Chapter 67
Zane
Blood was everywhere. In his hair, in his mouth, dripping off the point of his sword.
Zane didn’t know how many stars he’d been able to cut down, or what percentage of those he’d actually killed.
How many of them would heal from their injuries and rise to strike at the soldiers behind his back?
It was something he wouldn’t allow himself to think about, because he was already doing all he could.
Zane needed to trust the rest of their army to do their job as well.
Talon was beautiful with his red curls piled on top of his head and a determined expression on his face as he decimated the stars.
Occasionally, they would duck behind the group and take a quick break to catch their breath and drink some water—they were only human, after all, and they were going against impossibly strong creatures.
Then they would dive back into the fray.
It was during one of these brief reprieves that a screeching yell pierced through the din of battle. They both straightened and looked across the field to see a massive, bone-white wailer lumbering towards them.
How in the nine hells had the stars managed to not only capture a wailer and transport it from the Dead Lands but also somehow get it to agree to fight in their war?
But then Zane saw that it was swiping its long claws at humans and stars alike and realized that Rigil and the three other rulers didn’t care if the wailer killed some of their own.
Mass destruction and intimidation was their goal, and if they sacrificed their own people, then so be it.
His father had always operated on the same principles.
Maybe that was why it had irked Zane so much to see Rigil sitting within his home and on his throne.
Because it didn’t belong to those despots—it belonged to someone who would actually do right by the Athusan people.
Now, as if the stars weren’t enough, Zane would need to battle a fucking undead monster to win back his empire.
The other humans around them were panicking at the sight of the eight-foot wailer.
It was fearsome to behold, with an eyeless face, slits for a nose, and a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth.
Add in the long, gangly limbs and sinewy frame and it appeared to have been raised from the nine hells by Phaedros himself.
Zane glanced at Talon, a silent conversation occurring where they both realized they’d be responsible for killing this monstrosity. Nobody else had fought them before, and judging by their soldiers running away screaming, none of the others would step up to the challenge.
Running through the melee, they chased down the wailer.
Talon went around behind it and, sliding in the mud and gore on the ground, sliced into the meaty white calf.
The monster shrieked, and Zane had to hold himself back from covering his ears at the sound.
It turned towards Talon, so Zane hurriedly grabbed his bow and fired.
The arrow pierced the monster’s flesh at its right shoulder, sinking in up to the fletching.
Its eyeless face swiveled back to Zane, who nocked another arrow in his bow.
The wailer yanked the arrow free from its skin and flung it to the ground. Black blood oozed from the wound.
Its nostrils flared like a hound picking up a scent. “Zane,” it hissed. Its voice was raspy and garbled. Zane startled; he hadn’t realized the wailers were capable of speech. He loosed another arrow, this one hitting its left chest, inches shy from its heart. A curse fell from Zane’s lips.
The wailer chuckled, the sound like two rocks grating together. “Crown Prince Zane,” it said again.
“It’s Emperor Zane now,” he said, removing another arrow from his quiver. Talon was slowly maneuvering behind the monster, trying to find an opportunity to strike.
Already-thin lips stretched back from massive, sharp teeth in a sneer. That was when Zane noticed the tattered cape hanging off of the wailer’s shoulders. A circlet of thorns sat atop its head in a mockery of a crown.
“Father?” Zane whispered in disbelief. The tip of his arrow sank towards the ground as he stared at the monster his father had become. He wanted to ask how, but he knew how this had happened.
Uther had been killed in the Dead Lands. His body was left there when they all ran for the ship, and he fell victim to the curse on the land.
Why had the stars brought him here? Why bring back a monster who would fight Rigil for the throne?
Because now that Zane realized who the wailer had once been, he could still see his father within the monster—in the set of his shoulders and face scrunched in determination and anger.
It was a small mercy that the wailers had no eyes.
If Zane had to look into the icy blue gaze of his father, he might have broken down right there in the middle of battle.
And that’s when he understood why Rigil had deigned to bring Uther back from the Dead Lands.
It was all to torture and torment Zane. Well, he wasn’t going to let it work.
He’d defied his father before he died, and now he would do what he couldn’t before.
Zane would slay the monster.
With a yell that purged a lifetime of fear and hate, Zane drew his sword and rushed towards Uther.
His father was bigger than him now, but his lanky arms were slower.
Zane dodged a blow, spinning around the sharp claws, and slashed his blade through the sinewy wrist. The wailer shrieked again in pain as its hand dangled, only being held onto its body by the barest threads.
But it only served to make the monster angrier.
It swung its good arm at Zane again, and he was forced to dive into the mud to avoid being gutted.
A flash of red alerted him to Talon’s presence.
The soldier danced around the wailer, making small cuts anywhere he could reach, then darting away again before he could be caught.
“Talon!” Zane shouted. The other man never slowed his motions, but Zane knew he was listening. “It’s Uther! The wailer is Uther!”
Tal’s eyes widened a fraction as he faltered half a step. Uther spun towards him, the tattered cloak snapping around his body. “You,” he hissed. “You turned my son against me.”
“And I would do it again,” Tal said, raising his sword. “Every single time, I would do it again to help him defeat you. You’ll never hurt him again, Uther. I won’t allow it.”
The wailer bent at the waist and screeched directly in Talon’s face.
Its long arm, tipped with deadly claws, reached towards him.
Zane saw it all in slow motion, like he was back in the Dead Lands watching Tal jump in front of Emmeric to save him.
Talon would sacrifice himself again if it meant Zane could live.
But he would go down swinging. The set of his shoulders and determination on his face told Zane he would fight until the last second.
He couldn’t let that happen.
