by J. E. Holmes
“You can bond yourself to it,” she said. “The way I did, when I took it. I swore that it wouldn’t leave me. But I broke the oath.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was afraid,” she said.
“Of course you were,” he laughed.
“It would be yours forever,” she said. “It would be stronger in your hand. How else do you think I managed to kill Straad? If it hadn’t been for my bond with the sword, I’d never have been able to do it.”
“I always knew you were weak,” he said.
“Yeah, well, you and your boot.”
“Why did you come here?”
“To stop my crazy brother.”
“Still a traitor, then. Good.” He breathed in deeply with bloodlust.
Ediline squeezed Remer’s hand, and in an instant they were dropped into pitch black. She pulled Remer and ran to the side, her eyes shut to preserve the image of the room she’d locked into her memory. Her footsteps were completely silent in the dark. Her heart pounded in her head, but even that wasn’t a sound she could hear, rather one she could feel.
A dozen steps into the dark room, and she knew she was halfway to Deffren and halfway to one side. She kept the image of the hall sharp in her head.
A tremendous force hit her and sent her spinning sideways into one of the alcoves. Her shoulder struck a wall, her feet got caught up in something, and she fell on a soft and wet and warm thing—a body. Remer tumbled down on top of her.
She felt the ground shake beneath her, felt the strain on it as whatever force had flung her rippled outward. It crashed through the air. She felt the pressure falling in its wake, and then she felt water splattering her face, and sharp cold wind.
All this and then the horrible revulsion of being on top of someone who was dead. Pushing through the pain, she tipped over, bringing Remer falling with her.
And when she looked up, she saw them. Stretched violet skin, broken mangled wings. Shadow-creatures slinking forward, at least two dozen of them, all glowing eyes locked on a single spot. Even if her mental map of the room hadn’t been ruined by that attack, she knew their bright eyes were set on Deffren. They seemed more solid, less transparent than the one she had seen in the jungle those weeks ago. Were they becoming stronger, somehow? More capable of being in this world? These monsters must have been part of the Desolation, and they were starting to cross over.
Dim in the shadow, she saw the shape of Deffren move toward them, arm raised. The bloodsword was invisible in his hand. This was going to be awful, no matter what happened. She felt the tug, the line drawn taut between her and the raised sword. It was no emblem, and their oath had been broken; how was it, dark and bloodthirsty, like her?
Remer scrambled and yanked at Ediline. She let herself be pulled up, and she squeezed Remer’s hand, over and over. Bring back the light. Push the shadow-creatures away. But Remer didn’t oblige. Or couldn’t. The dark remained, the shadow-creatures prowled closer.
Deffren didn’t wait for them. He charged, and she could swear she heard his roar of battle beneath the stifling Everquiet. The first shadow-creature lunged, and it was struck down. The bloodsword slashed right through it, splitting it down the center from the side of its neck.
One after another they launched themselves at Deffren, and one after another he lay them down, one cut and again, a single blow for each. Even as they charged faster, he killed them faster, bringing them down with ruthless precision. Just like the one she had killed, violet-gray mist sputtered and hissed out of the death wounds. There was no blood. These deaths were dry, giving nothing for the sword to drink.
Ediline squeezed Remer’s hand. Remer pulled Ediline close, their bodies firm against each other. She put her lips to Ediline’s ear. “He’s distracted—kill him.”
Ediline had to turn Remer’s head and talk to her ear. “I can’t,” she snapped.
“Then let me.”
“Just bring the light back.”
“He’ll kill us.”
“Just do it.”
“What if they kill him?"
“Remer just do it!”
All at once the light burst forth from the chandeliers overhead. The shadows were thrown back, and the shadow-creatures vanished with them. Deffren stood heaving. No sign remained of what he had been fighting a moment ago.
The wall had been sundered. Whatever force had come from the bloodsword that had flung her aside, it had also split the front wall in two, ripped a good portion of the roof off, and had completely sundered the rosewood throne.
She and Remer scrambled away, as Deffren’s attention was drawn momentarily away from them, toward the entrance to the hall. In the space where the glass door had been, where glass now lay in tiny slivers all over the ground, stepped Javras, Wien, and Wulfgar.
Wulfgar drew his knives. Ediline’s heart squeezed into her throat. There was no chance Wulfgar could win. Deffren had fresh blood—or did he? The splatter of blood at the center of the room was gone. There was still blood from the bodies at the edges of the hall, on Ediline herself, but Deffren wasn’t near enough to any of it.
Wulfgar continued forward. That he didn’t say anything, his focus harsh and precise, left Ediline hopeful for him. Deffren raised the sword in challenge. Wulfgar had already prepared to fight someone wielding the bloodsword. If Wien had failed to kill Ashwin, Wulfgar would have been next. He would know not to allow Deffren to draw blood.
