58. Chapter 52
Chapter 52
Caelan
R aven’s dagger parted my flesh, sliding towards my heart. I grabbed her hand to stop her, but my angle was wrong. If she was determined enough, she could finish the job. But, nearly there, she froze again, her eyes glowing brighter.
“What the fuck?” I whispered. Had she even stabbed me of her own accord or was another force controlling her?
She’s always told you she would kill you, my memories reminded me. Yet you’re surprised when she actually does it. You’re a fool.
Though the thought didn’t lie, I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Not after seeing the anguish in her eyes as her dagger sank in.
I tried to force her arm to pull the dagger away but the force that had overtaken her made her flesh like stone. I pulled away from her instead, backing up carefully, following the path of the blade until it slid out of me.
Blood poured from the wound as Baris descended on Raven, his blade poised to kill.
“Don’t!” I shouted and his blade paused in midair. “Stop!” I commanded the soldiers in the circle around me. They hesitated, their eyes darting to Baris, to each other, to the blood-soaked dagger in Raven’s hand and the weeping wound in my stomach. “I command you not to hurt her,” I said, enunciating the words. I felt my strength pouring out of me along with my blood. I might not have much time.
Some listened. They lowered their swords. Others were still unsure. Mutters rose around me. Had I turned traitor?
“She stabbed you, my prince. She must die!” someone shouted.
“She is my companion and I will decide her punishment.” Blackness crept in the corners of my vision and I blinked it away. I stood up with labored motions and glared out at them all. Arbaaz cawed above me. I must show my strength.
An older man stepped forward from the ranks. I knew his face but couldn’t remember his name. “No, my prince,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry. Treason runs in the blood. She’s just proved it. I fought for your father against the Traitor and I came here to do it again. Now, Prince Caelan, with respect and humility, will you please step aside?”
I raised my scimitar and felt Baris step into formation alongside me.
“I will not,” I growled, but men were nodding. They stood with the older man against us. Behind me, Raven lay unmoving. Utterly vulnerable. Caught by whatever god-force had taken hold of her.
“She’s not herself,” I tried to explain. “She’s Touched. Lady Nahome—” I scanned the crowd for her, expecting to see her frozen, too, like before, but when I found her, a shock ran through me.
She was perfectly in her senses, watching all this unfurl. Whatever had hold of Raven this time had not captured her.
“I must agree with the prince,” she said loudly. Heads turned at her commanding voice. A scimitar unsheathed at her waist and behind her, like a wave, the motion was mirrored by several dozen armored men.
Lord Najjar jolted at the sound and looked about himself, his eyes growing wide. “Sheath your swords!” he commanded. Most of the men wore his livery. Not one of them listened. “Sheath your swords!” he shouted again, and drew his own.
Cold fear washed through me. My mother stood right beside him.
Lady Nahome raised her sword. “We fight in the name of the great Marcus Rosa, fallen but not gone! We shall not let his daughter be slaughtered! We shall not let the unjust rule of the Havards continue unopposed for one more day!” Her green eyes pulsed with unusual brightness as they settled on me.
As one, my father's loyal soldiers turned outward to face the oncoming storm.
“Fuck,” I said to Baris. My legs had begun to shake. My blood-soaked pants were sticking to my skin.
“You came to find the rebellion. Good job.” His tone was utterly calm, infused as always with his interminable sense of humor.
“You remember your promise?” I asked him.
“To protect her with my life? Hard to forget,” he said.
I nodded. The blackened edges of my vision were encroaching closer. Raven may very well have killed me already, but I’d be damned if I didn’t protect her with what little life I had left.
Nahome lifted her sword and the rebels surged forward.
“Help me!” I grabbed one of Raven’s arms while Baris took the other. We tugged. Whatever force had taken hold of Raven made her impossibly heavy. Baris swore as his boots sank in the dirt. But a few of the men we’d brought were still loyal to me. They helped us drag her, bit by painful bit, behind the foot of the Corpse of the Father.
