38 Painted Lips
Painted Lips
Vaelira screamed.
Essensia sputtered in her palms, then surged back, flaring around her in a ring as she roared her pain into the fading storm. She dropped to her knees, fire receding, tears blurring the world as she pounded the ground with her fists.
A hand touched her shoulder. She spun, fire flaring again.
Axel stood over her, his face stricken with blood and grime, and a thousand horrors at which she could only guess.
Willem stood behind him. A thick slash ran down his neck and across his back, his torn shirt soaked with rain and blood.
The scar on his face looked even more brutal somehow, his eyes heavy with so much sorrow she had to look away.
She slumped back to the ground, breathing in the storm’s sharp scent. The remnants of Galfri’s essensia still hummed faintly in the air, steadying the fire in her veins.
“Azza?” she asked.
Willem looked away, shaking his head. Something fractured in her chest. Would her friend live long enough to grieve her mother?
“We have to do something,” Vaelira choked out.
“There’s nothing to be done,” Axel said grimly.
“There is always something,” Vaelira shot back, forcing herself to her feet.
Axel caught her arms, making her meet his gaze. “The city is lost,” he said, his eyes darting over her shoulder. Willem spun, blade flashing.
Vaelira turned in time to see a demon surging towards them. The blade landed in its eye socket, slowing it enough for Vaelira to hurl her flames and turn it to ash. She screamed, hopelessness overwhelming her.
“The demon army isn’t even here yet,” Axel said. “It’s only going to get worse, and the palace hasn’t sent out the King’s Guard.”
The words hit harder than the grief. Harder than the hopelessness that fought its way into her thoughts.
Elijah, who had sworn to fight for his people, was sitting safe behind his high walls while they burned.
Galfri had given his life for this city.
He had said his body could no longer handle manifestations of that magnitude.
He knew his limits and had done it anyway.
Had sacrificed himself to buy the people of this city a little extra time.
Yet somehow Elijah couldn’t summon the courage to send out his Guard?
She should find him herself. Burn his throne, his court, his whole gods damned palace.
Axel shook her shoulders. “You can’t die here.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“We will get the others. Just get yourself out.”
“We’ll go together.”
Willem stepped around Axel, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “Gods damn it, Vaelira! If what you say is true, this is bigger than us. You have this incredible power. We don’t. If we die, what does it matter?”
“It matters to me!” she choked out, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Willem pulled her into an embrace. “Go, or there won’t be anyone left to live for.”
Axel turned to Willem, eyes pleading. “Please.”
Willem smiled, a broken laugh slipping free, his expression transforming him into the fifteen-year-old kid that he was. “You need someone to watch your back, old man.”
Vaelira ran east towards the outer wall, Orphi bounding behind her. No one had told him to leave, but Axel had given him a look, and the dog seemed to understand.
At every corner, she wanted to turn back.
The summoning tugs pulled at her, trying to drag her towards the heart of the city and the demons waiting there, but Axel was right.
There were no other mages here, and if Caerthalyn truly fell, who else could take it back?
Who else knew of Maerin Vireldane, or where to begin the search?
They raced down an alley and skidded to a stop before the next street.
Demons prowled the now empty road, flanking a group of people.
Vaelira let her power rise, but something made her pause.
The people weren’t running. They weren’t even trying to get away.
They walked calmly beside the demons, speaking in low voices.
One woman turned her head, and Vaelira stifled her gasp. Madame Noctra strode confidently towards the palace, her perfectly painted lips stretched into a smile as she spoke to the man beside her. Something about the man’s massive build seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
As if sensing her, one of the demons snapped its head around. She lurched back, pressing herself into the wall as she tried to steady her breathing. One, two seconds passed, but nothing came for her. When she peered back around the corner, they were gone.
The streets grew quieter the further she ran, but the body count rose. People lay broken among the rubble. She slowed, searching for familiar faces. A flash of honey-coloured hair stopped her cold.
No, no, no, no, no.
She dropped to her knees, rolling the woman onto her back. Blank brown eyes stared skyward. Not green. Not green.
Orphi nudged her arm, and she rose again, forcing herself towards the eastern wall.
The breach loomed into view, a gaping hole forty feet wide, blasted open to make way for the horde. She could hear them now, hear their screeches rolling down the mountainside.
They quickened their pace and continued picking their way through the city.
The air stank of blood and scorched flesh.
The summoners had made sure to clear this part of the city first. Bodies lay strewn over the rubble, some still clutching hammers and shattered planks from the desperate, doomed attempt to seal the breach.
They should have run.
Vaelira clambered over the broken wall, as the ground trembled beneath her boots.
The storm had cleared, the moonlight illuminating the land to the northeast. Beyond the river and to the north, the army poured down the slopes, blotting out the mountainside and the plain below.
They were mere minutes away, moving in surging waves that would shatter any defence.
She stood alone at the crest of the broken wall, essensia flaring in her palms. She couldn’t take them all, but maybe she could take down enough to save a few lives tonight.
Orphi leapt down the far side towards the eastern bend of the river, stopping halfway and turning back. He opened his maw in a silent bark, his eyes full of trust.
Turning back to the roaring horde, Vaelira watched as they drew closer, close enough to see the glint of moonlight on their claws, their teeth, their pitch-black, soulless eyes.
She could do it. She could take some of them out. She could do for the others as Galfri had done for them.
And after? After they had torn into her flesh and consumed her very soul, what would happen to the people of Caerthalyn?
The people of Eastvale? No one knew of the hidden mage chamber in the Royal Library.
With Galfri gone, there was no one who could discover the secrets that lay within.
She was the only one with that knowledge. If she died, Eastvale surely would too.
Drawing a long breath, she jumped from the wall and sprinted for the docks.