Spellbreaker

by S A McClure

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Iris

  Clumsily, Iris pressed her hands against the wound on Emma’s back. Her hands came back coated in blackish blood. It was everywhere. Streaked across her face. Matted in her hair. Staining the snow.

  “Emma?”

  She pressed her lips against her sister’s brow. Emma didn’t stir. Her skin was cold to the touch. Her cheeks no longer held their rosy complexion. She was pale. Paler than Iris had ever seen her.

  She nudged Emma’s arm, shaking her softly as she begged for her to open her eyes. She’d come so far. This couldn’t be happening. Emma couldn’t be dead.

  She clutched her sister’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Her fingers were numb, frantic. She couldn’t feel anything over the erratic beating of her own heart.

  “Please, Emma, you have to wake up. Please.”

  She stroked the hair from her sister’s brow. Her face was streaked in dirt. She could see the trail left behind from her tears. How long had her sister been out here? How long had she suffered?

  “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  She cradled Emma to her chest as she wept.

  “I don’t think she’s dead.”

  The male voice behind her made her jump. She turned to face him, placing herself between her sister and the man.

  She screamed. Dark hair, dark skin, hazel eyes. A band of tattoos covered his biceps. Scars covered his body. There were so many of them, Iris wasn’t sure where one ended and the next began.

  A Szarmian.

  She’d heard the stories. She’d read the histories. Szarmians hated everything and everyone who possessed magical abilities. They killed on site. They took pleasure in the pain of their victims. They bathed in their blood.

  “What do you want?” she hissed.

  He held up his hands, palm out, as he crouched down and inched his way towards her.

  “Please, I think I can help,” he said.

  “Stay back!”

  She looked him up and down. He wore only a thin pair of breeches that were torn on the hems. They were ill-fitting. Seams were beginning to pop from being stretched too far across his body. He didn’t even have shoes. He would be of no help. Her sister was already gone.

  He didn’t approach further. He just stood there, his hands held out before him, shivering from the cold.

  “Please, listen to me, Iris. I’ve seen this before. I know what to do. I—”

  “How do you know my name?”

  She glanced down at her sister. Her lips had begun to turn a frosty blue shade. Gritting her teeth, she turned back to the Szarmian.

  He looked past her, right into Emma’s face. There was something almost familiar in his hazel eyes. There was longing there, and something akin to love.

  “Who are you?” she asked. This time, she tried to keep the accusation out of her tone.

  He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

  She cradled Emma closer. “But you remember us? You know our names?”

  “Please, Iris, there isn’t much time. There’s still a chance I can save her.”

  She bit her bottom lip, considering. Her sister’s lifeless face, battered, bruised, and swollen, stared back. She wasn’t ready to lose her.

  She nodded, and he rushed forwards. He plucked Emma from Iris’s hands and laid her flat on her back. Pressing his ear to her chest, he closed his eyes. Iris watched him work. Every move he took made the hope he’d generated in her begin to ebb away. She couldn’t believe she was trusting a stranger—much less a Szarmian—to save her sister’s life.

  A smile spread across his face. “She still has a heartbeat.”

  Her chest tightened. Her nails dug into the palms of her hands as she watched him pull a small phial of glowing purple liquid from his tattered trousers.

  “What is that?” she asked as he tipped Emma’s head back and uncorked the bottle.

  “An antidote.”

  She didn’t question where he’d gotten it. If it helped her sister survive, it didn’t matter. She would be grateful.

  He tipped the contents of phial down Emma’s throat. For a moment, she didn’t respond. Iris found herself leaning forward, sweat running down her back as she waited. She sent a silent prayer to the Creators for their protection of her sister. She promised she would dedicate her life to serving them, if they would only let her sister live.

  They’d never answered her prayers before. As a child, she had begged them to reunite her and Emma with their parents. Even though they’d abandoned them in the woods, she missed them. She missed her life with them. The Creators had not answered.

  As they grew older, she’d prayed for the Creators to protect them from Grandmother’s wrath. Still, Emma had been the victim of countless moments of tyranny. She’d been beaten. Hurt. Knocked down. The Creators had turned a silent ear to Iris’s pleas for protection.

  She had no reason to believe that they’d save her sister now. Still, she prayed.

  “We have to get her someplace warm.”

  The Szarmian’s words tore her from her thoughts.

  “We can take her back to Balkeen’s mountain.”

  His face paled.

  “You know him?”

  He nodded as he wrapped Emma in his arms. He cradled her to his chest. His movements were gentle, almost loving.

  “How? How do you know him?”

  He turned his hazel eyes upon her. They reflected the towering, icy walls from behind her.

  “I suspect you already know the answer to that question,” he whispered. There was no malice in his tone. Just sorrow and pain.

  She grasped for the tendrils of power she felt melting away from him, the residue of a longtime spell slowing being washed away. It coated him the way molasses does, clinging to every inch of him. She ran a single finger down the magic’s wavering tendrils. Her mind filled with the image of a wolf.

  The wolf.

  She took a step back, shocked. She should have guessed. The moment he emerged from out of nowhere, she should have known.