I called out commands to my father's soldiers and they deployed into formation as the mob of rebels raced towards us, swords drawn and swinging, shouts ringing in the air. Nahome rode forward with them, her chin high as her alwashi cut through the grass. Her eyes were locked on Raven like she was some prize in a game.
I scanned the battlefield, taking in the whole picture. My mother was still in the thick of things, defenseless, rebels with drawn swords engaging Lord Najjar and his bodyguards just beside her. I swore, torn between protecting Raven and my mother. I tried to reach Arbaaz’ mind, but the connection stuttered and died like a fire on a windy day. I was too weak.
“Go!” Baris said. “I’ve got her!”
I spared a glance at Raven, lying prone behind the corpse's foot. The rebel army hadn’t reached her yet and my men now stood in her protection. They might not want to save her life, but there was no way they'd let the rebels take her.
In the crowd, Lord Najjar and his loyal men made a circle of protection around my mother and her sister. The two women clutched each other, each armed with only a small dagger while the rebels swarmed over Najjar’s men like a plague of locusts.
“Go!” Baris said again.
I swore, vaulting over fallen men and dodging living ones, my body animated with renewed strength fueled by desperateness and hope. But even these feelings faded as my boots pounded the ground. There was no room for them in battle. No room for anything except the needs of this moment.
I barreled into the crowd of rebels and cut down two men with a single swing. Three came at me and I ducked and dodged, wishing for more room, but the crowd around me was thick and I stood out in it like a boulder in flat plains.
“Mother,” I called.
“I’m here.” Her voice came from too far away, as resonant and calm as ever.
“Get out of the fray! Get somewhere safe!
She didn’t answer but I trusted she was there, just nearby, as she’d always been. I just had to get her away from this mess.
Rebels fell before my sword as one step after another brought me closer to my mother and her sister. Lord Najjar’s choice to greet us in armor may well have saved his life, I thought, but no sooner had I thought it than a rebel’s war hammer hit him in the chest, caving in his armor. He fell, his helmet sliding off his head. The war hammer fell again.
Fuck.
Only two of his bodyguards were left standing. Too many of his men had turned on him. My heart raced, fury building. The fool had been surrounded by traitors and not seen it. How had he not seen it?
Then again, I was nursing a death wound from my very own companion, so maybe I wasn’t the one to judge.
A temporary flood of relief filled me as I reached my mother and her sister. The two remaining guards joined me in a protective formation. “We have to get them somewhere safe,” I told them.
But I had little experience with the fighting style required to protect another person. Joab had always made it look easy, but I was no Joab. Bodies were piled up around us and it was impossible to shuffle over them while maintaining a protective formation.
I pulled myself into Arbaaz’ mind with sheer force of will to see the battlefield and check on Raven. She was still safe. In fact, the foot of the Corpse was proving an effective defensive position. The rebels were bottlenecked trying to reach Raven and only a few of the men charged with her protection had fallen.
The picture stuttered and disappeared, blackness replacing it before my own vision returned, too late. I didn't have time to dodge the blade that swiped at my chest. I took a shallow cut before another soldier took my attacker down. My muscles felt weaker and heavier than before. Crimson blood spread down my pants. I might not have much time left. I had to get my mother to Baris. He would protect her with his life.
The only problem with my plan?
There was now an army of rebels between Baris and me. Lady Nahome Obsan was with them in the thick of the fighting. She saw me coming and called her rebels to her.
Fuck.
“Stay back,” I shouted to my mother. “Let us clear a path through. Be ready to run.”
No answer, but I knew she’d heard me and would be ready. If she had been born a man, or a Losian, my mother would have had a thing or two to teach me about battle. She had the feral heart of a warrior and the grace of a queen.
“Lady Obsan,” I called across the field. “Cease this treason.”
“It is no treason to act in the Father’s interests. Nor is it treason to kill a demon,” Nahome said.
