Chapter 34 Erik
ERIK
The city smoldered, smoke licking at the edges of the Sidhe stronghold as my army continued in their slow retreat.
I pulled back on the flames, not wanting to harm or destroy the homes of the citizens.
That was not why we entered the city. The shouts of soldiers filled the air, a mix of barked orders and panicked cries.
But what stopped me in my tracks wasn’t the clash of swords or the roar of battle. It was the people.
“Not this again,” I muttered under my breath.
Dozens of them swarmed from the narrow streets and alleys, a tide of untrained citizens.
Their trembling hands gripped kitchen knives, farming tools, anything sharp enough to draw blood.
Ash and tears stained their pale faces; trembling lips and wide eyes betrayed their terror. And yet, they advanced.
Fear permeated the air, a sickeningly sweet stench. I could see it in their darting eyes, hear it in the way their breaths hitched as they stepped forward. Terror lived in them, clawing at their insides, and yet something pushed them onward.
I raised my hand, summoning flames that danced along my fingertips. “Stop,” I commanded, my voice a growl that carried across the square.
They didn’t falter, as if I hadn’t spoken.
With a snap of my wrist, I sent a wave of fire spiraling toward them.
It wasn’t meant to harm, only to scare. The heat singed their brows and forced them back a few steps.
But even as they recoiled, they did not flee, and they moved forward again, their feet dragging as if against their will. Reeking of terror.
Something was wrong. My soldiers picked up on it as well, muttering amongst themselves while preparing to defend and fight.
I scanned the group of civilians, my attention catching on one who did not fit in with the rest.
At the back of the crowd, standing tall and unnervingly still, was a man cloaked in dark armor like a general.
His immaculate attire seemed untouched by the surrounding chaos, and his expression was a chilling mask of indifference.
He stared not at me or my soldiers, but at the trembling citizens, his unwavering gaze unrelenting.
Why wasn’t he focused on us, the supposed threat? Why would a warrior direct such intensity toward his own people?
Then it clicked.
Conjuring. He was controlling them.
The boldness in their trembling steps, the defiance in their terror-stricken faces wasn’t their own. It was him. His will coursed through them like invisible strings, forcing their fear-wracked bodies to advance. They weren’t fighting for survival or freedom. They were being used as puppets.
“Begin to back away, slowly.” I instructed my warriors closest to me. As long as this did not break into a full on battle where we were forced to slaughter innocents, then I could end it before it even began. I just needed a moment of focus.
The conjured flames coiling around my hand flared brighter, licking the air with dangerous intent. I pressed my thumb and pointer finger together, feeling the pulse of raw power surge through me, alive and waiting to be unleashed.
Power pooled within me, reaching past me, down a thread of energy to my target. My flames remained close, preparing to jump to the end of that thread. I would annihilate him.
The Sidhe’s eyes darted toward me, a flicker of realization breaking his concentration. Just for a moment, the strings he’d been pulling faltered.
Good. I wanted him to see me. The male who would end him.
With a snap of my fingers, my power tore free, crossing the distance between us like a bolt of pure wrath. The air crackled as it struck him dead center, a blinding surge of energy consumed him in an instant.
His scream barely formed, the sound ripped away before it could fully leave his throat.
I squinted against the brightness of the blaze, there one heartbeat and gone the next.
His body crumbled into ash, disintegrating into the wind, leaving nothing behind.
No evidence he’d ever stood there, only the faint whisper of smoke carried off by the breeze.
The crowd froze, their weapons clattering to the ground. Their gazes lifted to me, fear raw and unmasked. This time, they did not advance.
I let the flames dissipate from my hand and tried to keep my voice neutral as I said, “You are welcome to leave with us, if you wish.”
They scattered, disappearing into the narrow streets they had come from.
Some of my forces chuckled in response. They felt powerful, seeing the reflection of fear in the eyes of those who looked upon them. Yet I had never felt so weak. We had come to find my sister, to free Ariana, to free the people trapped here. Instead, we made the people fear us.