  “How did you get the antidote?” she asked.

  He began walking, carrying Emma. She clasped her hands around her sister’s as they made their way down the valley path. Her legs cramped, and she walked with a limp. She was still so cold. But she was alive. And, if they could make it back to the cave, she had every hope that Emma would survive, too.

  It took him several moments before he finally responded. When he did, his voice was husky and rough.

  “When I found the dead animals in the passageway, I knew what it was that had attacked them. I’d seen it before.”

  He paused, adjusting his grip on Emma’s body. Her head lulled to the side. Her cheeks were edged with pink, but her lips were still tinged with blue. She squeezed her sister’s hand.

  “I knew Balkeen kept a room full of antidotes for all sorts of ailments, including cockatrice venom. I knew that if we found it, it would be her only hope of survival.”

  “But how?” she asked before she could stop herself. “I mean,” she fumbled over her words. “You didn’t have hands… or a place to put a phial.”

  He chuckled at her. “Balkeen’s other prisoners and I have had years of practice obtaining what we need to survive. He was a cruel master.”

  “So, what, your plan was to carry that phial to Emma and hope that I somehow, miraculously knew what to do with it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She smiled at that. It was her first genuine smile in days.

  They passed the place where Balkeen’s body lay on the ground. Iris turned away from the grisly sight, her stomach roiling. Mr.Wolf—she didn’t know what else to call him—stared down at the Balkeen, his expression blank. She thought about asking him more questions about why the dwarf had turned humans into animals. Her chest tightened at the thought of discussing what she had done.

  Her thoughts drifted towards Liam.

  He and Mr. Wolf had worked together, hadn’t they? She had seen
the raven lead Mr. Wolf to Emma. Maybe he knew about Liam’s relationship with Grandmother. Maybe he could give her the answers she so desperately needed. The ache in her chest hardened into a solid resolve.

  She would figure out what had happened to Liam—to them all.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Emma

  Emmaleigh Valka always hunted alone. It’s what she had always done. It’s what she thought she would always do. She was the huntress. She always would be.

  She stirred from her dream with a jolt. It had been so real. The attack of the beast in the woods. The pain of the black, inky blob crushing her with its weight. The shock of being stabbed by the cockatrice’s talon.

  And the wolf who had been there with her for it all. He’d hunted with her. He’d fought with her. He’d protected her. She didn’t think she would ever forget those mournful, hazel eyes.

  “Emma!”

  Her sister wrapped her arms around her shoulders before Emma had a chance to utter a single word. She hugged her so tightly that she found it difficult to breath. Her body was sore—more than she had ever felt before.

  When her sister finally pulled back, there were tears streaming down her sister’s cheeks.

  “What’s all this fuss about?” Emma asked.

  She patted Iris’s back. Bruises she didn’t remember getting covered her arms. Iris’s lips trembled. She, too, was covered in bruises.

  White, hot anger boiled in her.

  “What happened to you?” she hissed. “Did Grandmother Rel do that to you? Tell me the truth, Iris.”

  Her sister blinked at her, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to speak, but then abruptly shut it again.

  Emma cocked an eyebrow. “What, exactly, is going on?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what? Where’s Grandmother Rel?”

  She looked around the room and noticed, for the first time, that they were not in their room in the cabin. This place was covered in crudely cut stone. A wooden chandelier hung from the ceiling, candles dripping wax onto the ground as they melted. A blazing fire crackled close to the bed, sending sparkling cinder into the air along with tendrils of smoke.

  “Iris, tell me what’s going on.”

  Instead of answering, her sister leaned down and kissed her on her brow. She wiped Emma’s hair from her cheeks, where they’d been plastered to her sweat-covered skin. Tears glistened in Iris’s eyes.

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal.

  There was a soft knock on the door and large man with dark hair and skin entered the room. The sleeves of his tunic were cut off at the shoulders and tattoos wrapped around his arms.

  She sat up too quickly. Her head swam. Iris tried to push her back down. She cooed softly in Emma’s ear. It didn’t matter. She needed to protect her sister.

  He was a Szarmian. He would kill them both. Even though neither of them had demonstrated magical abilities, he would kill them. Szarmians were barbarians. They sought to kill everyone and everything that went against their fanatic beliefs. She would not let herself or Iris become their victims.

  She was the huntress. Not them. Never them.

  He bowed his head at her and showed her his palms.

  Still, she needed to find a weapon. She needed to protect them both.

  “Let me go!” she yelled as she thrashed against her sister’s hold on her. “He’s a Szarmian, Iris! Can’t you see that? He’ll kill us!”

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest.

  She shoved her sister away from her and grappled with the blanket wrapped tightly around her legs. Her fingers felt numb as she furiously worked at untangling herself from the cloth. The Szarmian didn’t approach them. He kept his head bowed, his hands held out before him.

  “He doesn’t mean us any harm,” Iris said.

  She glared at her sister in disbelief. What had this Szarmian swine done to convince her sister that he wasn’t a threat? She bared her teeth at Iris. Her sister was weaker than her. She always had been. And now, she was a threat to their safety.

