32. Chasm
Chasm
T ime no longer had any meaning.
My world whittled down to only two things: the feel of Trygg’s sword in my hand and the sight of the huathe’s head skewered on its blade, once-glowing eyes now bottomless pits of darkness.
Everything else faded into oblivion. The dragons beside me; the High Priestess’s sobs; even the Shadow’s presence.
My awareness did not reach them. Rapid, shuddering breaths that tore through my lungs were the only sign I was even alive.
The huathe lay motionless beneath me, his blood a creeping pool of burnished gold over the floor.
I felt that blood soaking into my silk slippers, my skirts.
His black-tipped beak hung open in a wordless screech, but it still echoed in my mind.
How he’d released one last shred of agony as I’d made that final push, nearly severing his head completely.
I’d done it.
The thing that had consumed my being for weeks now… I’d killed the huathe and gotten vengeance for my mother’s death.
Yet none of it served to thaw that icy, hollow pit in my chest.
Tendrils of dark power stroked gently at my mind, and I became dimly aware of the Shadow calling softly. The ringing in my ears, blocking out any other sound, slowly faded away. I blinked. Once. Twice. My eyes burned.
How long had I been standing here, staring at what I’d done?
“Vor,” a rough voice came. Someone tugged at my shoulders. “Vor, look at me.”
It was like my fingers were soldered to the hilt. They gripped it to the point of pain, yet I couldn’t seem to let go. If I released the sword, and that pit in my chest remained?—
Asvoria.
The call echoed in my mind, expanding the pinprick my awareness had shrunk down to. I blinked again, tearing my eyes from the slaughtered creature to find Trygg standing before me. His hands dripped with golden blood and his mouth was set in a grim line.
Let go, he said, the words traveling down that anchor line between us. His voice was soft—gentle, even. But his smoke-swirled eyes burned hotly, the fire in his palm flickering in their depths.
My shoulders sagged into that weight, the heaviness of the bond I had unwittingly opened. Air rushed from my lungs as my hold loosened on the blade.
Let go, he repeated, taking a step forward. The hand that wasn’t bearing the flame wrapped around my aching fingers, smearing them with blood from the huathe’s torn wing. His warmth seeped into my stiff joints, and, slowly, I released my iron grip from the leather-wrapped hilt.
He took hold of the blade as I finally relinquished it, his eyes still on me, a grounding force as I waded through the fog.
With a sharp yank, he pulled the sword free from where I’d lodged it into the floor.
A spray of golden blood came along with it, splattering against my sleeves.
I watched, heart thudding, as he wiped both sides of the blade against the huathe’s shirt and then slipped it back into the sheath at his hip.
“It’s done,” he said aloud, drawing away from the connection. His eyes softened as he looked at me.
Heavy hands grasped my shoulders again, pulling me away. This time, I allowed it, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the loss of Trygg’s illumination.
“Vor,” Lenn said, his gaze searching for any sign of injury. I didn’t know when he’d gotten here, or what he thought about the sight before him. His eyes were so full of panic, it sparked something in me in return.
“I killed him.” It was the only coherent thought I could form.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, taking in the golden blood coating my skirt and sleeves.
“She’s in shock,” Trygg said quietly from behind me.
Lenn cast a glance over my shoulder, gaze hardening. His hands tightened on my shoulders. “Get her back to her chambers, quickly,” he said to the dragon prince. “Arlbright is taking the High Priestess to the infirmary. I’ll come to you after I’ve checked on her.”
I couldn’t even find the strength to nod. It was a monumental effort to stay on my feet.
“Yes, I’m sure Arlbright was able to spirit the High Priestess away quietly, but we’re both covered in golden blood,” Trygg said, pressing in closer to me. “How do you suggest we stay out of sight?”
Lenn straightened up, running a hand down his face. His gaze roamed over the darkened library, contemplative.
“Window,” I breathed, finding a kernel of strength in the way the Shadow circled slowly in my mind. Going out the window was the only other way to leave the library unseen.
Trygg stretched his wings, and Lenn’s gaze darkened. “None of the windows on the ground floor open wide enough. Security reasons,” he explained, shoulders stiffening. “You’ll have to fly her out. Do not be seen.” The look he gave Trygg was nothing short of a threat.
