Chapter 36 #2
Finally, cold iron. She gripped her sword and jabbed.
The point pierced the creature’s flesh—but didn’t stop, nor slow its gnawing.
She screamed at the stabbing pain. Pointed teeth had finally shredded the leather, sawing into her flesh.
She pulled her sword free and struck again, this time aiming for its eyes, rather than its fleshy, jellied body.
Skull, brain matter, and blood sprayed over her as the creature went limp. She hacked at it until its skull parted from its jawbone, and only then could she force the jaw to release her leg.
She pushed herself to standing, and hissed. Her shin was possibly fractured, every step was agony.
Another beast came for her. She fought it off. Another. Blood, dirt, and screams surrounded her as she focused on just fucking staying alive. Keeping their teeth and talons away from her limbs and throat.
Then, she heard a roar. Audra twirled, her heart beating a wild, erratic drumbeat in her ears, her arms numb from swinging her sword again and again.
At some point, having finished off the deserters, Callista demons had begun attacking from behind. And then, she saw an Aithne demon had joined the fray. Fuck, one Aithne caste would mow through them all, but …
It wasn’t just any Aithne demon.
Zhaire.
What the ever-loving fuck was he doing here?
Zhaire swept through her fellow initiates as if they were wheat and he a scythe, his sword gleaming sapphire under the bright sky. He was lethality made manifest: a pommel-strike dropped one boy; a fluid, liquid twist of his black armor and two others tumbled like stones.
A shadow flickered to Audra’s left. An Ishean construct—impossibly long-limbed, strides eating up the distance as it hurled toward her.
The construct roared, raising its weapon high, preparing to bring it down on her chest. Audra screamed, her own blade rising too slowly. It would cleave her in two.
An incra flared, unbidden, within her mind. Inside her, the dark magic lunged, writhing against her ribs like a trapped beast. No. The Ishean was a construct—a void, hollow of life. Her magic would pass right through it and hunt for the nearest living souls: her friends.
She clamped down on the power, bracing for impact. Audra would rather die than let the rot loose.
She braced for the end, but instead of steel meeting bone, a violent crack of rebounding metal exploded in front of her. She opened her eyes. A sapphire blade had intercepted the Ishean’s strike. In the same breath, a clawed hand lashed out, severing the construct’s head in one savage swipe.
Zhaire stood over the dissolving remains, wearing a wild, maniacal grin, his black locs whipping in the wind.
He had saved her.
Time seemed to still as he traced an incra in the air. A high-pitched whine pierced the din of battle, and Audra’s ears popped as a shimmering shield snapped into place around them.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“I don’t like being interrupted,” Zhaire said. “And this way, we won’t be overheard.”
“We are in the middle of a battle, are you ma—”
The world tilted. Quick as an adder, Zhaire’s boot swept her good leg. Audra hit the dirt with a whump, air driven from her lungs. She scrambled to raise her sword, but he just chuckled and flicked the steel aside. Her weapon flew, clattering against the shimmering shield with a hollow ting.
An elegant flick as he swept his cloak aside, and knelt above her, pinning her hips with his knees. The edge of his blade kissed her throat.
“Heiress.” A click of his tongue. “This won’t do.”
“Get off me, fucker!” Audra shoved at his chest, but he was rooted as a tree. His free hand, tipped with sharp claws, sank into the earth beside her ear.
“If you’re going to survive, you’ve got to be better than this. These constructs are puppets. If these had been my true brethren, your lot wouldn’t have lived long enough to draw breath to scream, let alone a sword.”
Audra glared, wishing her eyes were daggers to stab him with. “You hurt my frie—”
“They’re napping,” he dismissed. “Your trainers’ spell halts the illusions from harming unconscious initiates. They’re safer in the dirt than on their feet.”
“Well, I have to help—”
“You can barely help yourself.” He leaned closer, his weight heavy and certain. “Why choose this, Heiress? This pain, this suffering? Come with me. We can leave this slaughter behind right now.”