“Retreat.” The remnants of my army fell in line behind me.
As the last tendrils of ash dispersed in the wind, I caught a movement in the shadows just beyond the square. My gaze snapped to it, but before I could summon more flame, a figure stepped forward.
Iona.
Her blond hair was veiled by her cloak, her face half-hidden by the shadows, but I could see the faint curve of her lips. “Impressive,” she murmured. Despite the distance, I caught the amusement which laced her low voice. “You were always the most skilled out of the two of us.”
“Keep moving,” I instructed those around me, while keeping my eyes on the woman before me.
The last three years were evidently not as horrific to her as any of us imagined.
She stood, bold and appearing as healthy as ever.
It both relieved me to find her whole and disturbed me.
That she would bend her head for a different King, willingly following the man who had taken her from us, and do so by choice.
That was not something my mind had the time to wrap itself around yet.
My flames flickered at my fingertips as I watched her approach, though she cautiously clung to the shadows of the street. “Are there more like him? Controlling the citizens?” I asked, choosing to focus on what was easier.
She leaned casually against a broken column, as if we weren’t standing in the aftermath of death. “There are,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Two of them, nearby. I could show you.” She peered to where the general had stood. “You can easily incinerate them.”
“Why the sudden desire to help?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.
We were retreating, yet I could not ignore the value of ridding Sidhe conjurors with the power of manipulative control.
Standing against the Sidhe was going to be difficult enough without having those who wished to stay out of the fight being thrown at us.
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head, her gaze slipping past me as though she were measuring something unseen. Then her attention returned to mine. “Do you want to kill them or not?”
I held her gaze, searching for some hidden motive. “I do.” Maybe if the citizens were not so scared of being controlled, they would actually take a stand and leave this place.
“Then advance,” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And make it look convincing. Capture me. Drag me along if you have to. If anyone sees me with you, it needs to seem as though I’m here against my will.”
She truly intended to stay here, even though I could offer her an escape. I hesitated only for a moment before I reached for her arm. She didn’t flinch as my grip tightened around her wrist. This was the closest I had been to my sister in years, and yet it was as if she had never been farther away.
“If this is some ploy,” I warned, my voice a low growl.
“It’s not,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Believe what you will of me, the freedom of choice is not something I think should be taken from people.”
I yanked her forward, pulling her closer until she was firmly under my control. “Then what of the woman you had chained in your whorehouse?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I always left her with something sharp, in case she wished to slit her throat. The girl had a choice. And chose to remain chained to a bed instead.” Her cloak shifted as she stumbled, the effect perfectly false.
“Keep up,” I ordered, loud enough for any lurking eyes to hear, as I turned and began marching in the direction she indicated. I lowered my voice as I hissed, “You disgust me.”
“My heart breaks,” she muttered dryly.
We made our way through the darkened streets. The tension between us was substantial, though mostly on my behalf. She did not seem at all bothered by me or my presence. Iona kept pace beside me, her steps light and deliberate, as if she had already mapped out the path ahead.
“Is he truly dead?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I knew she meant of our father. “Yes.”
I should have left her wondering. Forced her to ask for every detail that she might have wanted, been curious about. She said nothing more, but I could feel her waiting, silently urging me to fill the void. And so, I did.
“After you disappeared,” I began, “Father sought the Oracle. He never shared with anyone exactly what he was told, only that you had been taken by the Sidhe King.” I glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction, but her expression remained veiled.
“He said he wouldn’t pursue you. That it was for the best—for all people.
We couldn’t go against him without challenging for the throne.
As soon as he passed, we planned to get you out of here. ”
Her silence stretched. I wanted to ask her what she thought of that—what she felt—but the words lodged in my throat, stubborn and unwilling.
Iona had always been the wild one, a storm with no intention of calming.
She shared a streak of recklessness with Iver, but there was something darker in her, something more precarious.
Unlike him, her unruliness came with a sharp edge, a sense of calculation that could turn perilous and cruel.