Chapter 51
Ceridwen screeched as King Rhion’s long claws pierced his son’s shoulder.
“No!” She reached for Malik, though he was impossibly far away, almost at the center of the stage, where she was far to one side. Malik had ordered her to run, to flee, but how could she just leave him and Drystan in this disaster?
Malik howled in pain as the claws were ripped free in a spray of blood. A few inches to the left and Malik would be dead.
He stumbled and raised his sword to block the incoming blow. Claws screeched against steel before retreating. With each move, the king glided through the air with inhuman speed and grace.
She needed to run. To hide, but Ceridwen couldn’t move. Her body refused to obey. The crowd was in turmoil. Some cried. One vomited on the ground. Many more stood frozen in shock or pushed at the gates, trying to flee. “Let them out!” Ceridwen yelled, hoping Adair and his comrades could hear her above the noise. “Get them out of here!”
They’d seen enough. Who could deny the truth of the king now? Unless no one survived to tell of it. Metal groaned as a door near the back gave way under the press of fleeing nobles.
A whimpered wail echoed through the yard as Drystan’s sword bit heavily into the side of the monster. It stumbled back as Drystan pulled the blade free. Below them, blood painted the wood in a gruesome pattern of crimson as bright as her dress.
He should have advanced to land the killing blow. Instead, his back hunched. Drystan’s head twisted to the side. Ceridwen gasped, catching sight of bright-red eyes.
Goddess, no, not now. Whether from the blood, the fighting, or the nearby use of dark magic, his monster rose to the surface.
“Drystan!” Her voice quaked. “Fight this!” Fear for the man she loved released her frozen limbs. She scrambled to the edge of the stage, cursing her heavy dress and awkward shoes.
He shook his head from side to side as the monster he faced regained its footing, keeping all weight off an injured limb. Drystan adjusted his grip on the blade and advanced.
Nearby, Malik yelped as his father’s claws raked his middle. Sweat beaded on the prince’s brow. Despite his youthful advantage, he didn’t hold the upper hand in this duel.
Ceridwen searched for anything she could use as a weapon, a distraction. Nothing lay close, but if she could get to the dead guard near the edge of the stage…
Growls and wails rang out behind her as Drystan dueled the beast.
Almost there. Almost.
Steel clattered to wood, and she twisted toward the sound. Malik stumbled back, holding his gut, unarmed. She wouldn’t make it to him in time. Her whole body shook as she watched the inevitable.
Bloody, raised claws glinted in firelight, prepared to end a life.
A scream that might have been her own split the air.
King Rhion froze with a grunt. The end of a dagger protruded from his side. Thin strips of leather wrapped the hilt of the dull blade.
Not any blade. She recognized it now. The Gray Blade.
Drystan panted, arm still extended from where he’d thrown the dagger across the stage. The other beast lay still a few feet from him, head bleeding profusely.
“Idiots, all of you.” The king pulled the blade free and tossed it away, ignoring the blood that seeped from his side. “I thought you could be my right hand. My successor!” he yelled at Drystan. “Now I know you’re as weak as your father. Unworthy to lead our people.”
No… No, it can’t be.Ceridwen’s legs shook, barely holding her upright. It should have stripped his magic, nullified it. The claws didn’t recede. The red in his eyes grew and flickered. How did we fail?
In a flash, the king grew in size, his body twisting and transforming until a massive dark beast settled on four legs above a heap of shredded cloth. Golden jewelry clattered to the ground in pieces. With a swift kick of its hind legs, he knocked Malik away. The prince screeched as the beast’s foot connected with his wound and sent him sprawling across the wooden stage to where it met a stone wall.
Red eyes flashed as the beast, so much more massive than Drystan’s or the one that lay dead, stalked toward the man Ceridwen loved.
Drystan gritted his teeth, a guttural growl of his own slipping free. His jacket ripped as his arms bulged. Red colored his eyes.
A strange calm settled over her. His monster would be with them soon. For once, she was glad. They needed him now, that horrible monster of darkness and death.
The king charged Drystan in a rush of dark, leathery skin and fur. Claws and teeth warred against Drystan’s sword.
Ceridwen used the moment to rush to Malik and fell to her knees at his side. He gnashed his teeth, moving his hand in a pattern across his stomach.
“Malik! Can you heal it?” She reached for him without thinking, halting when his gaze slid to hers.
“Trying,” he bit out.
She yanked her hand away, unwilling to disrupt his spell further.
Drystan roared as the monster clawed the sword from his hand. Blood dripped onto the ground from his arms before his back hunched. Another cry split the air along with the ripping of dark clothes. Two beats of Ceridwen’s racing heart later, the rest of his clothing fell away in shreds as Drystan’s monster took form on the stage, facing down the larger one of the king.
He wasn’t a man any longer, but the beast who terrorized the city.
The one who attacked her. The one who saved her. The one she loved.
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Please, Goddess, help him.
Growls rumbled back and forth as they circled each other like rabid wolves.
