Chapter 53 - Lyra
Lyra
Istagger into the bedroom, my eyes pinning on the bed. I’d left it there with every intention of not setting a single finger on it.
But now, my hands reach for the Lightbringer armor.
Gold is far heavier than leather.
I knew that in theory, though this is the first time I’ve ever felt it against my skin. But I don’t understand the truth of it until I’m running through Umbraxis’s corridors with my lungs on fire and my fingers numb, dragging plates over my arms, latching straps with hands that won’t stop shaking.
It feels as though the very stone of Umbraxis trembles beneath my feet. The clash of steel and the roar of hundreds of voices seep through the walls. Every distant scream is a needle under my skin. Dust falls from the beams above my head like ash as I struggle with the straps on my left arm.
I don’t let myself think about who's screaming.
Not yet.
Greaves, vambraces, pauldrons. The helm last. I hesitate, stopping for a brief, breathless moment with it in my hands, thumb tracing the inside edge where someone else’s face once sat.
Queen Maelira. Eldritch. How many more before it ends? My heart thuds again. Would I feel it, if Eres dies? Will he know if I don’t make it through?
I jam the helm on, and the world narrows to slits of vision and the sound of my own breathing, harsh and loud in the metal.
A Lightbringer once more. At least from a distance. Long enough to get close.
Stay alive.
I’m not sure if the silent plea is for myself, or for the three men I left on the field.
The back passage out of Umbraxis spits me into the bitter air behind the castle’s flank, facing the Barren Lands and the Gloam. I keep low, moving from broken stone to the cover of a collapsed wall, victim of an errant strike.
The battlefield is worse than I imagined from the front line.
A slaughterhouse stretches across the mud-churned ground. Bodies lie at angles that make my stomach revolt. Some in gold, a handful in leather, all of them filthy with mud as people climb over them. None that I recognize.
Luminth arcs through the air in bright ribbons, pure light sculpted into spears and scythes and walls that shatter under impact.
I steal a glance at the line I left, to where that dark, unending shield of darkness keeps them safe as Kaelen pushes his way through the lines.
Others break free, launching themselves at Lightbringer soldiers with whips and lines of erevas that carve more golden figures away.
Still alive.
I mimic Lightbringer posture. I let my shoulders square. I keep my head high. When I pass groups of gold-armored soldiers, I don’t flinch. I don’t look at them too long.
I don’t run unless I have to, my stride determined as if I’m following orders.
And slowly, I make my way across the battlefield, toward the mounted group that watches the carnage from a distance.
A line of Lightbringers surges past, shouting, their voices sharp with the righteousness my father taught them. One bumps my shoulder. I stagger, catch myself, and nod like I’m another soldier joining the crush.
“Push them back!” someone yells. “Drive them to the shadows and pen them in! Get around!”
I can’t stop. I can’t.
I keep moving, threading through the chaos.
My pace quickens. My breath fogs inside the helm, dampening my skin.
A Lightbringer collapses in front of me, gold armor dented inward as if punched by a giant fist. A single, separated Darkwielder, leather torn and eyes wild, stumbles away from him, erevas bleeding from their hands.
The Lightbringer’s visor is cracked, and through it I see an eye staring blankly.
I swallow bile and step around him.
My step falters.
I force myself to keep going. If I stop, I die. If I stop, all the lives already lost become a list I’ll need to add every single Darkwielder name to.
So I don’t stop.
Slipping behind a fallen banner pole, I crouch to catch my breath, letting a wave of soldiers rush past. Lifting my palms inside the gauntlets, I feel the familiar heat gathering there. Coiled and ready.
The closer I get to the center, the more the battlefield bends around a single presence. Lightbringers move with purpose, forming protective arcs of light that push back any aerial assault from those who can launch their erevas this far.
And then I see him.
He’s dismounted his horse. My father stands on a raised mound of churned earth, cloak whipping behind him. His helmet is off. His hair, the same pale gold shade as mine, is pulled back tight.
And he’s preparing to join the fight, his face turned toward Kaelen’s shield. Luminth pours from his palms in streaming sheets of gold, shaping into massive spears. His face doesn’t change with his movements. Each one is calm and precise, and my anger surges in my chest.
Around him, Lightbringers rally, golden armor orbiting him like he’s the sun.
Hubris. He’s filled with it, just like Aedryn in the origin tale that Darian told me.
My vision blurs, my throat tightening until I can barely breathe.
And I step forward.
A Lightbringer to my right turns, sees the armor, and nods at me without question. “Move up!” he shouts. “Commander needs the flank covered!”
I nod back like I belong, and I keep walking.
Each step toward my father feels like stepping into a memory. Training yards. The crack of a blade against my ribs. The sting of winter air as he made me run until I vomited.
Again. Faster. Harder.
And the pain. So much pain that I could drown in it unless I focus. He taught me how to do that too.
I stop ten paces behind him.
He doesn’t turn. Of course he doesn’t. He trusts his soldiers. He trusts the gold.
His hands lift higher, and another spear of luminth forms between them. He hurls it, and it becomes a streak of sun that punches through the right of Kaelen’s shield. It flickers, as if it’s weakening before it reforms.
But it’s smaller than it was before.
My stomach twists.
I could strike him now. I could surge forward and drive luminth through his spine exactly the way he taught me to, the way he would expect from an enemy. I could end him before he even sees me.
But that’s what he would do.
“Father,” I say. He doesn’t respond, his hands focused on shaping another lethal, pointed spear. Of course he doesn’t.
