Chapter 20
Zara
It had been three days since I returned from Blackrock. Three days since that awful encounter with Atticus… with Xavier. What she forced me to do was unforgivable. I hurt Julian, and worse, their uncle's death was now on my hands.
My thoughts turned to Atticus. That bastard. Then, they shifted back to Xavier. I fought back the surge of emotion, the rising guilt and self-loathing. It was heavy, nearly impossible to push back down, but I managed. I couldn't let myself dwell on it… on them.
I was in Territan. The so-called castle—though I'd hardly call it that—loomed beyond the crowd that surrounded me. Aria’s home. It wasn’t as large as others I’ve seen in Nexia. It was more like a grand mansion than a proper castle, and Territan was certainly the smallest of the territories.
I'd searched every room, every corner of her home. I could have had the guards do it, but I was curious. I couldn’t help wondering what the bitter, sharp-tongued bitch surrounded herself with.
Shockingly enough, it was just as empty and cold as her. The only thing of any sentimental value were the portraits on the walls.
Her room was utterly devoid of personality, containing only a bed, a dresser, and a large mirror.
A grand fireplace dominated one wall, but where were her books, letters, and…
maps? It felt as though she had never truly lived here, as if the place had been abandoned long before we took possession of it.
The only indication that she indeed stayed here was a large, messy ball of blankets haphazardly bundled in the corner.
Golden-brown feathers scattered amongst them told me all I needed to know.
I hadn’t been able to stop the small smile at seeing it. Her beasts really were loyal.
On the bare stone wall of her room hung a single, large portrait.
Aria's angular face had stared back at me from the canvas, disapprovingly.
In this depiction, she was merely a child, yet her sharp, dark eyes and long, fiery hair made it feel as though she were right there, watching me—scowling.
She stood between a man and a woman, her parents.
Her father actually looked happy, with his dark, wavy hair framing a kind face and his light brown eyes crinkling at the corners with a soft, genuine smile. Her mother, however, did not smile. Neither did Aria.
That earned a quiet snort from me. That must have been where she got her sunny disposition.
Aria looked very much like them. Her father's strong chin and prominent nose were unmistakable, while her mother's piercing eyes and vivid red hair were clearly inherited.
Both her parents were striking, handsome in a severe, battle-hardened way, possessing the aura of warriors—strong and fierce.
Xavier had told me that they had both died in the last war, the very war Morgana was now reigniting.
The rest of the castle was more or less the same. A few portraits throughout featured Xavier’s family as well, and to my great amusement, all the ones Jaxon had been in were torn.
Correction.
Each portrait had a dagger protruding from his face.
I couldn’t help but laugh every time I passed one, but it was also a stark reminder of the history they all shared, and it twisted my gut with an unfamiliar feeling.
Most of the other rooms were untouched. Dusty and draped in white cloth, clearly unused. Only three looked maintained, likely for the others when they visited.
Lana and I had chosen rooms on opposite sides of the castle, making sure the best room was prepared to Morgana’s liking for when she arrived.
The castle in Territan differed from the other territories. Unlike Mirronian being set away from the village, behind a gate, and Niverrian separated by gates and bridges, this one was set up so that when you stepped out, you were right in the village.
The tall, round wooden front doors opened onto a large town square.
From there, the village unfolded as a labyrinth of mossy paths and long stone buildings.
These structures were arranged into squares, each featuring its own central courtyard.
The paths continued to wind through the forest, leading to cottages and other stone buildings where the villagers who didn't live in their hybrid shops resided.
It would have been beautiful if it weren’t now covered in tattered tents, steel, and bitter Fae.
We were sent here by Morgana to prepare.
This village served as our main outpost, from which we assigned and directed our soldiers to other outposts along the ward's edge or to establish new ones. It was the central village where we would gather before the main battle. The rest of her army, including her, would arrive in one week, and I’ve had three fucking days to dwell on the manipulation that was my life.
I was never anything but a pawn. Meant to be used over and over to serve her needs. The worst part was… I already knew that. She had convinced me time and time again that I was doing it for the right reasons. Compelled me to believe I agreed with her. That I wanted what she wanted.
