60. Wilder
Wilder
I carve a path of aether through the ravagers blocking my way as I run toward Elorie.
She rushes Fae from their homes, refusing to leave until they’re gone. Sacrificing herself for others like she just can’t help it. Greer works from the other end, trying to speed up the evacuation. But the palemor moves too fast.
I toss out a lasso of aether that wraps its tail, but all it does is slow it down.
I can’t hold it back entirely. The tail pulls against me while my heartbeat hammers in my throat.
It throbs against my veins, pumping so hard I think it might just stop right here.
Maybe the Beating is finally ready to claim me.
Until it does, I’ll hold this line.
I move in a blink, standing between the palemor and the village, dropping to my knees as I throw out a wall of aether. The tail comes crashing down on my magic. Aether splinters; shards rain down.
My fingers tense as it strikes again.
And again.
Cracks form in the wall, but I don’t release my hold.
Sweat drips down the sides of my face as I drain my magic until the well inside me is bare and only flickers remain.
The palemor continues its assault as more ravagers flood from the trees. Screams pierce the beach as warriors fall. Malachi delivers on his promise. Thinning our numbers as my vision does the same. Dark spots form in the corners of my mind where there is usually gold.
Burrowing deep into my magic, I search the pit of myself, where aether was once an endless cavern. It replenishes with every breath, but not fast enough. I’m throwing out more magic than can be restored. I dig and dig, giving it more and more.
I dig until I’m clawing at the bottom of my magic, scratching for more. I reach the depth, my fingers gripping the last shards of aether in the darkness. A sputtering final stand until the aether wall holding back the palemor’s assault breaks in a waterfall.
The palemor’s scaly tail swings down. My magic is but an ember in the darkest pit. My heartbeat hammers in my chest, and bile rises in my throat. Every inhale tastes of blood.
I may be Fae.
I may be king.
But this mortal thundering of my heart does not care about any of those things. It knocks against my ribs, warning me my time is nearing an end.
Not yet.
I reach back, grab my sword, and brace myself on a knee, holding the blade to the sky as the palemor’s tail swings down. If nothing more, I’ll slice one final bit of flesh before I fall.
My sword glints in the night. A gift from Darvel when I finally earned his respect during training.
Up until that point, he had me train with carved wooden blades and sticks.
He said I would not wield a true weapon until I proved myself worthy.
I asked him what it would take to be considered worthy, and he refused to answer.
So day after day, I trained. Atlas’s sword carved my staff down to kindling. Rior snapped my wooden daggers in half. But I didn’t give up or grab a blade. I did as I was told.
Just because I was royal blood didn’t mean I wanted to be treated differently. In Andare, I was just another warrior. I was carved from the front lines of battle. Trained to be a weapon when I was not able to wield one.
It was nearly two years before I was handed a sword, and it was only because a noxen had slipped through the shadows into our training camp. A dark beast of thought, as my mother called them. They play with memories. Once you lose your mind to one, they pierce your temple and steal a taste.
The noxen was slaughtered easily, but spectral foxes had followed it into our camp, intensifying the battle. We pushed them back until there was a single fox curled under a tree with an injured leg.
My blade pressed into the fur at the nape of its neck as the creature stared up at me. Only moments ago, it had been hungry for my blood. But now it cowered.
It would have been so easy to slice its throat. To turn it from predator to prey. Instead, I pulled back. It was no longer a threat, and it was not me it wanted, but food.
The fox was taken to the tents to have its leg fixed, and when I returned to the ring and tried to hand Darvel my sword, he told me to keep it.
I had proved what he needed me to: that I was capable of showing mercy. He needed to know I had limits and what they were. Only then was I worthy of fighting at his side.
Over the centuries, I’ve leveled battlefields, sent more souls to Sarrow than I’ll ever be able to count, but like my mate, I have never had the stomach to prey on those who are not a threat. My mother called it weakness, but it was why Darvel trusted me.
With both hands gripping tightly, I point my blade to the sky and grit my teeth, prepared to take on the beast with my life.
I brace myself as a gentle caress of glowing light weaves over my hands.
It winds down my forearms and up the blade, turning it nearly translucent. A ripple of moonlight in the darkness.
Elorie’s magic winds around me, and I wrangle my last burst of strength as I stand, striking the beast with the infused blade. It shrieks, coiling back.
My hands shake as I turn and find Elorie running toward me with Greer at her side.
“Is something wrong? I sensed you fading.” Her eyes are wide, her voice laced with panic even in my mind.
“I’m fine. I just needed a second.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Maybe so, but there’s no time for her to worry as ravagers continue to flood the beach.
My attention snags on Atlas, still battling the palemor with Callum. They’ve yet to strike its heart, although the damage they’ve done has allowed them to move closer.
“Atlas needs our help.”
“They all do,” Greer says, her gaze drifting over the battle.
Ravagers flood the shore. Malachi isn’t even using his own army to attack us; he’s summoning beasts from wherever he’s hiding. I search the tree line for a sign, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Andare’s army struggles to keep up with the onslaught, even as another wave of Darvel’s forces steps through the Arch. It’s not enough.
We’re losing.
Elorie and Greer run to help Atlas, while I wipe my blade clean on my leathers and storm toward the beach. My magic might be failing with the pulse of the orb tangling in the essence of the realm, but I’m unyielding. I will fight to the end.
Bodies cover the sand. There is more flesh than dirt as I step over them and make my way through.
Each sweep of the sword is true, carving a path to the army ahead.
A group forms a line, splitting the battle between the palemor and the ravagers.
With every step we push forward, we’re shoved back two.
Thankfully, Elorie is on alert, picking off the ravagers that break through our ranks.
Another wave crests in the north, rushing from the trees. Defeat hangs in the metallic-tinged air until the wind shifts with a charge.
