27. Greer
Greer
Strong stance.
Sure hands.
If I hold the grip tight and close my eyes, I imagine my father’s voice in my ear.
You are the sword. You are the blade. You are the edge on which others bleed. Move sure and one with the instrument. You do hold the weapon, Greer. You are it. It does not matter what you wield when you are the seer of your own fate.
The wind tickles my neck as I spin, sure and easy as my feet dance on the cobblestone. My arms arch in a wide arc, the blade sinking into the wooden post.
When I open my eyes, I find I’ve struck the mark perfectly.
I tug the sword, appreciating the large notch left in the wood. After months training on the shores of Alyssium, where my bones were heavy and my old wounds ached, the blade moves with the wind here.
My father’s blade.
My mother wanted me to follow in my aunt’s footsteps to eventually become a priestess in Tempest, but my father always seemed to know I was meant for battle. He trained me between lessons. He saw my fire and fanned the flames.
Pausing, I hold the sword upright, taking in the intricate details etched into the blade. The design is as delicate and thinly carved as the stitching of lace, and when I stare long enough, I can still see Father’s blood running rivers through the small grooves, even if it’s no longer there.
The Fae who killed him did so with his own blade. It took days of careful cleaning to remove his blood from the grooves. My fingers ache when I think about it. My heart tightens.
I close my eyes again, resetting my stance and perking my senses.
Magic has soothed any remaining aches and physical pain from the night they died, but the emotional wound is raw inside me.
Nearby, footsteps head my way. Weightless steps that can only be Elorie.
Lavender hangs in the breeze, mixing with Elorie’s wintry scent.
The flowers are still so alive here.
In the Ley Court, I suspected Malachi was shielding the true state of the court, but not to the extent that he was.
He cast a vision of light over the palace and the forest that surrounds it, manipulating the scents and the feel of it.
Light magic never terrified me as much as it did when Malachi stripped his from the palace, and I saw just how deep those weaves of his light went.
It was the end of an intricate lie, and it all started with them.
My stance slips as I spin this time. Distraction overtakes the movement as the blade sinks lower on the post. Metal connects with wood, and for a moment, I hear the crack of a spine as my blade carves through it.
As I claimed the lives of the males my king claimed were responsible for my parents’ deaths.
My king no more.
“Impressive.” Elorie’s voice has me opening my eyes as she steps out into the courtyard.
Her gaze is on the post, where my sword is deeper than any of the other cuts. It’s off its mark. Proof that being right and being lethal don’t go hand in hand.
When I tug the sword from the post this time, the wood grips it, so I have to pull harder.
“It was a hit” is all I say as I sheath my sword and walk toward the ledge for some water.
My heart races when I train. The effects of being without magic for so long on Alyssium still weigh heavily on me. Sweat drips down my temples, over my neck, and down the front of my black leathers.
“You’re going to the Mortal Realm,” I guess as she pauses before me.
Her eyebrows pinch. “Callum told you he figured out a way to open the Arch?”
“While Wilder was fetching you.” I didn’t bother waiting for them when I know how easily the two of them are distracted by one another.
Even now, I can scent them when the breeze shifts.
“Who else is going with us?” I ask, and Elorie’s head tilts. “I assume you’ll need backup.”
Which is what I am. A weapon carved by my father’s training. Sharpened by his death.
“Callum and Perame are coming with me, but I need to ask you a favor.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, nervously biting it.
“You want me to stay?”
She nods, and my back turns rigid at the thought of staying here without her.
Vaelier might be brimming with magic, but I’m in enemy territory.
They haven’t acted against me directly since I’ve been here, but I’ve seen the other side of them in battle.
I’ve watched them slaughter and pillage. Vaelier warriors here aren’t innocent.
I do not serve their king; I am not here for Wilder. I’m here for Elorie and to make sure Malachi dies.
“No.” I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “You can’t expect me to stay here while you walk into unknown territory.
The Mortal Realm might be filled with humans, but that doesn’t make them any less ruthless.
Their realm was known for brutality, and I doubt that’s changed.
Your magic won’t be nearly as strong there. You need me.”
“I need you here.” Elorie steps forward. “Well, not here, exactly. I need you in Lyrichia.”
That piques my interest. “Continue.”
“The void won’t do us any good unless we can find Malachi. You know Lyrichia better than anyone, even Callum. And if it’s true and Malachi and Hazel are hiding closer to Echme, then you’re the only one who would know where to look.”
“The forests around Echme are nearly impassable without a Gate. The creatures that dwell in the depths are almost worse than the Well. If he’s hiding there, I doubt even the orb could save him.”
“See… you know that.” She offers a smile like my warning to her idea is a good thing. “I need you to find Malachi so that when I return, we can finish this.”