Wulfgar lashed out with his long-bladed knives. Deffren struck them away. He leapt, pounding down powerful blows. Wulfgar took eight careful steps back, holding his footing and focusing on his defense. He pivoted and forced Deffren to change the angle of his attack. Deffren’s flank was open.
Then Javras drew his sword. Deffren turned at the sound and swung, horribly fast. The bloodsword cut its black arc through the rain—straight through Javras. Ediline gasped. The black sword passed harmlessly through him. Javras still couldn’t be harmed by it. He thrust, and his beautiful sword split Deffren’s side, running clean through him.
Deffren twisted. Javras’s sword cut through the flesh of his side and slashed free of his body, sending a splatter of gore to the wooden floor. Deffren slammed a massive elbow into Javras’s face, hurling him backward and sending him sliding to a halt near a side alcove. Blood smeared his face, and he didn’t move.
Wulfgar roared, a thundering scream. He attacked with renewed rage, lacking all caution. Deffren deflected one knife but the other slashed his shoulder. He slapped one blow aside with the bloodsword then grabbed Wulfgar’s other hand. The knife blade dug into his fingers. He ignored it. With a wrenching twist and a horrible snap, Wulfgar dropped his second knife.
Ediline let go of Remer and sprinted to Javras. She glanced back, frantic and terrified, and saw Deffren lowering the bloodsword, looking down at it and favoring one side heavily.
“By my blood,” Deffren said, “I command you to heal my wound.” The sword drank up the blood that had splattered onto it. The flesh in Deffren’s side mended, coming back together to form a dark red scar.
Ediline slid to her knees at Javras’s side. She heard metal clash behind her as she lifted his head. He was unconscious, and he had a broken nose to match hers. Right now, he was lucky he was out, but she had to make sure he didn’t drown in his blood.
With no hesitation she snapped his nose back into place, and she lifted him and propped him against a wall. She opened his mouth to allow him to breathe, and she wiped the blood from his limp lips. With her glass knife she cut a strip of cloth from her cloak and held it to his nose. Remer slid down beside Ediline and helped her cut the cloth.
Wien put her hand over Ediline’s. She took the cloth from Ediline’s fingers and held it to Javras’s face, tilting his head back.
“Wien, you need to kill Deffren,” Ediline said. “Kill my brother, please.”
Wien didn’t pull her eyes from Javras. She wouldn’t. Ediline would have to do this.
“Don’t leave his sid
e,” Ediline said.
Two chandeliers remained intact after Deffren had blown most of the roof away. They glowed brightly, and they prevented much of the dark-rain from reaching the floor. But they did nothing for the clear-rain. The whole hall was slick wet and filled with rain and wind.
Wulfgar and Deffren were still locked in battle, Wulfgar doing his best to keep up with only one knife, his other hand clutched to his side. Then Deffren lashed out with a kick. Wulfgar stumbled back. Deffren ran his slashed, bloodied hand along the blade of the sword.
“By my royal blood,” Deffren bellowed, “this sword in my hand will be my beating heart, and I will fell kingdoms with its might.”
Held high, the blade seemed to grow. His blood was gone from it and from his hand. The air was sharp, and a sudden heat filled the room. Snakes of shadow writhed around the sword. From the corners of the room they seemed to stretch toward it, fading into the chandelier light. He gripped the hilt in two hands and swung, a powerful swing, a killing blow. It caught nothing but air. Then, the floorboards cracked and burst, the air exploded with an impossibly loud crash. The rippling wave through the air cut down toward Wulfgar.
Ediline turned away. All she saw was blood, the splintering of wood in the wake of the blast, the walls caving and the floor breaking. It felt like her heart stopped. Solemn numbness overtook her, and she became sharp.
“Wien, get Javras to safety,” she said, death in her voice.
“Princess,” Wien said. “You have bravery like no one I have ever met. Blessed be the ninthborn.”
Then she pulled up Javras to her and hauled him away out what had once been a door. Glass crunched beneath her boots. Remer grabbed Ediline’s hand, squeezed it, then took off after Wien.
Ediline rose, woozy, and turned to face Deffren. Alone. She was weak, beaten, bloodied, and hardly armed. He seemed to swell with power, drinking in the scent of his wrath, his chin up, nostrils flared, face a dark mask of hatred. He grinned and gripped the sword tight in two hands. She hadn’t imagined it. The blade had grown longer, thicker, and somehow darker. He dragged the blade along the ground. The wood of the floor split and snapped where the blade passed at merely the contact. It was like the sword changed to match him, wholly giving in to its destructive power.
Ediline’s heart was everywhere in her chest all at once, hammering at her to run, to throw herself into the river again. Make for the hidden passage, escape. But she couldn’t. She saw the shape of Wulfgar amidst the torn wood. The smell of blood and death in the hall choked her. But this was just the beginning. This was the last and only stand anyone would ever be able to make against her brother. Lords help all of Lanen if Ediline failed here. Her heart pounded in her chest, a rising invisible strength, and she found a solid stance despite the slick floor.
