23. My Fault
MY FAULT
WREN
No matter what Gabriel says, I know this is my fault, not his. These injuries, the blood being spilled, the lives being endangered. It’s all happening because of me.
Once again, I have imperiled others. I’m glad Gabriel sent my sisters away—this situation is bad enough without having to worry about them.
Gabriel and Skyler are both staring at me as if my offer to help is preposterous, but they’re wrong. It isn’t.
“I want to fight,” I repeat. “Please, let me help.”
I’m not incapacitated, and I don’t want to sit around helplessly. I might not know exactly how my magic works, but it does work, and I want to use it.
My Mark has been burning for days, and there’s a crawling sensation under my skin, an itch I can’t scratch.
I’m certain it’s because the shadestone is cutting off these powers I don’t fully understand.
I think my magic is linked to my emotions, but thanks to the manacles, I haven’t been able to test that theory.
Skyler draws her bottom lip through her teeth, running her hand down her braid. I know my new friend well enough to recognize the signs that she’s unsure. “I don’t know, it might not go over well . . .”
A patient screams as a healer begins stitching up a wound in their arm. The sound of their distress pierces my core, and I shiver.
I can’t stay down here. I won’t.
I tap my forehead, the Mark warm beneath my touch. “Please. I have magic inside me, and I can be of assistance. The others like me, the ones you call Blessed, they’re fighting, aren’t they?”
That’s where I need to be.
Skyler nods. “Yes, they are, but people might not take kindly to you if you come and fight.”
“It won’t be much different from now,” I point out. Already, we’re garnering attention, and more than a few people are glaring at us. “I want to be useful.”
I am tired of reacting to things, of being pushed around by fate. I want to make the decisions that will affect my life instead of watching as others decide my destiny for me.
I turn to the Hunter. “I can do this, Gabe. I need to do it.”
His emerald gaze drills into mine as if he’s peeling apart the layers that make me, me. It feels like hours pass although it is probably just a few seconds before he inclines his head.
“I understand,” he murmurs. To Skyler he says, “Wren is powerful. Her magic is strong, and if she wants to help, you should let her. I will fight by her side. Honestly, it really is the least we can do.”
Skyler studies us for a long moment before inclining her head. “If you insist.”
“I do,” I say firmly.
“All right. I’ll take you above, but Alaric is the only one who can remove the cuffs.” Skyler lifts a brow. “If he says no, there’s nothing I can do.”
“I understand.” It’s better than staying down here and doing nothing. “Lead the way.”
The journey out of the mountain is a blur. We pass more wounded people, and the rubies’ warning hum increases in pitch. At some point, Skyler hands us cloaks and gloves, and we put them on to defend against the cold.
The hallways all look the same, and the itch under my skin is getting worse with every passing moment.
Before, removing the shadestone was merely something I wanted. Now that it’s a possibility, I need it. My forehead is on fire, and even with the manacles, my Mark washes the corridors in brilliant blue.
The floor slopes upwards. By the time Skyler mentions we’re almost out of the mountain, my muscles are aching and my lungs are burning. But it doesn’t matter because a glimmer of sunlight up ahead slices through the darkness.
The sight infuses me with strength. My heart soars, and my body feels lighter. If someone had told me I’d react to the suns like that a few months ago, I would’ve laughed at them. The notion would’ve been utterly ridiculous.
But a few months ago, I believed Marked Ones were destined to serve the gods, and that when we were Given, we’d spend our lives in the temples doing whatever Esyn asked of us.
Back then, I believed that the Mother Goddess cared for us, that she loved us.
Now, my eyes have been opened to the truth. I know the Given die, the gods don’t care about us, and there are more lies in this gods-damned country than truths.
More than all that, I know how quickly things we take for granted can disappear, never to be seen again. We can lose friends, family, and our futures in the blink of an eye. The span of a heartbeat. The swipe of a knife.
Skyler stops in front of what appears to be a door made of stone.
“You’ll want to shut your eyes,” she advises, placing her hand on a groove in the wall. “Otherwise, the shock of sunlight will be too much.”
I glance at Gabriel, and he nods. I squeeze my eyes shut, and a moment later, there’s a grating sound. Cold winter air tickles my cheeks, filling my lungs. My face warms, caressed by sunlight. And my lips . . .
They pull into a smile.