“There’s a bounty on my head,” I say plainly. “Malachi would have put one out on all of us the moment we left. The second I’m spotted by the Guard—”
“He’ll make sure you aren’t.”
“He who?” My eyes narrow.
Elorie’s smile turns forced as her eyes flick to the distance, where Atlas is talking to Wilder inside.
Through the magic that tempers the elements, I catch only a glimpse of Atlas’s deep-red hair.
It’s tied in a knot at the base of his skull with pieces falling to frame his face.
He stands relaxed as ever, his leathers hugging his thick arms and chest.
As if he senses me watching, his purple eyes snap to mine, and I look away.
He’s the picture of a Vaelier warrior, dangerous in every way.
“You want me to go with Atlas?” My teeth clench, every fiber of my body resisting her suggestion. “No.”
“Please just listen.” Elorie rests her hand on the dagger at her thigh, tapping her thumb against the handle. “He’s not as bad as you think.”
“I don’t think. I know.” My teeth clench again.
“You might trust him because of Wilder, but I don’t.
Do you understand what he did in the Ley Court?
How he manipulated our minds with his magic?
Malachi wasn’t the only one casting illusions.
Atlas erased our memories straight from our heads to fulfill Wilder’s mission. He can’t be trusted.”
“I trust him.” Her shoulders roll back, determination blazing in her eyes. “I trust that he did what was necessary and nothing more. He was there for me, Greer. As much as you and Callum were.”
I frown, and she crosses her arms.
“Okay, maybe not as much as you two, but close. He was there when the king forced me to experiment on the corpses. He checked on me when Wilder cast a barrier around my room so Malachi couldn’t get to me. Atlas wants the same thing we do—Malachi dead.”
Those last two words are all that stop me from outright arguing with her. The only thing I want more than to get as far away from Vaelier as possible is to see Malachi meet his end.
Elorie glances at the palace, where Atlas and Wilder continue talking.
“If you can’t trust him, then trust me, Greer.
We need to do this, and as you said, there will be a bounty on your head.
Lochlan will help while you’re in Solace, but the moment you venture beyond his borders, guards will be on the lookout for you.
Atlas can help with that while you look for Malachi. ”
My jaw tightens as I consider what she’s saying. “If he so much as uses a flicker of flame on me, I will drive my sword straight through his throat and offer no apologies.”
“I don’t doubt that,” she says, her face a little paler at my comment.
But I don’t take it back because I refuse to be manipulated again.
Glancing at the palace, I distinctly remember the heat of something winding through my thoughts.
On Alyssium, I assumed it was the king and his magic forcing us to see what he wanted.
But coming to the Quietus Court and learning of Atlas’s fire wielding, I doubt it was only Malachi tampering with my mind.
To use magic to protect others is one thing, but to violate someone by erasing their memories is not something I can forgive.
You are the general, or you are the pawn, Father would tell me. Let them underestimate you, but never let them get the upper hand.
Father knew the risks. He lived them every day protecting me and my mother. To love is to be vulnerable. To trust is to be weak. I don’t hand either over easily, and even if Elorie is right, and Atlas might prove useful on this mission, I won’t let my guard down for anyone.
My magic is on alert for any hint of heat at the edges of my mind. One lick—one flicker—and this blade at my back will be in Atlas’s heart before he can so much as wipe himself from my thoughts.
Never wait for your opponent. The second move is only useful if the first one didn’t already get you killed.
Mother hated when Father would drag me to the ring and instill that lesson over and over. She hoped we could get through this without blades. Without hate.
Sometimes I wish I held that same optimism.
“You’ll do this?” Elorie asks as Wilder and Atlas make their way outside toward us.
“I will.”
For her.
For my realm.
“When do we leave?” I ask Elorie, but Wilder is the one who answers.
“Tomorrow. We can’t risk putting it off.” Even as he says it, his expression tenses.
His gaze moves to Elorie, and I sense that whatever plan he’s agreed to where she’s concerned is weighing heavily on him.
“I’m assuming that means you’re on board?” Wilder asks me.
“I’ll do what needs to be done.”
He nods, reaching out his hand, and Elorie takes it. The stir of energy between them makes it clear where they’re going. Atlas doesn’t move as the two of them disappear back into the palace, and I wish I wasn’t surrounded by Vaelier warriors so I could work out my own tension.
My gaze slips to Atlas, and I find him already watching me.
“Looks like it’s just you and me.” He winks, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword.
“Good.”
His eyebrow hitches in surprise. “Good?”
I step toward him, and it takes everything to cool my blood when the purple flecks of his eyes sparkle at my approach. There’s no denying Atlas is attractive. The worst of them always use it to hide their evil inside.
“Yes… good,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Because if you so much as look at me wrong, there will be no one around to stop me from driving my sword straight through your heart.”