Chapter Twelve
Chapter
twelve
I’m running.
Running so fast, I am practically flying, my strides lifting me into the air higher and higher with every desperate bound. Something is on my heels, closing in. Chasing me across this unfamiliar terrain of sand and ash.
But I am faster.
I move on wings of air.
My blood sings with the very wind.
Until my foot comes down, one faulty bound, and the earth opens up beneath me. Swallowing me whole. Plunging me into darkness. The walls close in around me, shuddering, shaking—
I wake with a start, jolting out of the disturbing nightmare.
As the haze of sleep clears, I realize the shaking is not confined to the realm of dreams. The doors of my balcony are rattling, the wardrobe on the far wall knocking violently against the indigo sandstone.
My ears pick up the faint wail of a warning siren being blasted across the city by the beacons.
Another earthquake.
Sliding out of bed, I keep low to the floor as I make my way to the door.
The robe drags around my feet. It is a man’s, far too long for me.
I found it hanging in the back of the wardrobe after my bath and fell into bed wrapped in its plush warmth, wishing it could counteract the icy pall Penn’s letter placed around my heart.
The tremors continue to rattle the chamber as I pull open the door and station myself at the threshold with one hand gripping either side of the frame. Past experience has taught me this is the safest place to stand until the shocks pass.
However, no sooner have the last of the rumbles faded and I have dared rise to full height than I am knocked flat on my ass again.
Not by an aftershock but by a huge surge of maegic.
It sweeps over me in a wave, raising every hair on my body to attention.
My Remnant mark sears, responding instantly to the influx.
What the skies is happening?
Another wave crashes over me, pressing me to the floor.
I fight against its crushing weight, knees creaking as I drag myself upright.
Power tinges the air, flowing thickly all around me, catching me in its clutches.
My feet move of their own accord—down the hallway, around a bend.
I throw one hand out to the wall for support as I am pulled along like a tiny minnow caught in the deepest of currents.
The periodic surges continue as I move through a nondescript doorframe, then up a set of narrow, spiraling steps to a landing where a short ladder spears upward through a hatch into open air.
I am incapable of resisting the mammoth outpouring of maegic that continues to crest and crash, a sea of sensation that heightens my every faculty.
I sweep the dragging hem of my robe aside and climb without thought, without question, through the hole in the roof where the trapdoor is thrown wide, and step into the shadowy night.
By the time I reach the source of the relentless onslaught, I am out of breath—not from the climb but from the effort to keep my own power from responding in kind. Wind batters at my inner reservoirs, thrashing me from the inside out, eager to escape.
Breathe, Rhya. Just breathe.
But I cannot breathe. For all the air in my lungs vanishes as I catch sight of the man standing at the precipice, where the flat section of roof tapers sharply off into a slope of interlaced silver tiles.
I come to a sudden stop, staring at the bare planes of Soren’s back as they ripple beneath the strain of his task. He does not turn to greet me. He does not even seem to know I am there. His arms are lifted out in front of him. His attention is fixed on the dark sea—as is his maegic.
My wide eyes follow the surge and what I see makes my whole body tighten with apprehension.
Despite the darkness of the hour, the night is clear and the moon is bright.
Bright enough to illuminate the crest of a great wave building on the horizon, where the Bay of Blood fades into the Endless Ocean.
A wave that, even now, is headed straight for the city walls.
A tsunami.
I’ve heard of them before, these city-leveling aberrations, in Eli’s old history tomes and cautionary tales told by the hearth.
But I have never seen one for myself. At first, I do not understand how we could be so unlucky.
Two natural disasters in the span of a few moments? It seems an ill omen from the gods.
As the beacon sirens fill the air once more, alerting the city below to the incoming danger, I realize the two incidents are irrevocably linked.
The tsunami is a side effect of the quake, triggered by the shifting of the earth somewhere far out to sea.
A swift and deadly ripple, looming in the distance.
To my straining eyes, it looks impossibly large. Large enough to devastate every town and village along the Ll?rian coast. Large enough to break against the highest ramparts of Hylios and sweep us all away. And there is nothing to stop its advance.
