20. Liam
Liam
Ihated being near the shadowlands.
Whispers danced at the edges of my thoughts, pricks of pain tugged at my skin. I felt an insatiable desire to wander toward the veil of darkness, to see what was inside.
If only these peasants could hurry up and flee a little quicker, I could leave it behind.
Ferris had ridden through the town, ordering all large fires to be doused. Wind had followed him, snuffing out torches and lanterns. A few handheld candles illuminated the night, guiding the last set of carriages.
When news first spread of a Paragon's arrival and the threat of massacre, several smaller groups had packed their bags and fled up the north road. Four carriages had been assembled to help carry those who couldn't make the journey on foot.
I leaned in the shadow of a porch, watching a young mother help an elderly woman into a wagon. These might be poor folk, abandoned on the fringes of society, but they would still flinch at the sight of me.
Nothing empowered the less fortunate quite like the ability to look down on someone else. To feel bigger. They might be poor, but at least they weren't foul-blooded, like me.
Most people treated me like filth. I'd stopped giving them the benefit of the doubt.
Two clusters of guards stood nearby, their gear varying in quality. One had a piece of plate, most wore chainmail, and some didn't even have helmets.
I didn't have high hopes for them.
A new light drew my attention away from the villagers. Solheart magic was different from the light cast by fires and stars. Theirs shone with golden radiance, warm and inviting.
To most people.
I hated Solhearts—their inquisitors most of all. Sometimes I saw their twisted faces in my dreams.
Hunting. Searching. Looking for the next heretic to hang.
That Paragon my sister had been assigned to dressed just like them: all black and white.
What would Reese do if he learned who I was?
The other inquisitors must have talked about me . . .
Leaving my hiding place, I approached the Solheart woman, Bláth. She cupped a floating ball of light in one hand, illuminating the path for a departing wagon. Her other hand was tucked in the pocket of her dark purple coat.
She turned, golden curls bouncing over her shoulder. "Have you seen Ferris?" She asked.
"No," I said, studying her attire.
She wore pants and sturdy boots. Forlaith didn't allow their noblewomen to wear pants in public; it was considered indecent.
"You know . . . ” I looked up. "You never did mention who you were."
"I'm a handmaiden," Bláth answered, wearing a cheerful smile. "For a Lavaire noble lady."
"Ah, I see," I said sarcastically. "A Solheart maid. That makes perfect sense."
"Ha.” She smiled wryly. "My lady is . . . unusual. I'm her eyes and ears, out in the world."
"So, you're a spy."
"Sure, why not?" Her smile vanished. "Someone gave Brighid a warning that the south would be attacked. She sent me to find out. I stopped to try and save these people."
A Solheart, working for a lesser Fireborn woman? I didn't buy it. More likely, she spied for a Solheart noble. For Forlaith.
Every unfamiliar face was a potential enemy hoping to silence the female Paragon so that a man could take her place.
Solhearts, most of all.
"You don't trust me.” Bláth tilted her head. "I can't imagine why."
"Did I give you that impression?" I tucked my hands in my pockets, mimicking her stance. "Sorry. That's just how my resting face looks."
Clopping hooves caught my ear, and a spotted doe appeared from the endless black, carrying an Aenir prince.
"Oh, look. Ferris," I said, turning away.
Ferris swung off his doe and landed deftly on the muddy road. "I did what I could," he said. "But some people are determined to die." He scoffed, throwing his arms wide. "If I were told imminent death approached in the form of gnashing teeth, I'd be long gone."
I gave the kid an appraising look. He didn't seem much like a warrior.
We'd talked a great deal while we pursued Mare and Reese; the prince loved to talk. He filled me in about the Solheart assassin who'd tried to kill his father—and how he'd escaped.
The story had taken a long time to tell. Ferris had drifted off course to tell me about a 'wild warrior woman who could snap necks with a thought.' His emerald eyes had gleamed with admiration.
Or, maybe lust. It was hard to tell.
"Why are you giving me that look?" Ferris interrupted my thoughts.
"I was just thinking about what the king will do if you die here."
“Ha, nothing.” Ferris glanced away. "Nothing at all," he added, quietly.
Oh, I'd hit a sore spot. Everyone knew Ferris struggled to uphold basic etiquette, and that it created friction within the royal family.
Something deeper fractured them, I supposed. Pain had echoed in Ferris' words. The same I'd felt, the day I realized my mother had never loved me.
"Stay with Bláth," I said, gently pushing him toward her. "Once the last wagon leaves, we're to join the guard."
"Stay with a gorgeous Solheart? I can't imagine anything worse.” Ferris smirked and led his doe north.
He bounced back quickly, at least.
Figuring I ought to check on Mare, I turned south and took a step through the mud.
Sharp pain cracked through my spine.
A tear across the back. Snapping bones. A clean cut through the kidneys.
Someone died near the southern gate.
Biting agony in my neck followed. Teeth tore through bone and muscle, ripping the head clean from the body—another death.
I grabbed my throat. I'd felt everyone around me dying, in Galasvar. It had surged into a steady ache, impossible to discern individuals when so many perished at once.
For as long as I could remember, I'd been able to feel when someone died near me. The strange intuition had never been wrong. Even though I sometimes wished it were.
The monsters were here. They had started killing those who refused to leave, or maybe guards stationed near the gates.
Panic rose in my throat. The stars had died in the wake of night. I wouldn't be able to cast without them.