“Commander Vaelion.”
The luminth spear between his palms flickers, destabilizes, then collapses into sparks that dissolve into air. When he turns, his face is wreathed in anger. “What is it?”
His eyes catch the gold armor first. Perhaps I made a mistake in putting it on, because his brow creases. “Speak, soldier.”
When I say nothing, his head tilts. “Remove your helm.”
I don’t move.
His eyes narrow at my silent refusal. The air around his hands brightens again, luminth gathering in a ball.
“Remove it,” he repeats. Softer, this time, as if he can’t believe I’d force him to say it twice.
I lift my hands to the helm and unseal it. The cold air hits my face like a slap when I pull it free. Wind tears at my hair immediately, whipping around my cheeks, tangling with damp strands of sweat.
My father’s gaze locks onto my face. His mouth parts, just slightly. But it’s more expression than I’ve ever seen him wear before. “Lyra.”
He takes a step, his eyes traveling over me once more. “What have you done?”
Derision. Disappointment. He falls into it so easily.
My voice remains low. Steady. “I failed.”
His jaw tightens. “So I see. I’d thought you dead, truthfully. It would have been easier. Is this a request to return, or a betrayal?”
“Neither,” I say, and the anger in my voice surprises me with its steadiness. “This is…justice.”
I taste the word on my tongue. “This needs to end. They don’t want a war with Solvandyr. There can be peace.”
His eyes flick over my armor once more, before they tighten. “You're wearing my crest,” he says tightly. “You stand among my soldiers. And yet you speak to me like a Darkwielder.”
“I speak like your daughter.” I rasp the words before I can stop myself. The word hangs between us, silent and forbidden.
“You were never my daughter.” He enunciates every word as he steps toward me. “You were a means to an end, Lyra. Convenient. Even amusing at times. But nothing more.”
A sound escapes me. Half laugh, half sob. I expected nothing less, but the wound still deepens.
“You were born with some talent,” he says, as if listing facts on a ledger. “Strong. Bright. Mine by blood. The High Solar foresaw the end of this war. They said you would end it. I did what duty required, even though I doubted your ability.”
“Duty,” I echo.
His gaze hardens. “And I was right. You failed. Lightbringer blood is on your hands.”
“And what about them?” I point to the field. To that shield of shadow, growing smaller and smaller with every strike. “Do you have no thought in your head for them at all?”
“Only as I would for muck against my boot. Enough.” Luminth surges in my father’s hands. “The war ends today, Lyra. The prophecy will be fulfilled by me, as I expected.”
His eyes coldly assess me. “We’ve lost many resources.” He turns his back on me, facing the field. “You will return with me, and we’ll see what we can salvage from your rebellion. Perhaps you might still be useful in some way.”
Salvage.
As if I’m a broken weapon he can reforge.
My hands curl into fists. Luminth heats in my palms, eager and furious. “No.”
He ignores me. “Don’t be a child.”
“No,” I repeat, louder this time.
He twists, irritation bleeding from him as he searches my face. And then a laugh breaks from him. Cruel, and cold, and sharp. “You want to go back? They’re going to be dead by the end of the day, girl.”
I think of them. Of Kaelen’s heartbeat against my ear, and Eres’s quiet vows, waist deep in the Gloam with his arms around me and his Binding marks against my skin.
Of Darian’s eyes, filled with understanding after facing my nightmares alongside me.
And of the darkwielders who fight beside them to give a single chance of survival to a group of children.
My father’s hand twitches. “That’s enough.”
“I have one question.” It burns in my throat as he sighs. “My mother. Tell me who she was.”
His eyebrows raise, and he sighs, as if my questions are merely an irritation. “A lowborn maid, nothing more. She was executed on the Dunes when you were a newborn. That you turned out to have any Highborn in you at all was a miracle from Aedryn, but my blood holds true.”
My knees threaten to collapse. “Executed.”
“She tried to run with you to the Veilspire.” His eyes gleam, as if he’s enjoying every strike his words land. “She had some ridiculous notion about your future. But I found her, and I brought her back.”
He killed her. She didn’t want this life for me, and he killed her for it.
The rage that floods me is blinding.
Before I can speak, movement catches my eye at the edge of the commander’s protective ring.
A figure in gold.
Lighter build than most soldiers. Helm tucked under one arm. Hair cropped, and flame-filled eyes, so similar to mine. And to his.
“Reena,” I breathe.
My chest tightens so violently I can barely breathe. Still alive. Still his heir.
And the one the Lightbringers will follow when he’s gone.
Her eyes meet mine. For a moment, I think they soften. And then her expression closes, a door slamming in my face. She doesn’t move toward me. She doesn’t lift a hand. She doesn’t speak at all. As if my presence is nothing to her.
My father notices my glance, and something like satisfaction flickers in his eyes. “You see?” His arm sweeps out. “This is what loyalty looks like. Reena understands duty.”
Reena’s jaw tightens, just slightly. But she remains still.
My father raises his hands, his voice raising to address those who now surround us. “Do not interfere.”
Luminth blooms from his palms, brilliant and dense, shaping into a long, narrow blade that looks close enough to metal to be mistaken for pure gold. “I grow tired of this. Your stupidity outweighs your usefulness.”
He taught me how to do that. He taught me everything I’m about to use against him. My own luminth flares in answer, pooling into my hands. I shape it instinctively into my daggers. Faster, more maneuverable. And my father’s eyes narrow as he takes in my stance.
“Good,” he says. “You remember—”
I lunge.