“Mist, you are infuriating! Don’t you understand the word ‘no’?”
Zhaire smirked, looking as though her insults were a fine wine he enjoyed savoring.
He pressed closer, until they shared the same air, laden with the scent of spiced pear cider and fir trees shifting in the wind.
Even with the blood and sweat and terror of battle—his scent was intoxicating.
It felt like her senses were betraying her.
She bucked against him, desperate to break free from the spell of his proximity.
“One more week, Heiress, to come to your senses … if you still deny me by the second … I will be forced to …” His voice trailed off as he looked away for a moment, something dark passing across his face other than amusement or disappointment.
She stilled her struggling, her heartbeat pattering disjointedly in her ears. “Forced to what?”
“Let’s just say, my people won’t survive another Cycle—I cannot permit you to complete the rite.”
“What are you saying?”
He was silent for a beat. Two.
“If you insist on remaining here, you risk discovery. Extracting you safely will be impossible, even for me. That leaves me one option.”
“You wouldn’t …”
His look was grave, more serious than she’d seen him before. No hint of amusement, playful arrogance.
“The only way to ensure they can’t complete the ritual is if I kill you first.” A quiet, lethal promise.
Zhaire spoke truth. He would rather take her life than let the Zenaidans use her against his realm.
She swallowed thickly, her throat bobbing against the sharp edge of his sword.
A blink, and he swept upward and sheathed his sword. She didn’t know why, considering he’d just threatened her life, but she accepted his offered hand, let him pull her up.
“Alas, I know you love our little chats, but the battle is over. Better be going.” A snap of his fingers, and the shield fell away.
Audra watched as he wound his way through the aftermath of the battle, stepping over groaning, crying initiates.
She watched his retreating form until he was far from the field, until he slipped into a copse of twisted trees.
And, still, she watched the place he’d disappeared.
Until she was pulled into a hug, Wilder yelling in her ear. “Here you are. I blinked for one second, and it was like you disappeared.”
“Wait, you were watching out for me?”
“Of course, I had to make sure you weren’t taken down by a fucking construct. I’m just glad you’re alright.”
Audra smiled shakily. “Me too. You fared well.”
Wilder nodded, holding her hands out. “Not a scratch on me.” Her pride didn’t last long, though, as she glanced out at the field. “Those fuckers shouldn’t have run, but gods, I feel responsible for their deaths. As their leader, I should’ve—”
Audra gripped Wilder’s shoulder, shaking her head vehemently. “There wasn’t a damn thing you could’ve done to prevent their retreat, Wilder. Vrennfuck gave you all of five minutes to devise a plan, and they chose not to follow your orders. It’s not on you.”
Wilder swallowed. “Vrennfuck … good one.” But her voice sounded thick; now that the high from battle was wearing off, losing initiates weighed heavily on her.
It was clear Wilder didn’t believe her. “Wilder, you aren’t the one who killed them.”
“Yeah.” A heavy sigh. A thick swallow. “It was the demon constructs.”
“No, they weren’t real. It was Vrenn who killed them. Sanctioned by Renwick and Holyvere. The academy killed them.”
Wilder stood still, a single loc blowing in the wind, sticking to the blood drying on her cheek.
Audra pulled Wilder into a hug, her hands sticky with blood and who knew what else.
“I’m sorry we put you in charge. I don’t think any of us truly believed that we wouldn’t be walking off this field today.
It is a heavy burden to bear, and we picked you without even thinking of the cost.”
“It’s not your fault, I’m the best,” Wilder joked, though her heart wasn’t in it.
Audra laughed anyway, for her friend’s sake, because she loved her, because her heart ached for her. For the students crying and moaning around her, for the ones currently combing through the field, searching for their friends.
How impossible it would be for her to leave with Zhaire, for that meant leaving Wilder. She wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her here to face this fucked-up cesspit alone.