It’s small, and it’s only present for a moment, but for that brief interlude, I remember that even with all the awful events that have happened since Amelia’s Giving, there is still goodness in this world. Pockets of happiness, even in darkness.
The wind blows my hair, kissing my Mark, and for once, I’m not trying to hide it. I revel in the freedom that comes from displaying it openly.
For a single moment, I experience joy.
And then I open my eyes. Time seems to slow as the smile slides off my face. It’s gone so quickly I wonder if it was ever there. How could it have been when this was happening all around me?
Gabriel takes my hand, tugging me against his side. I don’t pull away, instead letting the warmth of his body ground me as I take in the chaos.
This is . . . awful.
We are partway up a snow-covered mountain, which makes sense considering what I know about the rebels’ hideout. It’s early morning, and the suns are climbing into the bright blue sky.
All the way down the mountain and at its base, people are fighting. Snow is trampled underfoot, and what was once white is now red.
Blood.
There’s so much fucking blood I don’t even know where to look.
Fire burns beneath my skin, so hot I wonder if it has overtaken the blood in my veins. My Mark is a conflagration, and my fingers twitch.
We are surrounded by death. Even if I shut my eyes, I couldn’t block it out. Copper mixes with darker scents that I’m not sure I want to label, and the sounds . . .
Screams of pain intermingle with grunts of exertion. Wails harmonize with war cries. Every sound sends shivers slinking down my spine, and unease infiltrates every part of me.
We’re far enough up the mountain that no one has noticed us yet, but that doesn’t stop fear from spearing through me.
I thought I knew pain and death, but I was wrong.
King Andreas’s soldiers are easy enough to spot—they’re the ones with the impressive weapons and smooth, powerful movements. They fight without reservation, cutting people down left and right. They’re cold and merciless, like the man they serve.
The rebels aren’t helpless, though. Even though they lack the finery of the king’s uniforms, and their swords may not be the highest quality, they are armed and holding their own.
One of the most noticeable differences between the two groups is their armor. The soldiers wear protective silver breastplates that shimmer from within, while the People of the Wilting Roses are dressed in leather armor. Good, but not as effective.
The proof surrounds us.
The casualties on the rebels’ side far outweigh those on the king’s. My gut wrenches as I try to count the bodies, but I soon give up.
And then time resumes as shimmering orange flames sweep in an arc down the mountainside.
I clutch Gabriel’s fingers, drawing strength from his presence as the fire sails through the air, landing on a cluster of the king’s soldiers. It shoves them back, pushing them away from the mountain and giving their people a chance to fight.
Magic.
There is magic here, and it looks like mine. It calls to me, begs me to join in and release my power. The tingling beneath my skin becomes more insistent, and my fingers twitch. Power rushes beneath my skin. It has nowhere to go, and it swirls deep inside me.
More colorful flames follow the first. Green, bright sunshine yellow, and turquoise. Each burst of magic is quick as it hits its target, followed by cries of pain.
“Last chance to turn around.” Skyler draws her sword. “You sure you want to do this, Wren?”
“Absolutely.” I have to shout to be heard over the chaos of the battle. I glance at Gabriel. “Are you?”
The Hunter’s jaw is firm, and his eyes are steely as he surveys the scene before us. “These are the king’s men, and they will stop at nothing to reach their goal. The rebels will need all the help they can get to survive.”
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
“If you want to, I’ll fight with you.” He squeezes my hand. “I will not leave your side, Wren.”
My chest warms knowing he gave me this choice. For too long, I’ve lived by other people’s rules. Done what other people wanted me to do. I inhale deeply and straighten my shoulders. No matter what comes next, I’m making this choice for me.
Stepping closer to Gabriel, I brush my lips over his. “Thank you.”
For allowing me to make this decision, for standing by my side, and for nurturing the trust slowly blooming between us.
Our eyes lock, and I make sure he sees how much this means to me. How much I appreciate him remaining by me, even now.
I turn to my new friend. “We’re going to fight. Take us to Alaric.”
It turns out we don’t need to look far for the captain. He is fighting near the base of the mountain, but when he looks up and sees us, his jaw tenses.
He storms up the mountainside, fury flashing through his eyes. Blood is splattered on his skin and clothes, but it doesn’t appear to belong to him.
“What are they doing here?” he shouts.
“They asked to be here,” Skyler says.
Alaric whips his head towards us, eyes narrowing. “Why?”