CHAPTER SIXTY ISI #2
“She’s my bonded,” Trew said, the words ringing across the square. “My match in all things. A woman who will stand strong against any foe. She’s no longer your daughter to hurt or destroy.”
The blade bit into my skin. A trickle of blood traced down my neck.
Pherin circled overhead, crying out.
I caught Maddox moving out of the corner of my eye, herding the prisoners away from the stunned elders as planned. A cluster of guards rushed him, and his axe lifted, singing through the air.
“No, wait, stop,” Father cried out.
I drove my elbow up into his ribs, using the momentum to twist free. The blade scored my throat, but I was moving. Blood trickled across my skin. Pain bloomed, but so did triumph. My training flooded my veins like liquid fire.
Father recovered and lashed out, striking me in my shoulder. I spun, but he’d already anticipated the move, and he struck out with his leg, nearly knocking me to the platform floor. Combat training showed in his every movement. He was good. Perhaps even better than Commander Thorne.
“You were always weak,” he said, driving the blade toward my chest.
I blocked, redirecting the strike past my shoulder. “You taught me weakness by demanding obedience.”
“I taught you survival.”
“You taught me fear.”
“It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? Using your…cursed taint to try to control my mind. I won’t have it!”
Who had been trying to control his mind?
We traded blows, the crowd watching from below, transfixed.
Each parry jarred my wound open wider, and warmth trickled around my neck and down to my collarbone.
Pherin’s roars shook the air, her firecat form a whirlwind of fangs and fury as she attacked guards trying to stop Maddox from leading the prisoners away.
My fierce little guardian, family by choice.
Gavelle fought by her side.
I dodged Father’s swipe, my fury surging.
While I was tempted to use magic, I’d end this with the skills Commander Thorne had given me. My true father. The one who’d believed I was worth saving.
King Cyril pressed harder, his blade whistling through the air. Each parry was a reminder of what I’d lost and what I’d gained.
“All magic-wielders must die!” Father’s knife came in low and fast. I swept it aside, but he’d expected the move. His fist caught my shoulder.
Pain exploded through me. I stumbled backward, directly into the defensive position Thorne had drilled into me during training, muscle memory from hours spent learning to move as one.
Father’s next strike met air where I’d been. I could feel Trew nearby, battling guards to reach me. We’d fought together against the Skathes. Trained together in his private chambers. This was just another dance, my father the partner instead of my king.
“Commander Thorne trained you well,” Father sneered. “But you’re still a puny, wretched little thing, aren’t you?”
“I’m bonded to a king who sees me as an equal,” I snarled. “You never stood a chance of keeping me.”
His hand whipped out, smacking my shoulder again.
I stumbled backward, my vision blurring.
Trew’s bellow echoed through the air.
My father was out of his mind, and he would kill me. The realization settled cold in my chest. He’d do it here, in front of everyone, determined to destroy all who possess magic.
Movement at the crowd’s edge caught my eye. Coralee and Naveah had worked their way to the front. Coralee met my gaze and nodded, a slick smile crossing her face.
Behind them, smoke spiraled into the air from the direction of the castle. The thick, black columns spoke of serious destruction.
They’d destroyed the west tower and lit the rest aflame like we’d planned.
I hoped the castle burned. Let the flames cleanse every stone that had witnessed this horror.
Father lunged again. I sidestepped, using his momentum against him, and swept out at his legs. He fell hard but rolled, coming up with the blade still in his hand.
I rushed to the edge of the platform and grabbed the mask from where it had fallen, holding it high so the entire crowd could see.
“I remove this mask,” I yelled, my voice ringing across the square. “And now the Lady of Mercy will remove the lies between us.”
I reached for my veil-sight. The weave here in this square was screaming.
I could feel it, had felt it since I stepped onto the platform.
Hundreds of threads, frayed and trapped, the magical signatures of every person who’d drunk the ashwine in this square.
They hadn’t disappeared. They’d been harvested and held, redirected into the bloodfire bonds feeding the controllers.
But they were still here. Stuck in the weave.
All I had to do was show everyone else what I could already see.
I pulled the threads of truth into visibility for all to witness.
The air above the square rippled. Forms took shape, spectral, shimmering with stolen light. Past victims, hundreds of them, their essence drained in my father’s cursed tower.
A man gasped. “That’s my brother. He died in this very square five years ago after drinking the wine.”
“My daughter,” another choked out. “It’s her.”
The forms struggled, their mouths opening in silent screams as ghostly tendrils of magic were torn from their dying bodies.
“Help us,” one cried.
“They’re stealing our essence,” another shrieked.
“Fight,” others chanted. “You must fight them.”
“Magic isn’t bad, it’s just us,” a small child sobbed while a woman, perhaps their mother, cried along with them.
I showed them the moment of death, played out over and over. The poison taking hold. The victim’s magic surging in panic. My father’s apparatus activating, drinking down their power like wine.
Father’s face twisted with something like pious horror. Or was that simply yet another mask?
If he truly believed this was done solely for mercy, then who had stolen the magic?
“This is what happens when they drink the ashwine,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “It doesn’t just kill. It harvests. Your loved ones died in agony while their magic was stolen to fuel this corruption. We’ve all been lied to.”