5. Before Fate #2
His arm shot up, pointing at me.
Silver strands exploded from his fingers. What in the damned? Clouds darkened overhead. Magic battered me from seemingly every direction at once, snow gusting everywhere. I could barely see. Unable to fight against the crushing force, I scratched frantically at my throat.
He stood up gracefully.
I fell to my knees.
Clouds spun, water turning to ice as it splashed over the railings.
Leaning forward through the blizzard, he grabbed my chin tightly with one hand, whispering darkly in a different tongue. His other hand stroked across my throat, thumb dragging across the bleeding divots of his teeth. Sharp sensations streaked through my flesh.
He pulled his hand away, hiding it behind his back, and a flush covered his cheeks. “I should not have done that.” He shook his head like he was coming out of a stupor.
“I apologize for—” he stared hungrily at my neck wound “—my impropriety.”
He can’t be serious.
I gasped, still struggling to breathe. The bridge swayed faster as his magic continued to attack me. Splashing sounds echoed. It was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“Come with me, back to Azote.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned so disturbingly close that I could make out each light eyelash tipped in snow. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and his were dead. Future massacres unfolded within their hateful depths.
Save the world.
From him.
I slammed my fist into his groin, punching up with all my might, and he collapsed to his knees with a groan, cupping himself. The storm stopped, visibility returning. Jumping to my feet in one swift motion, I wrenched his inky hair back. He tried to stand, but I overpowered him.
“I would never go anywhere with the filthy likes of you,” I said hoarsely, enjoying the fact that I stood taller than him.
“Thou do not mean that.”
I yanked his head back harder. “I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life.”
“Liar!”
“It’s the truth.” I could read animals and sense their intentions. He wanted to burn the world to the ground. “You’re despicable.”
The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk, confirming my suspicions. His eyes went flat, emotionless, like he’d dropped a mask of civility and was showing me his true irredeemable self. I brought the serrated edge of my dagger to his throat. Icy veins protruded, begging to be cut.
Rule of survival: Kill first. Worry about the consequences later.
I pressed the blade into his flesh, holding him captive. He smiled, neck flung back like he enjoyed being at my mercy. “My first official act,” he whispered, voice husky, “will be to ruin your miserable serf life, Ravenal. It shall be my greatest pleasure.”
“No. You’ll be long dead,” I whispered, meaning it, as I yanked on his hair and pressed the blade deeper.
Quiet seized the world, ominous whispers carrying on the wind. The sound of the rushing river intensified, and my fingers tingled, head throbbing. I’d sliced many animal necks before, and this was no different.
Right?
The bridge creaked and groaned as it swayed. “There is no corner of Antichthon,” he said with gravitas, “where thou could hide from me. I shall find thee every single time. Your fate is already decided.”
I inhaled deeper, his wicked scent burning my lungs: Atomic bombs exploded. Blood fell from the sky like cursed rain. Eerie silence gripped the world, continents laid to waste.
I’d never smelled anything like it before.
I pressed my knife, drawing blood from his pale throat.
He would die today.
“No, Zora!” Mom yanked me away from the boy who smelled like carnage. “What the damned are you doing?” she asked desperately, turning me toward her.
“Why are you outside the Commune?” It wasn’t safe for her out here. She couldn’t defend herself against a dire bear attack. Technically neither could Blake, but I’d made peace with his untimely demise.
“Aurora was worried sick trying to find you, and Blake ran back crying,” Mom panted, voice thin with asthma. She must have sprinted from the Commune.
“Why is everyone so concerned?” I asked, genuinely confused as I glared back at the strange, hateful boy who was brushing snow off his knees with a scowl. I should have killed him.
“Didn’t you hear?” Mom whispered into my ear. “The Marshal is meeting with the Empire today for peace talks in our Commune.”
The Democratic Papers, the news regularly delivered by homing dire falcons, had recently elevated the Storm Wars threat level to five: imminent violence.
I remembered reading something about a summit in the North to try to maintain the fracturing Peace Accords.
A desperate final attempt to appease the murderous Empire.
Their unpredictable storm attacks had already ravaged parts of Westmere, and without food shipments from the South, hunger was becoming more common.
But the problem was, you couldn’t reason with evil.
The Emperor Supreme, Aleksander the Fair, was rumored to be on his deathbed. His heir, the crown prince, was poised to inherit the Draconis Empire.
The prince had yet to reach magical maturity. He hadn’t yet gained his full Royal Mage storm magic, but people in the Commune had already started whispering his name with fear. His reputation for violence preceded him.
High Prince Aleksander.
Strange colorless eyes flashed with magic as a fifteen-year-old boy in expensive furs glared at me with perfect, refined posture.
It’s him.
The very first Emperor of the Draconis Empire—a powerful Royal Mage, Chriztoph the Raving—was infamous for his madness and unique iridescent eyes, which all of his descendants had; the lineage was known for its cruelty, magical strength, hostility, and excessive love of violence.
They were monsters, even among Azote’s secretive elite class of deadly Royal Mages. That was almost all anyone on Westmere knew about the Empire.
Now Prince Aleksander stood before me with the famous imperial eyes, thinking I’d willingly go with him, the warmonger who wanted to conquer Westmere and enslave us all. Again. The reason I hadn’t eaten in two days.
I lunged for him.
“NO!” Mom shouted, struggling to hold me back. I fought harder, pulling away from her. I must save the world from him.
“Please, I can’t lose you,” Mom whispered behind me. I froze mid-step, my bloody dagger raised at the cruel prince.
He smiled. “Ah, thou art both in . . . awe of my glorious presence.”
My fingers cramped around the hilt as I desperately fought the urge to disembowel and skin him.
“Don’t,” Mom begged, grabbing my wrist as I raised my hand back, ready to throw my knife. Her fingers were warm against my chilled flesh.
Aleksander’s smirk fell, a frown pulling down his mouth like he was beginning to fathom that I wanted him dead.