Chapter 63
Two things happen at once, so quickly I hardly have time to tell which is first.
Lucan’s hold on me relaxes, leaving behind cool air in stark contrast to his heat. I recognize his intention before he lurches forward. It’s the way he shifts his weight, the power gathering in his legs. Without thinking, I reach for him and manage to snag his wrist.
His wide eyes swing back to me, surprise flashing across his face like the sparks of Etherlight off a yellow dragon’s wings. I don’t release him, not even when his brow furrows and jaw sets. He strains like a dog at the end of a leash but doesn’t yet rip himself free.
“Let them go,” he snarls to the vicar. His voice is lower than I’ve ever heard, almost guttural—almost inhuman.
At nearly the same second, I feel the chill of metal underneath my chin. Ember has unsheathed the dagger she wore as part of her disguise as a Mercy Knight. The movement was so fluid I didn’t even see it happen, though my focus was on Lucan.
I go stone-still. Every breath is shallow. Is the blade fake and part of a disguise? Or, to make the disguise believable, did they get the real deal? I’m not going to risk a single movement to find out.
“You’re not the only one with something to bargain.” Ember’s voice is clear and unwavering. “Don’t move, or something will happen to your precious Valor Reborn.”
The knights across from us tense visibly as their eyes dart to the vicar, waiting for his reaction, palms hovering over their daggers. Even the muscles of Lucan’s forearm go rigid under my fingers. There’s a quiet horror in his expression as he looks at Ember.
She wouldn’t, would she? I can feel us both think at the same time.
The vicar lowers his chin, a shadow passing over his eyes.
But rather than scowling, his lips curl upward.
He smiles, as if utterly delighted by this turn of events, like a man who’s just uncovered a particularly fascinating artificer sigil to play with.
“Very well, let’s arrange some kind of deal. ”
“Don’t listen to him!” Pia urges, stance strong despite her bound wrists and the bruises across her face. “He will not—”
“Shut her up,” the vicar snaps, the pleasant facade falling away like a blanket.
The knight holding Pia yanks her back, an arm around her throat. She gasps, hands straining against their bindings to reach for the forearm constricting her throat, her face flushing red as she struggles to breathe.
“Look at how strong your vicar is, afraid of some words from an ashborn,” Dazni quips to the other knights.
“One more word from either of you, and it’ll be your last.” Another knight wields his dagger openly, pointing it at them both. These people aren’t going to be swayed from the Creed.
“Don’t you dare.” Ember shifts her grip on me and presses the dagger more fully into my throat, reminding them who really has control here.
Lucan practically vibrates with barely contained rage. He lets out a low growl, mouth fighting a snarl, eyes sweeping between Ember and the vicar. If I released my hold on him, I’m not sure if he’d lunge for the dagger at my throat or the vicar. Either way, it’d be the end of us.
“Enough.” The vicar’s gaze returns to me, even though Ember is the one holding the dagger. “This is between me and my Valor Reborn. The rest of you do not matter.”
“Excuse me?” Ember lets out a brief and disbelieving laugh. She pulls me a little closer, and I feel the blade kiss my flesh. “I’m the one with the weapon at her throat. Or are your eyes starting to fail you in your years?”
“You have no leverage here; we all know you’re not going to kill her.
” His lips twist past the point of smiling and into a sneer.
Pure triumph oozes off him. “You know what she is. Otherwise, why would you risk everything, including your lives, to steal her from me? But I’m afraid I’ve invested too much in her to let her go now. ”
He turns his fevered gaze on me, and I shudder.
“So, my negotiation is with you, Isola. Don’t let them deceive you into believing they have power.
Don’t even think about summoning your little flames.
It is my power that is absolute here. They won’t touch you because they need you alive, but we both know I will slaughter them without a second thought.
” He sweeps his eyes over Lucan and the twins before returning them to mine.
“It’s time to fulfill your destiny, your great calling, your birthright.” His voice is laced with hunger. “Agree to do as I say, and I will let them go free.”
Laughter nearly escapes me. Let them go free?
He already showed his hand seconds ago. This chaos is clearly throwing him off-balance.
I know all too well the vicar will kill them the moment he no longer needs me.
But I keep my composure. One crack and they’re dead.
They’re only breathing because he thinks they’re leverage over me.
And he’s not wrong… I won’t let them die if I can prevent it. But that doesn’t mean I will merely give up and do as he says.
He still thinks I’m weak. Naive. Pliable. A token in his game. But I’m not that girl anymore.
“All right,” I say, allowing some of the genuine worry I have about walking this dagger’s edge to inject into my voice to make it crack. I need to sound smaller than I feel if he’s going to believe this… “I’ll do as you wish, I swear it. Please don’t hurt them.”
Ember inhales sharply. “What?”
“Fight, you coward,” Myla breathes, dripping more venom than a green dragon’s fang.
“You can’t win.” I look at Ember from the corner of my eyes, gambling everything in the hopes that she’ll read between the lines.
If I manage to convince her, Myla will fall into place.
“You’re outnumbered and overpowered. Give in and beg for forgiveness from the Creed.
The vicar can be a merciful man to a reformed heart. ”
“If you think I will ever—” Ember starts with a snarl.
But she’s interrupted by Lucan. “She’s right.” Lucan slumps slightly, his posture going slack as if he’s seeing defeat. I can feel his tension—his defiance under my grip. But he plays his part. “We can’t win.”
Not right now. Not like this.
“Lucan?” Ember’s voice breaks on his name, equal measures confused and hurt. “What are you saying?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Myla adds with quiet horror.
“They’ve won. We’ve lost. It’s as simple as that, Ember,” he says flatly.
Then his eyes find mine.
Time halts for a breath, the silence between us roaring. He asks a question that I’m not sure I can answer with a heartbeat’s worth of staring alone. Do we trust each other? Even after what’s happened, can we work together?
I won’t let you die, Lucan. I feel it more than think it. As though my heart responds when my mind and my mouth cannot. I saved you once, and I’ll do it again. But you better not make me regret it.
His attention shifts back to Ember, and time seems to speed back up. “They have more power than you realize.”
“Listen to him,” the vicar counsels with practiced ease, but I don’t miss the edge in his voice. His monster within is clawing against the surface. “Lucan would intimately know our power, after all. Isn’t that right, son?” The vicar shifts toward the knights. “Take them all to the Grand Chapel.”
“Sir? Even the ashborn?”
“All of them,” the vicar snaps. His patience is wearing thin. “Their presence will ensure she does as she’s told.”
No one dares question him again.
Ember lowers the dagger at my throat. In the process, she murmurs for me alone, “You better know what you’re doing.”
So, she did figure out I was trying to send a message.
There’s no time for any kind of response.
The knights are upon us, disarming the three of them with stunning efficiency and knocking them to their knees.
Their arms are wrenched together, rope quickly tied around their wrists in front of them.
I press my lips shut to keep from speaking up for them.
Anything I could say would only make things worse.
Bound, they’re forced back to their feet. Even though their expressions are of reluctant surrender, I can see Lucan’s arms flexing against his binding, testing its strength. The Mercy Knights push them ahead, casting me cold, wary stares as they pass.
I’m left with the vicar, who now regards me like a vengeful god who’s weighing my fate. He reaches out with a bony hand and cups my cheek. His touch is cold and dry, with little more life than the dragon head in the sundering pits. I fight the urge to flinch and withdraw.
“Come,” he whispers. “To meet your destiny.”
He grips my elbow like a vile groom might escort an unwilling bride, leading me up and out of Mercy Spire.