“I see no demons here,” I shouted. Perhaps it was a naive hope that strong words could pull men back to loyalty, but they were all I had. Nahome’s forces had almost reached me.
Nahome held up her hand and her rebels slowed, awaiting her next command like well-trained dogs. Behind them, the sounds of combat filtered towards my ears. Some of the rebels still engaged Raven’s protectors at the statue, forcing them to stay there rather than allowing them to come to my aid.
Nahome stepped forward until she stood alone in front of me. She tilted her head and assessed me curiously with her pale green eyes. “You really don’t know who you are. Or who she is.” She jutted her head in Raven’s direction as my mother darted around the guards to appear at my side.
I put an arm in front of her and tried to shove her back, but she slapped my hand as if I were still a child and stood tall before Nahome.
“Lady Obsan,” she said with calm regality.
And Lady Nahome, incredibly, curtsied, offering my mother the respect she was due. “I do apologize for this, Empress.”
“Yes, you ought to. I do believe you’ve already killed my sister’s husband and started a war that you will not win.”
“We will win it.” Nahome said with ease, as if it were a fact.
“Can you see the future now?” I mocked her.
“No. Only the present. And parts of the past that he chooses to show me.” Nahome cocked her head at me. “You should join his side, Prince Caelan. You helped him rise, after all.”
“That’s enough,” my mother hissed, an urgency in her voice that bordered on panic. “You will go. Now. And bless my son for letting you keep your life.”
I would never let Nahome leave this field without shackles around her wrists, but now wasn’t the time to say that. I opened my mouth to ask who she was talking about, though I feared I knew. The Ravager, wasn’t it? What did she mean when she said I’d helped him rise?
But before I could ask, Nahome raised her blade.
I didn’t wait. I charged. If I killed Nahome, I could end this. The clang of metal on metal rang out as our scimitars met and slid apart again and again.
“Prince of Lies,” she said, hardly out of breath. "It’s time for the truth.”
“The Father supports the Havards. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it isn’t for him. How’s that for truth?” My words were spaced far apart with heavy breaths between them. I was slowing down. I had to end this, quickly, but Nahome offered me no openings.
I tugged my dagger from my boot and fought her with two blades. It made no difference. She sliced my scar tissue and I hardly felt it, the pain not sharp but dull.
“The Father evolves, as all beings do. He prefers other names now. But you don’t have to be his enemy, Prince Caelan. Remove the lies that blind you and you may choose.” Nahome moved and I saw her purpose too late. I raised my blades, stepping into her path. I would block this attack with my life, if I could, but I was too late. Too damned slow.
Nahome’s scimitar bit my mother's chest like a snake, carving a deep crevasse. Blood soaked through her silk gown with too much speed. The silk clung to her, ruined, its color growing darker.
“No more lies,” Nahome said.
I whirled on her as my mother collapsed in slow motion. Red flooded my vision as I disarmed Nahome with a single powerful swing. My fist collided with her face and she dropped. I swung out at the men who surrounded her and they fell like ants beneath my foot.
My mother was on the ground, her hands spasming over her chest. Her sister tried to staunch the blood, but the gash was long as well as deep. The color was already draining from my mother’s cheeks.
The air around me shimmered with heat as I sank to my knees beside her.
“To your prince!” I heard Baris shout. He sounded very far away to me, the sound hardly audible over the roar in my ears and the thumping of men’s boots. No, no, he shouldn’t come. He had to protect Raven.
“It’s alright,” I said. I could hardly get the words out.
I should be calm and in control right now. I should be hard, like a soldier. I was no longer a little boy who looked to his mother for comfort. But I could barely speak over the lump in my throat.
My mother’s hand snaked out to take mine. It spasmed as I gripped it tight. It was coated in red. The blood covered her old scars.
My mother tried to smile. “Yes, I will be alright soon.”
