Chapter Thirty-Seven
Ihold tight, but I don’t burn. Flames surround me, flickering over my face and body, enveloping me.
But I don’t burn.
Darnen, though, lights up like a pyre. A living, screaming, flailing pyre. He shoves me away and falls against three of his Zhagarn. They catch fire, too, and Darnen falls to the floor, dying.
In their haste to escape the inescapable, the Zhagarn in the cave end up colliding with more of their number who are swarming through the door.
So many of them.
But I’m still on fire, and they hesitate long enough at the sight of me—at the sight of their leader, burning and dying—that maybe I can figure out a way to at least save Elianna.
I take a deep breath and start toward them, while I’m still burning. I don’t know how long the flames will last.
From behind the Zhagarn, though, I hear a berserker’s frenzied roar, and I laugh out loud.
Kaelen.
How? Did the druid’s magic falter when he caught fire?
Does it matter?
Kaelen fights his way into the room, sword in one hand and dagger in the other, both dealing brutal death to everyone in his way. His gaze shoots directly to me, and the relief on his face wars with fear when he sees I’m burning.
Fierce joy that he’s alive breaks through my pain for a moment. I hope that, no matter the outcome here, he knows how I feel about him.
The Zhagarn hurl themselves at him and become fodder to his blades. They face me on one side and Kaelen on the other, and I’m not sure who they fear more.
Suddenly, the tides are turning.
Triumph washes through me, and I shove aside the fear of what the goddess will do to me. I chose this, and my friends are alive. The quest can succeed.
Kaelen is fighting his way to me. I start toward him but I’m still burning.
I stumble, realizing I have no idea how to stop the fire.
“Problem?” The harsh cackle shocks me, and I turn to face the druid, who, shockingly, is still alive and now standing, propped against the wall. He must be using magic to counter the flames. He’s still burning, though. Horribly, I can see his flesh melting in the fire.
But he’s … smiling?
Yes. He smiles at me, his screams dying even as he burns. “I’ll make you watch me kill your people, and then my Zhagarn will torture you for a long, long time. Even in death, I will defeat you, and Corvynne, my mistress, will avenge me.”
He raises a burning arm and points at Kaelen.
“No!” I scream and race to put myself between them.
But Kaelen is quicker.
The prince hurls his dagger at the druid so fast it’s a blur, and the blade strikes home in Darnen’s throat, cutting off any curse he planned to throw.
And then, finally, Darnen falls dead to the floor and burns until nothing but ash remains.
The rest of the Zhagarn are all dead or fleeing. Kaelen starts toward me, but I turn away from him.
I look at my friend’s body, lying so still in an ever-widening pool of blood, and my thoughts scatter.
I need to …
The amulet suddenly flares with a beam of light that shoots across the room and pierces the sphere.
The key.
I need to retrieve the key.
Even though it will probably kill me, after I profaned the amulet.
I pivot to the key, which pulls at me with almost magnetic force.
The sphere fades, the light still piercing it, until finally it vanishes, and the ornate golden key clinks down onto the plinth. Just as I extend a hand toward it, I hear shouts, and another group of Zhagarn barrels into the room from the staircase.
Weapons drawn.
All of them snarl their hate and start toward Kaelen and me, shouting threats and curses.
But I’m still surrounded by flames, so they swarm Kaelen at first, and then one of them throws his dagger at me. It misses, but the next one doesn’t. I cry out, trying to twist enough to pull the blade out of my back.
Kaelen roars his fury, and shockingly, impossibly, the very air in the room shimmers with magic.
Not the druid’s magic—he’s dead.
Not the amulet’s magic—I’m still surrounded by flames.
No, this must be primal Valourian magic, because the mists of it glimmer with shades of purple.
All of it surrounding the prince.
Only … the prince is gone.
Instead, in his place, an enormous snow leopard stands, staring at me with purple eyes.
The cat opens a mouth filled with huge fangs.
And roars.
After that, the Zhagarn fall into fear and chaos. They stay and fight, but between the snow leopard tearing into them, ripping skin and rending bones, and the flames on my body that burn any I touch, they’re terrified.
Still they fight.
And still they hurl daggers at me.
For every two that miss, one plunges into my body. A blade drives deep into my thigh, knocking my leg out from beneath me. I start to fall, catching myself with my hands before I smash my face into the stone floor. But then a massive jolt smashes me sideways, and the flames finally vanish.
I almost laugh. All it took to put out the flames was a dagger to my ribs.
I try to catch my breath, but I can’t. I hurt so much, both inside and out. I’m probably dying, and my friend is already dead.
Trick.
I need to get to his body. If I’m dying, I want to be next to him.
Friends, together in life and death.
But someone is screaming now. Many someones.
Shock breaks through my resignation when I see Elianna rise to her feet.
She’s not dead.
She’s not dead.
Three Zhagarn lie broken and bleeding on the floor around her.
When she throws her arms out and levitates into the air until her feet dangle a full pace over the ground, I stare at her and dimly realize what must have happened.
Her magic came back.
All at once, the Zhagarn flooding into the room drop their weapons and clutch their throats. They choke and howl and fall to their knees, eyes bugging out of their murderous faces. Begging.
Pleading.
Choking.
Dying.
Elianna’s magic came back, and she reached the Thirteenth Pillar.
She did it.
This is the Last Kiss of Breath.
Every single one of them dies choking, desperate for air, and my only regret is that their fear and pain don’t last longer.
I force myself to stand. The snow leopard, tail swishing with fury, stalks over to me and pushes against my side to help me walk. He’s so huge, his head is as tall as my shoulder.
I dig my hand into his fur and force myself to stumble over to the plinth.
Force myself to reach out a hand and pick up the key.
Brace myself for death or some new horrible catastrophe, but whatever it was before the amulet destroyed the sphere, now it’s only a key. An inert gold piece of worked metal resting on my palm.
I stare at it, numb with shock. “This is what Trick died for? This?”
I shove it in my pocket. The quest must succeed.
Trick died a hero. If the quest fails, he died for nothing.
The cat roars, and magic shimmers again. Where a snow leopard stood, a prince rises. I stare at him without seeing him.
“Soli.”
“Trick is dead.”
He takes my hands in his, and distantly I realize his clothes are gone.
“Were you a cat?” I’m not making sense, even to myself, but this seems important.
“Yes. I … I don’t know how. I saw you were in danger, and something inside me broke,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice. “The magic tore at me, and suddenly I was a cat.”
“A huge, mythical, extinct cat,” I murmur, remembering those fangs. Trying to distract myself from reality.
Elianna crosses the room and kneels next to Trick. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Soli. He’s gone.”
“Bring him back,” I croak out, then clear my throat to be sure she hears me. “You have your magic. You can do it! Bring him back!”
I don’t realize I’m shouting until my voice echoes off the stone. Elianna gently touches Trick’s head and then comes to me, but I don’t want her.
Don’t need her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says gently. Then she turns and shoves her hands forward in a sweeping motion. Wind rushes through the room, lifts Darnen’s burned husk and the bodies of the dead Zhagarn, carries them out into the air, and drops them into the abyss.
This time, there are no screams.
They’re already dead.
As they deserve.
Darnen, dead.
My choice.
And Trick paid for it with his life.