  She rolled off the bed. Her legs wobbled beneath her weight and she nearly fell to the ground. The Szarmian caught her.

  He was warm. And firm. And gentle as he helped her stand. Before she could stop him, he cupped her cheek in his hand and stroked his thumb down her flesh. His touch was shocking. It was as if a thousand miniature heatwaves were washing over her.

  She shook her head and knocked him away from her. The moment his fingers left her face, she felt coldness seep into her very bones. It was as if she had lost a part of herself.

  She couldn’t understand. She didn’t know this man. She’d never met a Szarmian before.

  She looked back at Iris, who was huddled against the wall, her face pale and her eyes darting between her and the Szarmian. He knelt before Emma, his palms face up.

  “What, in the Darkness, is going on?” she hissed, stumbling backwards. She leaned against the bed, breathing heavily. Her head felt like a fog had overtaken her. Everything was tinged in a blurry haze, as if smoke had filled all her senses.

  “Emma, why don’t you lay back down?” Iris patted the pillow.

  “No. Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me. Don’t make me feel like a little girl, Iris. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Iris’s cheeks flushed, and she dropped her gaze down to her hands.

  The Szarmian sucked in a loud breath, drawing her attention to him. He stood, his shoulders hunching as he whispered, “I should leave you.”

  He paused for a breath of a moment, as if hoping she would tell him to wait. She didn’t. He strode from the room without another word.

  Emma whirled on her sister.

  “Who, the void, was that?” she demanded.

  Iris sank into the chair beside the bed.

  “There’s so much I need to tell you,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you don’t remember.”

  Frustration flooded Emma as she stared down at her cowering sister.

  “Honestly, Iris, just spit it out. I don’t have time for lackadaisical approach. Where are we? Who was that man? Where’s Grandmother Rel? Why are we covered in bruises?”

  Once she began, she couldn’t stop the questions from pouring out of her.

  Iris placed a hand on her arm, stilling her questions.

  “I’ll explain everything,” she said. “I promise. Please, just sit down.”

  Emma sighed.

  “Fine.”

  Emma wandered the lair’s corridors in silence. She believed her sister’s story. Parts of what Iris told her aligned with the dream she’d had. But it still didn’t feel real. There was a haziness to everything that she couldn’t make fade.

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the Szarmian until she ran into him. He caught her as she fell. Warmth flooded through her at his touch. Surprised, she pulled herself out of his grasp. Even after everything Iris had told her, she still couldn’t make sense of how she felt about him.

  He looked down, staring at his feet. She silently willed him to meet her gaze. When he didn’t, she reached up and gripped his chin between her fingers. Stubble she hadn’t noticed before prickled roughly against her skin. A faint smile played across her lips as she lifted her chin until their gazes met.

  Hazel eyes.

  She could never forget those eyes. She’d dreamt about them every time she slept. He was her friend. He was her protector.

  But, he was also a Szarmian.

  He leaned into her touch, and his eyes began to smolder. A faint smile curled on his lips. She felt elated and nervous and scared all at the same time. His skin against hers was all energy and desire. She wanted more of him. She wanted to trust him.

  She just couldn’t.

  He was a Szarmian. He was their enemy.

  “They called me Micah,” he said. His voice was deep with a faint accent. “Iris has been helping me remember. She says it can take a while for the memories to return. She’s been helping the o
thers too.”

  Emma dropped her hand from his cheek. Iris had mentioned that there’d been others—like Micah—who had been imprisoned in animal form by Balkeen. Her sister had killed him to set them free. She was something called a Spellbreaker, but Emma wasn’t really sure what that meant.

  She just knew her sister was a lot stronger than she ever thought she could be. She’d fought a banshee. She’d killed an enemy threat. She’d saved her life. Emma had never seen her physically fight before. She’d always viewed her sister as the quiet one—the one who was tender and kind and innocent.

  She didn’t know how to view her sister now.

  Like Micah, Emma’s memories were slowly coming back to her. So far, the fight with the cockatrice was the most vivid. If she concentrated, she could even smell the foul odor of carrion when she pictured the beast. She could feel its hot breath on her skin as it crouched over her. She heard its baleful cawing. It’d had a one-track mind: destroy her and then take out her sister and Grandmother Rel.

  It might not have been so bad if the beast had succeeded in killing the old hag.

  She didn’t know what to say to him. She felt connected to him, but she didn’t know anything about him.

  He caught her hand in his own as she turned to walk away.

  “Stay.”

  The single word hung in the air between them. She didn’t know how to tell him that she desperately wanted to be near him, that she felt completely safe in his presence. But she also feared him. Her feelings were too jumbled for her to decide what she wanted. It was better if she figured it out on her own.

  She left her hand in his for a moment longer, savoring the warmth shared between them. His eyes reflected her face, a tender smile caressing his lips. He bent towards her, his free hand coming up to take her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tugging her hand out of his, and shouldered past him.

  He didn’t say a word to her until she was at the end of the corridor.

  “When you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

  She paused. The words filled her with hope. Maybe it didn’t have to be just her and Iris. Maybe, just maybe, there was room for someone else.