Chapter 35 Keldarion
Keldarion
Hatred like I’ve never known pierces through me. Sira hovers within a skirt of shadows, making her appear ten feet tall. How can I not hate her when her every act only further showcases my incompetence as ruler?
I’ve tried again and again and again to make the best choice.
To prove to my father, my people, myself, that I understand what it takes to bear the mantle of high ruler.
And again and again and again, I am thwarted.
I thought trusting Caspian decades ago was the right choice.
I thought hiding myself in Castletree would protect my people.
I thought attempting negotiations was the honorable course of action.
Instead, Sira uses every good intention I have as a blade against my own heart.
My knuckles turn white against the hilt of the Sword of the Protector. This must end.
“Cas, look at me. Look at me, Cas.” Rosalina’s voice trembles beside me.
I turn to see her holding Caspian’s head in her hands, trying to get him to focus. But his eyes are wild as a rabbit’s, skin drained of all color.
“You need to hide. Are you listening to me, Cas? Don’t let her see you. Go now,” she urges.
But Caspian doesn’t respond. Instead, he seems frozen in place, his face a mask of fear.
Roughly, I grab him by the nape of his neck and force him to look at me. “Go,” I command.
His gaze locks with mine. Somehow, within the depths of my stare, he finds what he’s searching for. Caspian nods, then without looking back at us, he rises into the air on two spindly briars. A rope coils down from the airship, and I watch him grab it and be pulled over the edge.
I allow myself a breath to study Sira. She moves like a phantom, wavering to and fro near the bridge house.
Near Uncle Irahn. My uncle is in the midst of delivering the finishing blow against an underfae, then he dodges the attack of another. I see the moment he spots Sira. The hateful, determined flash in his eyes. It’s exactly what I feel.
“No, Uncle, don’t do it,” I murmur.
He dodges under the swords of his assailants, charging his new target. Charging the one responsible for the attack that killed his sister, my mother.
Rosalina grabs my arm, and I look at her. No words said out loud or in our minds are needed. We are of twin purpose.
We must get to Irahn.
Rose and I charge forward. Dual serpents of golden briars swell at her command, both attacking underfae warriors and wrapping around our waists to boost us up over crowded areas of the bridge.
The Sword of the Protector has never been swung with such deadly precision.
The screams of my uncle’s loyal soldiers pierce the air.
Where once this bridge was swarming with the white capes of the Deep Guard, now all I can see is the mottled camouflage armor of the underfae.
Faster. Faster. We have to get to him. I barely look where I’m swinging, my focus so intent on Sira. I watch the cruel smile carve up her face as she spots Irahn. She must know he’s the one who’s protected the Great Chasm for decades. The one who’s kept her monsters from spilling out.
My breaths come ragged, and there’s a tempest storming in my chest. I’d be faster as the wolf. Could barrel through this crowded bridge. But I feel that wildness and understand with grim reality that if I give in to it, the beast will take not only my body but my mind.
I can’t lose myself.
“Begone! Bother yourself with other Winter vermin. This one is mine,” Sira’s voice, low and smoky, commands from across the bridge. The underfae pursuing Irahn fall back.
Faustrius said they were allies, not servants to Sira’s rule. But clearly, she has some authority over his people.
Irahn swings his sword. Despite his wizened face and gray hair, he moves with the agility of a young man. “Long have I kept your monsters at bay, Sira, demoness. This bridge will never fall into the hands of darkness.”
Sira circles him, her vaporous skirt casting shadows across his face. “Oh yes, all those decades of your life out here in the cold and wind and barren solitude. Such a waste. Your plans…overrun in a matter of minutes.”
“Not while I still live!” Irahn roars, then charges her with an arcing swing. She whips past him, his sword catching the edges of her shadows. Again, he surges at her with a series of strikes. But she’s as fast as a blinking star.
Irahn backs up, hitting the flagpole. The ten-foot pike shakes, but the flag never wavers. It continues its valiant flapping, bearing the sigil of Winter. My sigil.
I’m thrust up in the air by Rosalina’s briars. My sword comes down, catching an underfae right at the neck, severing arteries. My feet find purchase again, muscles straining as I run. Almost there. I’m almost at him.
Irahn yells as he thrusts out with his sword. Sira whips around him, switching places. Irahn’s back is now to the guard tower. Sira’s like a damned phantom. There’s no fighting her with a blade.
At least not a normal blade.
I look down at the Sword of the Protector, this divine weapon forged with holy ore of the Above. Sira is darkness and shadow and a void where things go to die. This blade was made to save the Vale.
I’m going to start by saving the best man in it.
Beside me, Rosalina’s fallen behind, blocked by a spear-wielding underfae. She shouts at me to keep running, then shoots out another briar, wrapping around my waist and boosting me forward. I draw the sword over my head, so close to Sira now. I see her pale neck—
Sira grabs the flagpole. With a horrible snap, she breaks it off near the base, then admires the sharpened wooden point.
“Goodbye, warden,” Sira rasps. “Winter will fall. Die, knowing your entire life was a waste.”
“No!” I scream.
Sira rams the sharp point of the flagpole through my uncle’s chest. His final breaths whip into the wind, carrying the hope of Winter with them.