The sand ripples. A wave stirs in the water. Sand trembles beneath my feet. Particles float with the magnetic force swirling in the air.
A Gateway carves open at the center of the battle.
Desert sun and sand.
Unflinching heat and the sweetest scent of cherries.
The air swirls as Lochlan steps through, an army behind him. They flood out while he scans the beach, taking in the bodies all around. He does not balk or run. A wicked grin stretches his face.
I open the thread into his thoughts. “I thought maybe you got the day wrong.”
“Says the king always making a grand entrance. You know I wouldn’t miss Malachi falling for anything.” Lochlan steps forward, reaching for the scythe at his back.
A cluster of ravagers circle, and he moves faster than my heart thunders in my chest. One sweep and seven heads roll to the ground.
He grins, meeting my gaze, and I nod.
More of Lochlan’s personal army streams through the Gate, but we’re running out of time.
The palemor has shifted, and its coloring has changed. It’s so subtle I almost don’t notice it. The white scales have an undercurrent of a golden glow. Fire brews in its belly, almost fully replenished. Without my ability to call on my aether, there will be no protecting us from this wave.
I charge a group of ravagers, who have three of my men cornered. We take them down from all sides, and the surge has my fingers sparking. But when I tunnel into the darkness in the threads, there is nothing but the faint song of the orb hiding in the trees, calling out for me.
Or am I calling to it?
The connection is taut to the point where I can’t deny its existence. The closer we are, the more it tampers with my magic.
Lochlan’s army joins Darvel’s at the beach, holding the line for now, while I make my way to Atlas. The firelit blade in his hands sputters.
“Something’s affecting my magic.” He grunts, shoving the blade into the claw as it strikes.
Its razor-sharp teeth barely miss the top of Atlas’s head.
“It’s the orb. Whatever it’s doing to the magic in the realm is affecting us all,” I say. “Malachi must be drawing closer. He’s making it more difficult to wield.”
Greer looks at her palm, and even if Callum says nothing, the sweat beading at his temples tells me he’s feeling the effects too.
“What if we don’t call on this realm, then…” Elorie sheathes her daggers, holding her hands out in front of her.
Her silver eyes meet the overcast sky. The moon is half hidden in clouds, but at her glance, they begin to part. She wiggles her fingers, and through the threads, her thoughts wander.
They search.
Whispers tickle the back of my mind as she travels deeper into the fates.
Glowing sparks of light tickle the tips of her fingers. They spread up her palm, flushing them with white light, brighter than the palemor’s scales.
“That’s it,” I encourage her, stepping close and offering my hand.
My magic may be drained to the final flecks, but through our soul bind, she can reach the magic of my realm. She can amplify what we harness together. Our fingers lace, and my chest tugs at the hanging heart rune. A glowing thread connects us, weaving us together.
“Can you handle this?” Her silver gaze meets mine.
There was a time when she could barely read my thoughts. Now she’s wandering the pit of my darkness, wading in the dying aether, floundering inside me.
“Don’t worry about me,” I assure her. “Do your worst, Starfire.”
Elorie barrels down, tunneling into herself and pulling me with her. She drives so deep, so fast, my vision spots. Aether wielders are thought to be among the strongest in the realms, but as Elorie wrangles her celestial magic, it’s as endless as the stars.
Her cheeks light. Those three freckles glowing.
And I stare in awe of my mate. Of her power and her strength. Of her beating heart, stretching farther than this beach or this realm. She doesn’t stand here and fight only for Alyssium or Lyrichia or for me and my crown. She stands here for all.
Elorie’s fingers clasp around mine as she reaches for the sky, glowing with the light streaming from her. The moon pales against the obsidian night, and the eyes of the gods might turn to face her as she becomes a beacon of starlight.
Her fingers stretch, and then, with a wave so blinding everyone turns their head, she holds her arms outward, sending the magic of the stars with it.
Ravagers burst into nothing. They shriek and curl in on themselves before turning to dust. The palemor screams, rearing its head back, and it’s the opening Atlas has been looking for. With a firelit blade, he drives true through the scales and pierces the palemor’s heart.
Throbbing waves of light continue to flood the beach. Each one pushes me back a step. The army fights through the blasts, some dropping to their knees. Elorie’s skin is pearl-white and glowing; her feathery wings stretch wide behind her.
A single cut splits at her hairline, moving like a silver river toward her eyebrow.
“Elorie.” I reach for her, cupping her cheeks.
Starlight sears my palms, but I don’t let go.
“Listen to me, Elorie,” I shout through the thread. “Come back. You’re Cleaving. Hold on. You need to stop.”
Another cut fractures her palm. It rips the path from her thumb to her finger. But no blood comes out. It’s not a wound of the body; it’s the soul.
“Elorie, stop!” I cradle her cheeks, staring into her eyes that have turned pure silver. “You’re Cleaving.”
She’s gone too deep in her magic; the stars aren’t just streaming through her—they’re becoming her.
“Elorie!”
Something crackles in the air. Darkness wraps its fingers around the beach. The sharp claws of night wind around us, and I pull Elorie to me as her eyes blink, and she collapses. Her magic retreats, but she’s still glowing.
She’s the only thing glowing with how darkness floods the beach. Her breathing is ragged as blue starts to climb back up her hair. Her pupils once more darken, and she blinks up at me.
Around, everyone is coughing, choking for magic.
A soft, sadistic chuckle comes from the center. Footsteps crunch against bloodied sand.
As quickly as the darkness appeared, it collapses back in on itself, curling into the tips of Hazel’s fingers.
Malachi stands beside her, twisting the orb. Each turn sends a screeching caw into the depths of my mind. A wicked smile curls in the corner of his mouth as he stops, looking down at Elorie cradled in my arms.
“I underestimated you, Elorie Vale.”