“Understood,” the dragon replied, placing a tentative hand on my elbow. The Shadow roiled at the contact.
“I’ll have Inga and Maaren help me clean this… thing up,” Lenn grumbled, looking down at the mess. “How will I explain this to the Jarlum…”
“Tell them I’d like to speak to them,” I said, my eyes dropping to the floor involuntarily. The widening pool of blood and ragged gash in the huathe’s throat soured my stomach. I turned away, facing Trygg.
“Of course,” Lenn muttered, huffing out a heavy breath.
Trygg raised his brows, turning toward the stairs in a silent question. I started to nod and move forward, but then his words came back to me.
We’re covered in golden blood.
The nauseating, metallic scent filled my nostrils. My legs were warm from the wetness of it. With my skirts and shoes drenched, I’d only be spreading the evidence of what I’d done all over the Citadel.
Without a word, I reached around to the laces of my bodice, tugging them free and unfastening the garnet-studded buttons running up the back of my neck.
“What are you doing?” Trygg asked, eyes wide.
“I’ll get blood everywhere in this dress,” I muttered numbly.
Lenn huffed again behind me, which I ignored. Practicality had to triumph propriety in this case—we all knew it. Whatever shred of dignity I’d lose in having to undress was nothing compared to the loss of the dress itself. Just another piece of my mother the huathe had stolen from me.
There was nothing else I could say.
I pulled my arms from the sleeves and discarded the bodice behind me, flinching as the fabric smacked against the blood.
Next came the layers of skirts—four of them in total, their hems soaked to uneven levels.
The tulle, silk, and lace floated to the floor, gathering around my ankles, and I was left in only my plain corset and white shift.
The Shadow sent me a soft wave of reassurance as I looked at Trygg. “Please cut the hem,” I said, ignoring the rising heat in my cheeks as I stood before him in little more than my smallclothes.
Trygg knelt, extending one of his taloned fingers and slicing through the thin linen with ease.
The soaked fabric joined the mess at my feet, leaving my legs bare below my knees.
He stood back up and the air heated and shimmered around us.
When he rose to his full height, his eyes dimmed slightly, and the light from his chest faded away.
The blood on his scaled hands sizzled into nothingness as the cracked, black skin disappeared.
He reached out to me, and I took a tentative hold of his hand as I stepped out of my shoes and the mass of bloody fabric encircling me.
Hopping beyond the pool of blood, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering despite the heat of the dragon prince beside me. He took a moment to step out of his boots as well, leaving them lying next to the black and red mound of cloth.
Lenn’s eyes swam with pity and concern as he followed my gaze to the ruined gown. “What would you like me to do with it?” he asked softly.
The words were bitter on my tongue as I said, “Burn it.”
I didn’t wait for his response, only turned away and headed for the stairs. Trygg followed behind me, wings shuffling softly. When we reached the landing, I hurried across the open sitting area to the far wall with its three wide windows.
Are you alright? The Shadow’s voice was small, tentative.
I’m fine, I bit back, fighting against the well of emotion threatening to overtake me. I felt her prepare to level some argument, so I forced a wave of numbing quiet toward her. I don’t want to talk about it right now.
She shrank back from the wave, already weak from her release and seemingly unwilling to challenge me. My hands trembled and my breath shook as I came to a stop in front of the middle window. If I thought about it—about the edge of the gaping precipice opening inside me—I knew I would break.
I reached up to release the latch and pushed the two panes outward, letting in a rush of frigid air that cut straight to my bones. Trygg stopped at my side, peering down at the shrub-lined path leading to the armory and practice yard. His wings flared out and brushed against my shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked, glancing over. The watery moonlight peeking through the clouds limned his raven hair and ebony wings in a silver halo.
I didn’t have the mental strength to think about what I was about to do—how it went completely against everything I’d ever been told and the warning Lenn had given that morning.
He was right about the expectations surrounding the queen’s relationship to her Talons.
But of all the rules that plagued my preconceptions of what it would be like to have Talons of my own, there were two that reigned above all others:
Firstly, the queen shall never engage in any inappropriate relationship—romantic, or otherwise—with her Talons.
And second, the queen shall never fly with her Talons.
I’d come perilously close to breaking the first over the last few days. And now I had no choice but to break the second.