I had always known, always felt it—I just didn’t want to admit it.
I had no real choices. No freedom. Everything I did, every decision I made, was hers, not mine. The other day proved just that.
She didn’t care about me.
I was nothing more than her pet, her weapon of choice. But now I finally saw it clearly—the manipulation, the control, the lengths she has gone, and will go.
I was nothing more than my magic. Not a person, but a thing for her to control, no matter the cost. Always had been.
A fist cut through the air toward my face, pulling me from my thoughts, and I dropped low.
Seizing their wrists, I twisted hard until bone shifted beneath my grip and a cry ripped free from their lips.
The lanky female’s back arched in pain, leaving her throat exposed, and my other hand snapped forward, driving into the soft flesh. She stumbled away choking, wheezing.
The crowd's cheers around us blurred into a dull hum. I wasn’t thinking about them. I wasn’t thinking about anything but the weight in my limbs and the sharpness in my chest. I was just a thing. Not a person. Just magic and what she allowed me to have.
Movement flickered—another punch, this one connecting with the side of my cheek.
The sting cracked something open inside me, and I welcomed it.
Pain meant I was still here. Still me. The second blow struck the back of my skull, sharp enough to make my vision swim.
I pivoted into the haze, caught the attacker’s arm, and wrenched it behind her.
A sharp pop, a scream, and she collapsed, clutching her shoulder.
Wind rushed too sharp, too clean, and the magic sliced across my cheek, drawing blood. My gaze snapped to a tall, bulky girl standing wide-eyed across the pitch, regret lining her expression. Magic wasn’t allowed in these scrimmages, and she just broke a fucking rule.
My shadows shot out, slamming into the girl’s chest, and she was launched into the crowd. Shouts of outrage followed, but I didn’t listen, didn’t care.
I turned back to face the two remaining opponents. They were recovering from my previous advances, and I sighed. I hadn’t come to win. I’d come to feel… but I was getting bored.
They ran, and I dropped, my leg sweeping through the girl on the right.
She stumbled forward, and I dragged her into the path of the next blow.
A fist meant for me slammed into her stomach, folding her in half.
I heaved her aside, and my shoulder crashed into the second girl, driving us both into the ground.
Weight slammed at my back, the other girl recovering and pouncing like an animal. I shifted, the blow I felt coming missing me and knocking the wind out of the other beneath me. She had been thrashing, trying to get out of my hold and was now rigid and gasping for air.
I rolled free, rising in one fluid motion to face the tangled heap. They scrambled up, feral and sloppy. Strikes flew wild, and I deflected each one, answering with clean, punishing blows.
Fingers clawed at my shoulders, and I hooked her arm, dropping my weight, and flipped her flat on her back. My boot found her jaw, and her body fell limp.
Pain shot through my lower back, and I spun, snarling. I lunged, seizing both of the other girl's wrists, and forced her off balance. My heel cracked into her knee, and she stumbled backward, glaring.
I had enough. I needed to go find Lana anyway.
Lunging again, I feinted right, then twisted mid-air, landing behind her. She hesitated—her mistake. My fist met the back of her skull, and she crumpled onto the dirt.
The roar of the crowd surged back into focus as Freya glided forward, lips painted in a wicked smile. She leaned close, her whisper barely audible through the shouts. “You took your time.” Then, louder, “Our winner!”
The crowd surrounding us cheered even louder, but I couldn't care less. I scoffed, showing them all my boredom and disinterest in this game, then snared Freya’s gaze with mine. “Where is Lana?”
Freya pursed her lips at me, her expression turning into one of contempt. “I thought I saw her stalk off toward the forest earlier,” she replied somewhat reluctantly, and walked off to mediate the next fight.
The witch who cheated was on her hands and knees at the edge of the crowd, only now becoming conscious again. The people surrounding her were sneering, and it looked like she was trying to stand.
Stalking over, I kicked her in the stomach.
A strangled cry left her lips as she fell back onto the ground, and I smirked at her over my shoulder, wiping the blood from my cheek. The crowd parted for me as I approached, and I made my way through them to the field beyond.
The night sky was clear, and the stars glittered brightly overhead.