No, no, not what I meant. The rushing roar grew louder; it was an avalanche inside my mind. My breathing sped up as sweat dripped down my forehead. Heat waves undulated in the air and fresh pain was rising in my gut where Raven’s dagger had cut my flesh.
My mother winced. She yanked back her hand, hissing through her teeth. Had I held her hand too tightly?
“Count…count the…” she tried to say, but she was weakening.
So was I. The pain in my stomach was becoming a lancing burn that followed the hole in my gut from the outside of my flesh to the muscles just below my heart.
I ignored it. Ripped my mother’s dress to see what could be done. Not since I was a nursing child had I seen her chest. I’d wondered all my life about the scars that covered her hands, but I’d never known if scars marred more of her body. I saw now that they did.
My mother’s breasts were a textured map of old burns. Her nipples were lumps of thickened tissue. What the fuck had happened to her?
It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the gash that crossed her chest, seeping blood too fast. I was no surgeon. This needed sewing.
My mother’s eyelids flickered. She would lose consciousness soon and not regain it. I knelt in an ever-widening pool of her blood.
I did the only thing I could think to do, though I knew it would be useless. I pressed my hands to her chest to staunch the bleeding.
I didn’t expect her skin to sizzle where my hands touched. I didn’t expect steam to rise. I didn’t expect the scent of burnt meat to penetrate the iron scent of the air. I didn’t expect her to scream in agony, her whole face screwing up and tears leaking from her eyes. Her hands shoved feebly at my arm, trying to force me off.
I pulled my hands away as fast as if she’d burned me. But it was other way around. I stared down at her chest and saw new burn scars joining the old. The blisters sketched the shapes of my hands.
The world spun. Nausea overtook me.
It was impossible.
My mother’s eyes were locked on me. She seemed to be holding onto consciousness by sheer determination.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I blinked rapidly. Tears fell from my eyes. I couldn't get enough air to breathe. I was growing dizzy. But the part of me that was a trained soldier noticed that she was no longer bleeding where I’d touched her. My hands had cauterized the wound.
I looked down at my own stomach. Pulled aside my clothes. The fabric I touched blackened and fell apart in my fingers, revealing a fresh, closed wound. It had been burned closed.
My mother’s arm snaked out to grab my sleeve. She tugged me close. Her voice was a quiet thread of sound, but it cut through the roar in my mind.
“Count—count the stars, my love,” my mother said, her voice breathy and weak.
I pulled away, hoping to spare her pain. Blood still pumped out of the end of her wound, where I hadn’t touched her.
“Do-don’t let them see. They’ll take you and y-you’re mine.” Her shaking hand reached for mine again and squeezed.
I tugged away sharply. “Don’t! I’ll burn you.”
“I never let…them take you,” my mother said, and then the oblivion of unconsciousness claimed her.
The battle picked up around me but it was nothing to the one that raged inside as I knelt in shock, unmoving. If I touched my mother where blood still leaked her life away, would the bleeding stop?
I was afraid to try it. I didn’t want to hurt her.
But I had to know.
Tentatively, I pressed a careful finger to the place where the blood flowed freely. The skin beneath my finger sizzled. Though my skin glowed red-hot, the heat caused me no pain. The burning sensation in my gut had faded to a dull background ache.
I removed my finger from my mother as soon as the bleeding stopped.
What was this? What was I?
But I already knew.
It was Tajawl magic. Demon magic. I was a demon.
It’s no treason to kill a demon. That’s what Nahome had said. And Junaid… The Traitor was right. How many people knew what I was, and how many of them had tried to kill me for it?
Just behind me, metal sang as it hit stone. Someone was screaming my name. It was Raven’s voice. She was awake. Was she in danger?
Count the stars, my mother had tried to say. She’d taught me to calm my emotions that way when I was a boy. Had her burns come from me before I’d learned to control myself? They must have.
One. Two. Three.
The roaring in my ears decreased and the sounds of battle returned. The whir of a blade cut the air close to my ear. It was too late to dodge. I let it come.