up the sand-dusted steps.
“I shall make some tea and you can tell me why you just attempted to destroy this realm. I will hazard a guess that this has to do with that little wolf of yours. All of Lucia would have felt that little tantrum of yours, you know?”
“Good,” I snarled and trudged up the steps.
“Would you really have done it?” Oberon stopped at the door and looked at me.
I looked back at the dishevelled sands that still glowed faintly with a copy of my markings that were my bond with Lucia, with the Great Mother, and this land.
Markings that were unique to me. Anyone venturing to the Wastes before the sands covered those markings would know it was me who had shaken this realm.
Who had wanted to destroy it.
“Yes.” I frowned and shook my head. “No.”
“Which is it?” He marched me into the tower.
“No,” I muttered.
“I am guessing that your reluctance to detonate that magical cataclysm also has to do with the little wolf.” Oberon set me down in a worn armchair in the middle of the cramped circular room and went to the fireplace.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall have to thank her when I next see her, for I am rather fond of being alive.” He lit the fire with magic and placed a metal kettle on the stand, pushing it near the roaring flames, and then looked at me as if he had expected me to respond to his mention of my beautiful little wolf and was concerned his attempt to provoke me had not worked.
“You are a male of few words tonight. How unlike you.”
“Tired.” It was all I could muster as a reply.
He chuckled. “I am not surprised. Gallivanting around the Wastes and pushing all your power into a bomb capable of incinerating half this realm would do that to you. I have something that can help with that.”
I sank into the armchair, trying not to think about Saphira, about our shattered bond, watching him move around the room to distract myself. He pulled several clay jars and glass bottles from the shelves above a sideboard and placed them into a circular mesh strainer before sealing it shut.
Would I have done it? Would I have unleashed that cataclysm upon this realm?
I did not know.
Some wretched part of me would have revelled in all that destruction, and that was not good. Not me. Not anymore.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back into the padded rear of the armchair, exhaling slowly, seeking that glimmer of light and good that Saphira had seen in me—that my sister believed still existed within me, not banished and killed as I had thought, but merely hiding, waiting for someone to draw it back to the surface.
My body had never felt so numb, so heavy. It had never felt so hollow.
I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep until Saphira was back with me, resting in a dormant state, so I could not listen to the darkness that coated my every thought, every feeling, painting them in dangerous shades of abyssal black.
I did not possess the strength to lift my hand before me to look at the dark claws and onyx that stained my fingers, or those markings that tracked down the underside of them to my palm, so I let my head drop that way instead to stare at them.
How quickly my darker side had come to the fore.
How quickly my pain had stolen all control from me.
This was not good at all.
I was stronger than this.
Perhaps Oberon was right, but he had been wrong about the timeframe.
I had been throwing a tantrum from the moment Saphira had been taken from me, rather than acting as I should have and using my experience and knowledge to strategically form a plan that would see me successfully taking her back while keeping my court safe.
“Drink.” Oberon shoved a small clay cup at me, almost splashing the bitter floral contents all over my arm as it sloshed towards me. “All of it.”
I huffed and tried to shrug, but my body refused to cooperate.
Oberon set the drink down beside me on a small wooden table. “Then tell me when you are ready and I shall pour it down your throat.”
“Temper,” I muttered, in no mood to be pushed, not when my control was so fragile and liable to break under the slightest pressure.
“You are one to talk. I am not the one who just threw a cataclysmic temper tantrum.” He lifted the cup again and blew on it, glaring down at me.
I had the feeling I had disturbed his rest or solitude, and now he knew that I would be fine, I was going to pay for it.
Among other things. I glanced at the blows I had managed to land on him, cleaving gashes in his black tunic and trousers, aware I bore similar wounds.
Every place I had manage to strike him, he had struck me in return, and each wound stung as it fought to heal, the process slowed by how much magic I had expended.
“It is cool enough now.” His harsh tone admonished me as much as his expression as he took my right hand, pressed the cup into it, and lifted it towards my lips.
“Drink. It will restore your strength and help you heal, and then you can tell me what you had been thinking to unleash so much destructive power on this land.”
I did as ordered, unwilling to disobey Oberon. I had seen his darker side, the one that came out when he had been pushed too hard, and I did not want to meet with it tonight.
He had gone easy on me out there in the Wastes.
If he had wanted it, he could have taken me down in a tenth of the time, but instead he had let me wear myself out, giving me a fight I had badly needed to expunge my violent emotions and claw back some control.