Chapter 55 #2
‘You’re outnumbered here,’ I continue. ‘And one strike from Kyor is all it’s going to take to end this.
Trust me when I say he’s a lot faster with those strikes of his than you’re ever going to be with your blade.
But don’t worry, he’ll just singe you. We want to keep you alive so you can be brought to justice. ’
Her lips part, but before she can make a sound, Kyor strikes her. Not with lightning, but with a decent-sized spark. Gasping, she releases Astrid, her body folding over, her hands on her knees.
But she’s back upright impressively quickly, her gaze fixing on my dagger. Her smile sharpens. Something tells me masochism is an enjoyable pastime for the general.
‘Fine,’ she snaps. ‘Let’s stop with the games then, shall we? I am glad to see you took our warning seriously. I assume you’ve come to give the blade to me. Not that I care either way. I just wanted you here to kill you.’
Before I can even take a breath, Jarl and the other Issen have moved to flank me. At least they don’t need any more convincing of which side to take.
‘Why would you do this?’ I demand. ‘This is your home. Why would you let the Morathkians in here?’
Her smile turns ugly.
‘The Morathkians are already here! One of them a general of ours, no less! I could stomach it, just about, until you!’ she hisses. ‘You coming here, taking the crown from my daughter.’
‘From your daughter?’ I press my fingers to my temples.
‘You’re serious? You’re willing to destroy your kingdom because you’re some social-climbing, narcissistic mother who wanted your blood on the throne?
Have you thought about what will happen when there is no throne because you let the wolves in through the front door? ’
Fen growls at my side.
You know I was talking metaphorically, I tell him hastily. Sort of.
‘So what happened?’ Kyor says coldly, moving to flank my right side. ‘You went to the front line and what, waved a flag of parley, told them we were here?’
‘That was the plan,’ she admits, fixing Kyor with a thin smile.
‘There was no chance your father would allow you to remain here if he knew of your presence. It was not difficult to figure out you were fleeing, hiding, and I was certain there would be someone who could use that information. Though, as it happened, I heard of people looking for you first, Princess.’ Her eyes, flat as flint, switch to me.
‘People looking to make a deal for that dagger by your side.’
‘Which is exactly where it’s staying,’ I tell her.
Something tells me all it’s going to take is a paper-cut-sized nick of this blade to end General Greta Ranveeg, though I’ve got to get close enough to strike her first, and I’m well aware she has the same powers as Brida and could pull the air from my lungs anytime she wants.
If only I’d spent some time practising that skill too… But having felt the sensation firsthand, I suspect it would have been tough to find volunteers.
Her smile deepens.
‘This is where your journey ends, Rose Kultavaris, although maybe I should admit that it is only the dagger they want.’ She sneers. ‘I insisted they take your life too.’
‘Do you even know what this dagger is for?’ I ask. ‘Do you even know how many lives will be lost if you let them have it?’
‘Do you even know how our lives have been corrupted since the king let the Morathkians through our borders, and for what? None of the benefits,’ she spits.
‘None of the rewards. Still fucking riverweed to eat day in and day out, only now those vermin share our tables. Our magic used to be pure. It used to be simple. But since those Morathkian knights moved in, they have sullied our lines. The things that so-called “Issen” can do—’ Her eyes rake over me with disgust. ‘And look at you. Dressed in fur, shivering in the cold, and yet you are meant to be our next queen? I will not have it. I refuse to allow it.’ She steps closer, voice dropping low.
‘I am not without a heart. I will let your prince do it — end your life, just as he has ended the lives of so many Issen — and then he and your friends will be allowed to survive.’
Kyor’s laugh is abrupt. ‘Yeah, that’s never going to happen.’
‘Then I’m afraid we have a problem,’ she says before stamping her foot down on the ground.
A flurry of ice sweeps around us, completely opaque and so cold I can feel it freezing the marrow in my bones and the air in my lungs.
‘Astrid! Take charge. Tell them what to do!’ I hear Kyor’s battle cry as the sky crackles with lightning. He might not be in fighting leathers, but Ranveeg’s attack has awoken the warrior.
As a crash of magic deafens the air, Astrid screams, ‘Attack! Get Ranveeg down!’
There is a scuffle, and while Ranveeg’s power is terrifying, it is short-lived.
Almost instantly, visibility is restored to reveal Ranveeg with blood seeping down her right leg from where a knife has pierced both her skin and her concentration.
Her white eyes are locked on mine, full of hate and loathing.
And then—
She takes the breath from me.
One second it’s there, and the next it’s gone. My chest jerks, lungs straining as panic surges, hot and immediate, crawling up my throat as blackness creeps into the edges of my vision.
But I push the panic down. Keeping a level head is everything, so I force myself to think.
The problem with her power is that she needs to focus on her target as she wields it. She needs to keep her power locked on me, which means she can’t defend herself.
She expects me to drop. To choke. To claw at my throat and collapse, writhing into the snow.
I’ve felt this before. Not only that, but I wield this power too. It is mine as much as it is hers. So though my lungs scream, I move.
Each step is hard-won, my body rebelling, my legs heavy and unsteady as dizziness crashes through me, my magic fighting against hers. Her control and practice test my inexperienced, untamed Issen powers. My fingers fumble at my side, then close tightly around the dagger.
Her expression shifts, just a flicker, as she realises I’m not falling. By her count, I should already be on the ground. Instead, I lunge.
Her eyes widen, surprise cracking through her focus. She tries to parry, but she’s too slow, too off-balance. My blade skids, deflected from anything vital, but bites deep into her arm.
She’s smug for half a heartbeat. Right up until the moment when the blood starts to cascade from her.
With a whoosh, air returns to my lungs as she fumbles with the wound, trying to press a hand to it, to staunch the flow.
But I know from Jai that nothing she does will stop it. Not when she’s been judged by the blade. She’s dead already – she just doesn’t realise it.
As Ranveeg struggles to stop the haemorrhage, I look past her, and my stomach drops away.
Morathkians.
Hundreds of them.
Walking through the pyrrhic.