Chapter 43
—Connak—
Even when the Great Hall collapsed, Connak held his worry at bay. His gut wrenched. He could sense Kienna. It came in waves of pain, but he preferred that over the feeling of nothing.
He focused on his command: following Tislin.
He and the Shade slipped between shadows, eluding Connak’s eye.
Every time he closed the distance, they slipped through again, forcing him to begin again.
By now, Dove Port’s victory could be heard through the night.
Creatures retreated into the Malintale. Whatever was left of the River Storm soldiers was not worth worrying about, and Connak had Talon scoping for Baila.
In the streets, soldiers raged through the storm, pushing through the damp stones and bloodied bodies fallen in their path.
They pushed with such strategic grace that the chaos of Vaerin’s army was no match in the end—the burned bodies leaving nothing for the enemy to reclaim or rise again.
The soldiers let out a battle cry, celebrating.
Raelan surfed the wind, pounding her sword up to the moon as the clouds began to clear.
Connak wanted to celebrate, too, but the shrill of the darkest corner snapped him from any merriment. He turned to the Goldmere River, roaring and rushing at a pace unstable for crossing.
Tislin’s form appeared from his shadow hop.
“Stay there,” Connak pleaded and leapt from the building.
—Tristian—
Every soul that stowed away in the barricades sat safely on the shoreline of the Lysiria.
The people were cold, scared, and hungry.
The battle cries of victory from Tristian’s soldiers were a relief to his ears.
The sea crashed against the rocky shore, reminding them that victory was still a long way off.
The air hung thick with salt and smoke. Hushed sobbing carried on the breeze, mingling with the lap of waves.
When they first got to the shore, Tristian pulled his armor off, ripping his shirt to bind the wounds.
Kienna lay on the ground as he ran strips of his tunic around her body.
He kept cursing, muttering ancient words to summon magic, but not enough came out.
Not the kind he needed to make this right.
Not the kind that had been torn from him and sealed away, somewhere far beyond his reach.
Moira sprinted when she saw them, pushing through the crowds as her face drained of color. She immediately took to ripping fabric from her own dress, flowing long and heavily around her growing body.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Tristian urged, grunting helplessly. He stood frantically, scanning the people at the beach. He never felt so disheveled in his life. “She saved your lives.” His voice cracked unnaturally. “If anyone has any skills at all, I implore you to help!”
The people stirred at the shore, children’s cries ringing out. A few stepped up and offered their shirts and dress hems. Elowen pulled at her pockets and offered herbs. Tristian didn’t think they would help, but he took them anyway.
Where the hell was Danek?
Kienna moaned. Her body was caving. She fought to keep her eyes open. Trembling, her hand reached out to Tristian’s, her grip tight. Her icy skin jolted him from his constant prodding and wrapping.
“Ruva,” she rasped, shivering. The wolf stepped up behind him, startling him. “Put Ruva on me.”
Tristian glanced at the wolf as she panted, a soft whimper slipping from her jaws.
Why hadn’t Kienna called for her? The thought of their bond fraying—or severing—flickered through his mind like a shadow he refused to face.
Carefully, he reached for Ruva and guided her closer.
She growled at the touch, a warning born of fear rather than anger, then let out another helpless whimper as she folded over Kienna, pressing herself along her side.
Waves crashed against the shoreline, splashing water furiously over them.
“You need to be with your troops,” Kienna whispered, her hand weakly pressing against Tristian’s chest as if to push him away. Her eyes were vacant, looking through him. Her body gave out immediately, collapsing back beneath Ruva’s weight.
“Connak went,” Tristian replied.
He watched helplessly. He didn’t have enough time for healers.
He had the Vardent in the streets and still no fucking Danek.
The magical defense that fought internally against Kienna was so strong, as if Vaerin desperately didn’t want her to find her strength.
Tristian saw it, the awe-inspiring will and sacrifice to protect the people standing on the shore.
This couldn’t be how her story ended. How they all ended. He put his hand on her, if only for warmth. She flicked her attention to him, her chest pounding as rapidly as her breath.