A set of far doors opened, allowing a stream of uniformed guards to rush into the yard. Some pulled swords free of their scabbards and stepped in front of the remaining nobles. Others stumbled back. None attempted to approach the stage. Would they even know what they witnessed?
The beasts leaped at each other, scratching, snarling, and snapping their teeth.
Pain lanced through her heart as she watched Drystan fight for his life. All their lives. The Gray Blade had failed. He had only his monster’s brute strength to aid him now.
The king smashed into Drystan’s smaller beast, sending it sliding across the floor, claws leaving deep groves in their wake as he attempted to halt himself.
A woman’s cry caught Ceridwen’s attention in the yard. Bronwyn cupped her hands over her mouth, Adair at her side. Her attention wasn’t focused on the beasts leaping at each other. Instead, it fixed on her and the injured man at her side.
She shook off Adair and ran, climbing the edge of the stair far from the battle taking place on the other side of the stage. Adair rushed up a step behind her, hair disheveled and eyes wide. “Ceridwen, are you—”
“I’m fine.”
Bronwyn reached for Malik, but Ceridwen grabbed her hands. “Let him finish.” He still traced patterns in his own blood over his skin, trying to heal the wicked wound, which leaked blood onto the floor.
“You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,” Bronwyn repeated at a near whisper.
None of them would be if the king emerged victorious. Ceridwen turned to the duel.
“Dear Goddess. Where’s Drystan?” Adair murmured, following her gaze.
“The small one,” Ceridwen’s voice cracked out in a rasp.
Claws raked down his side. With a roar, he reared, blood dripping onto the ground, before lunging at the king again.
Despite the dagger wound Drystan inflicted, the king showed no signs of slowing or backing down. Quite the opposite.
Ceridwen’s eyes blurred with tears, her heart constricting as Drystan took another blow.
“I’ll see if I can rally the guards.” Adair rushed to the yard where men had stepped back, watching the spectacle with looks of fear, confusion, and unease. A few more had joined their number. What were they waiting for?
They have to do something. We have to—
In the midst of the chaos and bloodshed, a section from the third movement of The Blessings of the Goddess slipped into her head, sung in a musical voice that was not her own.
To test the hearts of man, she gifted darkness too,
A temptation one can only resist if they stay true.
To balance the two, magicless humans remained,
Their gray the counterpoint to the magic strain.
The blade, when wielded with a heart of gray,
Can quench the magic of any gifted this way.
Gray to balance the darkness. Drystan contained both light and dark. They warred within him. They warred.
Never could the two blend. Light and dark could not merge to make the gray. But someone who contained neither…
The song strengthened her heart. The shaking in her limbs halted. Resolve gave her strength as she pushed to her feet and stepped away from the wall.
“Ceridwen. Don’t,” Malik pleaded.
She ignored him. This was her task, hers alone, and she wouldn’t fail.
Ceridwen’s heart thundered as she closed her hand around the hilt of the Gray Blade, still bloody from where it had pierced the king’s side.
Drystan yelped and whined as the king’s fangs sank into his leg. The larger beast tossed him across the stage.
Hang on. Just a moment longer.
The king’s attention remained on Drystan as he stalked back and forth, looking for another opportunity to pounce on his wounded prey.
With a burst of courage, Ceridwen ran forward and plunged the dagger into the beast’s back.
It howled in pain and swung a grotesque arm in her direction. She didn’t have the chance to blink, much less move, before it sent her sailing across the stage and crashing into the wood.
Sharp pain roared through her back, arms, and head. Buzzing rang in her ears. Her sight faded until she saw nothing other than blinding white and a pale, blond-haired woman staring at her.
Mother?
Her expression softened into a gentle smile that filled Ceridwen with warmth and comfort.
The world returned in a rush of color and sound.
Bronwyn slid to a stop at her side. “Ceridwen! Where does it hurt? Speak to me!”
Pain radiated through her, but her fingers moved and her toes. She could roll her head side to side.
A deep male voice screamed in pain. The king. Human.
“The king!”
“He is a monster!”
Various shouts from the guard rang out.
“He killed King Jesstin and stole his crown! Remember what he’s done!” Adair yelled.
“What’s going on?” Ceridwen needed to know, to see. “Help me sit up.”
Ceridwen winced in pain and held in a whimper as Bronwyn slipped an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit.
The guards still stood in the yard, eyes rapt on the stage. They wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t stop it.
Drystan, still a beast, stalked in front of the now human king, who reached for the blade still protruding from his back.
She’d done it. It worked.
A magicless human had to wield the Gray Blade. Only could someone without magic use it to nullify magic—dark or light. And without his magic, the beast that the king released from the prison of his body was no more. He had no more power than any normal human.
As he reached for it, the blade began to crumble. The hilt clattered to the ground. Ash rained down where the blade had been, accompanied by blood from the king’s wound. Its purpose fulfilled, the blade ceased to exist. Only one use. At least she’d used it well.
Drystan, still a beast, lunged for the king. With a snap of his fanged jaws, he clamped down on the king’s throat and ended his life.