59. Callum
Callum
“You’re not half bad for a member of the Crown Guard.” Atlas grins as I take out one of the palemor’s long legs.
“Formerly Crown Guard.” I grit my teeth, angling my sword for another strike. “You’re not half bad yourself.”
Atlas continues to battle the beast beside me, and we find a rhythm, dodging the palemor as it drops lower, pulling back when it barrels down and tries to eat us. It’s strange battling beside a warrior from another realm. I’m surrounded by those I’d have considered enemies not too long ago.
They move differently—fight differently. And yet, we find our stride.
The palemor rears back with a quick snap of its teeth. I cover Atlas’s flank while he aims for the heart. But we’re not fast enough. Again and again, we search for our opening.
Ravagers flood in from all sides, pushing us back. A surge of magic swims like static through the air, sending them flailing.
The wind is rapt in my ears as I search for the source. Something is sending the ravagers to us. It has them in a frenzy as they attack the army. Blood gushes and bodies fall. Some us. Some them.
I search the breeze until I pinpoint where the stir of magic comes from.
“What do you see?” Atlas asks, holding the ravagers back as my gaze meets the distance.
My teeth clench. “My father.”
At the edge of a cliff overhead stands my father. A dot of inky shadow in the night. Now that I know he’s there, I can practically taste the metallic, deathlike tinge of his magic on my tongue. Beside him stands Alasdair.
Malachi’s henchmen.
They send these beasts after us but don’t get in the thick of the battle themselves. Cowards as they stand safe on the cliff above.
Wrapping my fingers around my magic, I grasp a rope of the breeze and condense it until it is a gale. It strikes my father’s shadows with a clap that echoes in the night.
“Still not strong enough,” my father whispers in my mind, even when I try to lock him out.
I can’t.
Shadow wielders like him—like Hazel—are unmatched. It’s why Malachi’s family let him live after he murdered my mother.
They say you can’t hurt your mate, but my father is proof of how wrong that is. Shadow wielders know no bounds. They can’t be trusted.
“Still a coward, afraid to fight your own battles,” I seethe back at him.
Ravagers circle, and I don’t slow. If anything, knowing my father and Alasdair are up on the cliff gives me a renewed sense of rage. It has me slicing them limb by limb. I’m tempted to open a Gate and meet the two of them face-to-face, but I can’t leave Atlas or our army.
“There is no battle worth fighting,” my father whispers. “Not when we have already won.”
“You’ve won nothing.”
“Come back, son. I’m sure Malachi will forgive you. He saw what you did with his sister, how you resisted her magic. He is just curious enough to forgive you for battling at their side.”
“I’ll never be Malachi’s puppet again.” I slice my blade up through a ravager. “Or yours.”
My father’s chuckle sends a chill down my spine. “But we are all puppets to the gods. Do you not feel what is coming? Do you not hear it?”
“All I hear is you trying to distract me. Pull your vile creatures back.”
“You can bow, or you can fall. I will not protect a traitor.” His tone has sharpened. Anger steaming in every word.
“Then watch me fall for what I believe in.” I drive forward, my magic sending four ravagers to their knees as they choke for air.
Before they can catch a breath, I claim their heads. And with a final push, I shove my father from my mind.
“The army pushed them back at the right,” Atlas says, waving for me. “I’ve got an idea. Do you trust me?”
He chuckles, not meaning it as literally as I take it. Trust isn’t something I’ve handed freely to anyone but the Crown. And look what that brought.
But as I glance at a distance, at those figures on the cliff, I trust what I fight for now more than anything I battled for Malachi.
If I fall, so be it. At least I’ll fall for what’s right.