“I get it now,” she whispered, lacing their fingers.
Tristian sparked the smallest hint of magic against her palm, a flicker of life to show her he was there.
“Why you push so hard. The realm…it depends on—”
“Save your energy.” Tristian gulped, feeling her weakness in his own body. He lifted himself, turning back to the city. “Where the fuck is Danek?”
—Danek—
Danek pushed harder, desperate to reach the beach as Umbrin swarmed him.
A sudden wave dragged him down, their weight pinning him to the cracked stone.
He carved through them as fast as he could, tearing free with a burst of wind that launched him upward, only for another hand to clamp around his ankle.
Baila wrenched him out of the air and slammed him to the ground. She rose over him, sword angled like a personal triumph, despite her forces already retreating. Her lips curved in a hungry smile. “Give it up, Danek. She’ll be mine by the end of the night.”
Danek huffed, gasping for air. His fingers curled into fists as he sneered. “Go to hell, Baila.”
He lunged forward, pulling her sword from her grasp. Her eyes widened, the sound of her breath escaping her lips. The minute the weapon was in his hands, Danek swung.
Baila gasped at the cut in her arm. She glanced down, the tiny black vein slithering through her from the blade. Her eyes narrowed. She pulled the blade from his hand, and then, without warning, her form flickered away, and she was gone.
Danek’s gaze drifted to the sky, a sharp ache tightening in his chest. Whatever became of Baila now—whatever monster she might rise as—would stain his hands for the rest of his life.
If the weapon could twist the dead into mindless Umbrin, he could only imagine what horrors waited for her. He swallowed hard.
He’d mourn later.
Rushing to the beach, his vision blurred. His energy was nearly depleted, but seeing Kienna on the ground covered in blood—
“Dammit!” Danek stripped his armor off and flung his weapons to the ground. He needed to feel light for this.
“She needs a lot of healing. It is likely more than you can handle,” Tristian said. “I shouldn’t ask you, but I need you to try.”
Nodding, Danek knelt. “How much do you need me to give, High Commander?”
He’d give it all. He just needed Tristian to confirm it.
Tristian sighed as he studied Kienna’s deep wounds. “I shouldn’t ask you to give anything in the condition you look, but you’re the only healer I have close by, and she needs attention now. I would have retrieved one already, but I fear if I left, she would have given up.”
“It’s okay.” Kienna sat up, grimacing through the pain as her skin pushed against the wounds. “I can try to do it.”
“Lie down!” Tristian demanded forcefully.
Danek listened to Tristian’s attempt at calming his breath. He put his hand on the High Commander’s shoulder. “I can do it, but I need to pull energy if you have some to give.”
Tristian looked at him for a moment with confusion. Under his breath, he asked, “You can do that, too?” He shook the question away immediately. “Whatever you need.”
“From me, too,” Moira agreed, kneeling beside them, but her hand wafted to her stomach. “Only not too much.”
Danek hesitated. His eyes flickered to where her hand rested.
A subtle crease fell between his brows, and for a moment, his expression broke.
It started with surprise, then concern. He wanted to spend more time piecing together hints that he hadn’t known before.
But not in this moment. He shook the thoughts away and moved on.
“I, too, will help,” Elowen agreed, lining up.
One by one, people around them knelt by Danek, eager to assist. Danek took a deep breath and placed his hand on Tristian first, his other floating over Kienna’s body.
He summoned every last bit of his magic from the tips of his toes to the last thread of hair.
He pulled what he could from himself and dipped into Tristian’s reserves.
Feeling the High Commander’s energy was like drinking a fine wine.
Intoxicating at the mere shock of power in his veins.
Danek kept pulling, the energy consuming him. He was alive. On top of the world. Kienna’s wounds were practically piecing themselves together. Tristian grunted next to him. His breathing came in shallow spouts, chest heaving under the weight.
“Stop,” he pleaded, nearly falling to the ground.