“No!” Zane screamed, and he ran towards the wailer; towards his father who had been a monster both in life and now in death. Zane refused to let Uther take anything else away from him.
Holding his sword in one hand and an arrow in the other, he sprinted towards the towering beast. He slammed the arrow into the wailer’s calf, causing it to screech and stumble.
The arm that was swinging for Talon went wide, missing him entirely.
But Zane couldn’t stop to breathe; he needed to stop this monster from killing anybody else.
Zane slashed at the opposite heel, slicing through the thick tendon and making Uther fall to his knees.
The injured arm swung around, hitting Zane in the stomach, knocking him backwards and spraying him with the thick black blood.
Arcing his sword above his head, Zane brought it down on the mangled wrist to sever the hand completely.
Uther cried out, but didn’t stop his attack.
On his knees, he was now the same height as Zane, which gave the new emperor the opportunity he needed.
Steel whistled through the air before his sword sliced deep into the wailer’s neck.
It didn’t cut all the way through, so Zane drew the sword back—oddly reminiscent of the first man Uther had made him kill, when he couldn’t behead the criminal with one strike.
The screeching continued, and Uther reached with his good arm, clasping Zane within his grasp.
Air whooshed out of his lungs as his ribs were squeezed, almost to a breaking point, and sharp claws punctured his skin.
But his arm remained free. With a mighty yell that Zane ripped from the depths of his soul, he put the rest of his power into one last strike.
The blade slid through what remained of Uther’s neck with no resistance.
The screeching was cut short, and the wailer’s body fell to the side.
Thick, black blood soaked into the grass.
The hand that was tight around Zane’s midsection loosened, and he took in a deep breath. He’d done it. Zane had done what he couldn’t do in the Dead Lands; he’d killed his father. It was over.
A barely audible sound alerted Zane to the impending danger of a blade approaching his own neck, but he didn’t have time to recover or raise his sword to protect himself.
Steel clashed against steel in his ear, and he glanced to his side to see Talon locked in a battle with a star—a fierce look on his face.
Tal shoved the star away and, in one swift motion, beheaded him.
He turned to Zane and glanced over his entire body. “Are you hurt?”
Zane gripped the beautiful face of this man that he loved deeply. “I’m okay. Only small wounds.”
Talon sighed, then crashed his lips against Zane’s. It was brief, but struck through Zane like lightning. They had a brief reprieve to take stock of what was happening. The wailer had cleared a swath near them, but soon the stars would realize the monster was dead and return.
The sight was grim. Stars were everywhere; some of them flicked in and out of existence, killing humans within a second, then disappearing. Their side was losing. Badly.
“We need to use the Lurra,” Talon said.
Zane shook his head. “Only if things are dire.”
Tal motioned to the massacre happening in front of them. “Things seem pretty fucking dire, Zane.” He gripped his shoulders, and blue eyes pierced Zane’s soul. “I know the unknown is terrifying. But I don’t think we have any other choice.”
Clasping his hand behind Talon’s neck, Zane drew their brows together until they touched. “You’re with me?”
“Always, my heart. Until the very end.”
Zane took a deep breath and pulled the unassuming box from his pack.
The only thing holding it together was the broken lock hanging askew.
He was glad that he could not hear the agonized screaming emanating from the box like the stars could.
Before he could do anything with it, a group of stars noticed they were standing on their own and marched towards them.
Talon shifted in front of him and raised his sword. “You deal with the Lurra. I’ll deal with the stars.”
A figure stepped out next to them from the shadows. Zane relaxed when he saw it was Scuti. The stoic star took one glance at the wailer, then assessed the situation with the other stars. He nodded to the two men.
“You need to open that box. I’ll keep the stars occupied to buy you time.”
“There’s close to thirty stars in that group, Scuti,” Zane said. “You’ll be killed.”
Scuti nodded in resignation. “Then I will finally be with my beloved again.” Looking between the two of them, he said, “Good luck.” Then he was gone as his shadows enveloped him, carrying him directly into the middle of the stars.
The spymaster lashed out with swords and shadows. His maroon hair glinted in the sun as blood rained upon his skin. Multiple stars fell, but it was only a matter of time until he was overrun.
With great apprehension, Zane slid the lock free from the front of the Lurra and cracked the box.
It slid open on quiet hinges. Then the lid was ripped out of Zane’s hands as a large, amorphous cloud of darkness poured free.
Zane held it as far away from his body as he could, the box vibrating with the force leaving it.
The giant cloud amassed above them, faces and hands seen in the deep blackness, pushing against the boundary and trying to break free. Lurra meant ‘soul.’ These were trapped souls—whether human or some other creature, Zane couldn’t tell. It hovered there, seemingly waiting for instructions.
“Please,” Zane called, not knowing if this would work or if he was about to die. “We need help to defeat the stars. Leave the humans, but please if you could find a way to kill the stars, we would be forever in your debt.”
It must have worked, because the cloud screamed a cacophony of a thousand different voices and then darted away from them.
Pieces broke off and targeted groups of stars, leaving piles of bodies.
Humans stood around the dead stars they had just been battling, dazed.
A large portion of the Lurra speared towards the group that Scuti was engaging.
They could still see him fighting hard; his sword and shadows were a blur of motion.
The darkness surrounded them completely for several seconds, and all Zane and Talon could do was watch until it finally departed. Then they were running towards the pile of bodies left on the ground.
There, in the midst of the rest of them, Scuti lay unmoving—the Lurra had killed all the stars, not differentiating friend from foe. His eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on his lips. Zane hoped he was able to find his astalle in the Everlands.
The men couldn’t tarry because a star loyal to them had fallen. The Lurra could only do so much, and there were still enemies to fight. Zane and Talon dove back into the fray.