A shadow tore above my head and dove for the last wagon in line. Bláth's light illuminated a drake as it grabbed a young mother in its talons and whisked her away.
Her screams grew fainter as she was carried away.
I didn't feel her die. Gods, that was almost worse.
Pounding steps thundered toward me. A shardwolf leaped from the darkness and crashed against my chest, throwing me to the ground. Its icy maw opened to snap down on my neck.
I flinched, but nothing sank into my flesh. Warm, emerald wind flowed around my neck. The shardwolf’s maw was pushed open by the gale's force, and it was thrown backward off its feet.
A dragon flew between the wolf and me; it was a tiny thing, no taller than a man. Its emerald body pulsed and flickered—not entirely corporeal.
"Liam!" Ferris called.
He had his hand outstretched, eyes blazing with unnatural light. Finding my feet, I dashed to his side, nearly tripping over a crack in the road.
The strange, feathery dragon soared into the sky above Ferris' head and ruptured. A dome of lightning grew from its disintegrating body and slammed into the road, surrounding the villagers and us.
"What is that?" I asked.
"My catalyst," Ferris said, voice strained in concentration.
Did he mean the dragon itself was his catalyst? Maybe I knew less about magic than I'd thought.
The shardwolf righted itself and lunged for me again. Sparks burned its fur as it slammed into the cage of lightning and was thrown back.
Bláth ran past me and grabbed a small child, shoving him into the closest wagon. A trail of smoke pursued her.
My heart thumped painfully. I remembered that smoke—trails of mist mixed with the night. A terrible creature with long claws had emerged from its cocoon and torn a young woman in half in Galasvar.
Grabbing my knife, I lunged toward her. "Bláth!"
She whirled around in time to see the smoke growing into a towering figure. Steel claws burst from the smog and lunged for the Solheart. She danced out of the way—and then shoved her hand into the wraith of smoke.
The ball of light she cupped in her hand burst, illuminating the creature. Spindly limbs and a skull-like head were visible behind the smoke for a brief moment before it disintegrated into dust.
A wave of relief washed over me. These two were capable—we might just survive.
A roar thundered above us. An enormous bird dove down from the heavens, neck long and pale, eyes glassy and dead.
Feeling relief had been a mistake.
The vulture crashed into Ferris' lightning dome. The prince bucked from the force of its impact, hands twisting. Static charge rushed through the air—but the shield held.
I could hardly hear myself think over the screams and braying horses. Monsters surrounded Ferris' shield. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air as they tested its defenses.
Shardwolves from the south, fur bristling with ice. Those horrible human-shaped creatures made of tree-like vines with one terrible, vertical maw to the east.
One of the creature's whips slipped through the cracks in the lightning and wrapped around Ferris's calf. Blood soaked through his boot as it cut through leather and skin, yanking him off balance.
He gasped in pain. I lunged forward, grabbing his arms to keep him from falling.
Ferris righted himself, but it didn't matter. The moment had been enough to break his spell.
His shield fell.
The vulture burst down from the sky and landed on the north-most wagon, crushing it. Pain cracked through my bones as I felt two people die upon impact.
I ripped my eyes from the carnage, turning to face the horde of vine-creatures. Ferris' emerald dragon rose from the embers of its shield and rushed in front of us in an arc. An eruption of lightning and wind covered the eastern street.
Burning coated my nose, and horrible, inhuman wailing followed.
With the dome gone, the horses galloped away in terror. The giant vulture rose from its nest of wreckage, preparing to crush another carriage.
A javelin whistled through the air and grazed its wing, drawing the creature's attention.
The monster whipped in its attacker's direction: one of the garrison. Five of them were still alive, fighting back a shardwolf near the horses.
I could but watch as the vulture dove, its enormous talons tearing through the group with ease.
Normally, when I felt someone die, I closed my eyes. I looked away. This time, I saw the talons tear them in half, sever their throats. Guts spilled from one's belly, and blood covered his friend's chest.
Faint threads appeared, like spiderwebs criss-crossing the world. It connected the guards to . . . something. Something far away, high above.
When the vulture struck, the men's threads snapped. Faint shimmers gleamed on their broken tethers as the men slumped, and the rest of the cords that led into the great unknown vanished.
The shimmers died, the broken threads faded. I reached out, futilely, trying to grab them. To save them.
Horrible magic blossomed on my fingertips. Magic I had not called upon in years.
The dying men's threads soared toward my fingertips. Their spines snapped, dragging back into a standing position. Eyes glazed over and empty, they turned toward their new master—me.
The rest came easily; it always had—a thought.
Attack.
The corpse puppets turned toward the vulture and charged.
The vulture hissed as swords and spears dug into its legs and wings, tearing holes. It lunged at one of the men, ripping his head from his body.
The headless corpse continued its attack, driving its spear into the beast's neck.
A powerful downburst knocked me back as the vulture took off, shrieking in pain. Radiance chased it up into the black sky. An emerald dragon darted into the vulture's chest and burst.
A bolt of lightning shot through the bird's body, emerging out of its other side in a shower of blood and violet light. Its body fell to the ground. The impact sent a tremor through the road.
Bile rose in my throat, and I let the threads between the guards and me snap. Nausea blurred my sight and made the world spin.
All I could feel was death. Pain. Life, snuffed out.
The stench of corpses covered the world. All became sulfur and brimstone.
Silence doused the living—and the violent death that claimed them.