Except for Soren.
Standing alone against the impossible. Protecting his kingdom even if he has to use every ounce of his power to do so. Pulse after pulse, he pushes back against the tsunami. Against the ocean itself, like some divine ruler of the tides.
I feel awed by him in this moment, lit by moonlight, his sleep-mussed hair somehow darker than the night itself. Such strength, such immense control, even in the face of certain defeat.
And yet…
Not so certain, after all.
For as I watch, the wave on the horizon stalls in its roaring approach.
I cannot look away, cannot even spare the time to blink, as gradually it begins to recede—pushed back by the uncompromising strength of the Remnant of Water.
He has fallen to his knees, his physical strength flagging, but his maegic remains immovable as he singlehandedly holds off the ocean’s wrath, compelling distant currents to change course.
After a few moments, the mountainous crest has shrunk by half.
Another few, and it has been compressed down into a swell that, while still tall enough to douse the sea gate, will not smash it off its hinges.
By the time the wave finally reaches the city, it is hardly distinguishable from the others that crash rhythmically below us where the stone walls meet the sea.
I watch its final spray of foam fade into darkness, then take my first gulp of air in what feels like ages. My entire body is covered in gooseflesh. My blood churns with maegic as the night falls utterly quiet, the sirens keening off into a definitive hush.
Only then does Soren relent. His arms lower back to his sides as his maegic shudders to a stop.
His head hangs down, drops of blood dripping from his eyes and spattering like tears against the silver tile.
His breaths are labored. Even at ten paces, I can hear them moving in and out of his lungs.
I have the strangest urge to close the distance between us, to do…
Something.
To say something.
But what could one say in a moment like this?
Where did you learn to wield your power thus?
When will you teach me to do the same?
In the end, it is Soren who speaks. His voice is thicker than usual, a throaty rasp that lacks all levity. “Spying on me, skylark?”
“No.” I swallow hard against the lump in my airway.
“I merely…I heard the sirens after the quake. Then I felt your maegic and…It was like I was compelled to seek it out. A tether, pulling me in. I could not seem to—” My teeth dig into my bottom lip, locking in the rest of my incautious words before they can escape.
Must I tell the man every thought that pops into my head?
As for Soren, he says nothing. He is unnaturally still, his body a gargoyle of stone on the edge of the roof.
Suddenly feeling like the most voyeuristic of intruders, I begin to backtrack toward the trapdoor.
I should’ve resisted the strange pull that led me here, even if I had to lock myself in my suite to do so. I should’ve—
“I’m hungry.”
I halt, startled into stillness by Soren’s abrupt announcement. “Sorry?”
“Famished, actually.” His voice is back to normal.
In a heartbeat, he’s risen to full height and crossed to my side, moving like a phantom.
The only indication of his recent maegical expenditure is his eyes.
He’s wiped away the blood, but his irises are nearly pure silver as they lock on mine, streaked sparsely with his typical sapphire.
Only once before have I seen them like that—the night of Fyremas, as he fought the ice giants and drove back the Reaver clans.
“What about you?”
I blink stupidly at him. “What?”
“Are you hungry? You must be. You went to bed without dinner.” He doesn’t wait for me to follow him, merely prowls toward the hatch that leads back into the villa on bare feet. “Come on, then. I’ll make you a midnight snack.”
His tall form ducks down into the darkness as he descends the ladder out of sight.
After a brief moment of befuddled hesitation, I follow.
I sit on a stool, watching Soren move barefoot around his kitchen through slitted eyes, intermittently sipping wine from the crystal goblet he poured for me.
I’m not entirely sure what to make of the sight of him huddled over a skillet, his large hand gripping a spatula.
Gone is the man from the roof, with his quicksilver eyes and immeasurable power.
Here is a new creature—one that sets my teeth on edge.
He moves with confidence as he collects ingredients from the larder and tools from his cupboards, as he cracks eggs into a flour-filled bowl. He did not lie this morning. The man does indeed know how to cook.