Danek removed his hand, his body now trembling from the loss of his power. He studied Tristian for a moment. He was far more powerful than he’d ever let on. Kienna’s moan brought him back to reality. He shifted toward Elowen. She nodded, and the healing process began again.
“It’s not fast enough,” Tristian grunted.
Danek begged for water. Moira retrieved it for him as often as she could, summoning any version of the sun to boil it first. He drank and continued, pulling from anyone who would give him the energy to go.
Plenty had fallen in the chaos of the battle, but not the Guardians. Their circle had stayed intact through every horror so far. Danek shivered at the thought of that changing.
He’d be damned if this was the night it did.
—Connak—
Connak weaved through the maze of the city, jumping over the fried bodies in his wake.
Buildings crumbled around them, another obstacle to maintain.
In the clearing, the bridge appeared. The Shade danced haughtily around a familiar form.
Tislin’s motions were slowed, more pointed in panic now than what Connak was used to seeing from his tactful friend.
The shadows around him swiveled in a desperate attempt to push the Shade away.
They, too, were afraid of their true master.
Connak sprinted.
He had no plan. What could he really do to destroy a shadow when light evaded them? Only two people in the world carried the light, and they didn’t know how to use it. If Connak could only distract the Shade, he could buy Tislin enough time.
Before he reached the bridge, the Shade dove underneath it and appeared again on the side with a familiar rune ticking. An explosion rocked the core of the earth, followed by a rumble at the bridge. The foundation crumbled, stone and metal toppling into the roaring river.
Connak yelled, eyes wide.
He reached out as if he could summon Tislin’s safety from afar, but Tislin was already plunging toward the rapids.
As his body descended, the Shade jumped into the shadows and speared after him.
Connak stared. “Shift, you bastard!” He waited for the Shadowmaster to disappear into the darkness and pull himself to safety. “Shift!”
—Tristian—
A shadow moved at the edge of the crowd.
Tristian turned, expecting another civilian.
It was Connak. His cloak slung low, dusted with dried blood and soot.
His jaw clenched tightly, shoulders squared, as if holding himself together by sheer will.
Mud crusted his boots. A long, dark smear crossed one cheekbone, but there was no fresh blood.
Whatever wounds he earned were from earlier.
Connak’s eyes were dimmed, weighed by something deeper than fatigue. “Tristian,” he said, voice too even.
Tristian held his attention, his own body low with waves of exhaustion.
He’d given Danek a lot more than he should have.
He studied Connak’s posture…how he paused short of kneeling beside them.
How he glanced once at Kienna, and then away, jaw working.
Connak’s mouth moved once, lips pressing into a line.
A flicker in his gaze passed toward the hills behind them, where the bridge once stood.
Tristian hadn’t noticed until now that it had fallen.
Connak stepped closer. “They need you on the front lines,” he said, softly but firmly.
Tristian narrowed his gaze, seeing the strain behind Connak’s usual reserve. It was more than a request. He couldn’t say what he needed to. Tristian feared the worst, but he tried to remain brave, fighting the thrashing ache trenching its way through his chest.
“Now is not the time,” he said, but his voice cracked halfway through. Tristian cleared his throat roughly, forcing it steady while hoping Connak wouldn’t notice the slip.
Connak’s brow twitched. His attention drifted to the sea as his nostrils flared. “You’ll want to go, High Commander.”
The break in his voice nearly tore Tristian in two.
He had to remind himself who he was. He cleared his throat and stood. “Will you stay?”
Connak nodded without hesitation. There was no need for words. Tristian picked his armor off the ground and took one last look at Kienna. Her eyes were open, her chest panting heavily. He followed her gaze to the sky. The clouds cleared. Stars overtook the night with milky globs.
Kienna survived this, but at what cost? How much more did Tristian have to lose before this could be over?
He started up the hill toward the desolate city. A quiver escaped at the corner of his mouth the farther he climbed until the bridge surfaced. No sight of the Shade. His brother.
Despite his attempts to hold it in, Tristian’s hands shook with each hurried step.
Maybe Connak was wrong.