“Why did you break your oath?” Deffren said.
“I didn’t want it anymore,” she said. Her tongue was heavy, but she spoke with ease that none of her body felt. “On my way back here, I broke the oath, and all that power left me.”
“You’re a fool.”
Yes, she was. He took dangerous steps closer, thudding with his weight, but steady and careful against the wet floor. She could hardly take steps at all. With the force of the blow that had broken apart the building, that had downed Wulfgar, Ediline was well within Deffren’s striking distance. Deffren waited. Hesitated.
He’d never hesitated to hurt her in the past. But he had always enjoyed it. She could see the sneer on his face, how much sick joy he was getting out of seeing her afraid.
“Don’t kill me, Deffy,” she pleaded. “Please.”
“Oh, you’re begging? Never thought I would see the day.”
“There’s a first for everything—even mercy, right?”
“When I threw you in the river, I really thought you were done.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“But the river couldn’t do what I needed to do myself,” he said. He whirled the sword in a circle and brought its point down toward her. She could feel the pressure of the air on her. “Kneel,” he said, “and I’ll make it quick, just because you said please.”
Even with the bloodsword engorged on Deffren’s bloodlust, she could still feel that tug, the familiarity between it and her. It was still drawn to her, even after she’d severed the bond, demanded that the bond be broken, even as Deffren wielded it. Maybe the oath went beyond words. Maybe it went deep into her, deeper than she’d thought, deeper than could be reversed.
Ediline dropped to her knees. They hit the floor with sharp spikes of pain, which she ignored. She palmed the smooth glass knife out of sight and set her other hand on the ground. She lowered her head, exposed her neck, and watched Deffren’s approaching shadow, oscillating against the water on the floor blown by the powerful winds.
One heartbeat. A step.
Two three four. Another.
He settled to a stop. Five six seven. She felt the sword hefted. Watched his shadow.
Eight. She looked up and met his eyes.
He scowled and swung.
Nine. She grinned.
And rolled to the side. His swing shattered the wood floor. She felt the snap of the reverberation up through her calves and thighs, into her bones, as splinters cut across her arms and hands and her cheek. She leapt up and pulled the knife back into her hand. Feet braced on the floor, surely balanced, she pounced.
He swung wildly with an arm. She ducked it, too quick. It snapped back faster than she could react. The thick arm bent around her neck. It choked off her air. Familiar. She flailed for him with her knife. Couldn’t quite reach. Again her calculating mind slipped away as desperation took over, and she bit down on the tough flesh of his arm until she drew blood, clamped her jaw tight. Blood rushed into her mouth and down her face. Blood drawn didn’t matter now. It wouldn’t matter. He could kill her with whatever he liked. His grip loosened, just a little, as he roared. She inched and squirmed further, closer, not away, not entirely.
She slashed.
The glass knife left a red line across the inside of his forearm, near the hand gripping the sword. Not enough. Amidst his howls of rage, she fought and wrestled out from under his grasp. He hefted the sword again, and she latched onto his sword arm before he could swing. He delivered a punch into her side, below her ribs, then another, another. She felt a series of small snaps. Bright red spots burst across her vision, and pain lanced up her body. Didn’t matter. She had his arm, and she knew what she needed to do.
She buried the glass knife into the wrist of his sword-arm and wrenched it around, severing the tendons.
He screamed and threw her to the floor. Her head snapped down and struck the wood, splinters digging into her cheek. But his fingers couldn’t grip the sword.
It dropped silently from his hand. Lightning flashed somewhere close, thunder chasing. Stillness. She lunged and snatched the bloodsword out of the air then rolled away from Deffren and darted across the room toward the shattered throne. He took one powerful step toward her, cradling his bleeding arm, and then he faltered, stepped slower, weakly. Two more long strides and he was at the center of his carnage. She didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. He dropped to one knee, clutching at his chest. Then, veins in his neck bulging, he fell and writhed, coughing and spitting, gasping and cursing his ninthborn sister.
“This sword is your beating heart,” she said, “but it was mine first.”
He twitched, and then he stopped moving.
— Chapter 28 —
“On the seventh darkened day, a storm of ice and blackness roiled over Attenia. The darkness washed through the streets, over the righteous and the guilty, pouring rivers of vile shadow into the Holy Basin. At the perimeter of the Great Arch, the blackness stopped, the people kept safe by their mighty Lords. They prayed, wholly, that their Lords would withstand this horror.”
—The Words of the Lords, ed. vi
Everything was a slow-moving blur. At some point, someone came to the hall and rushed Edi
line away. She didn’t know who it was. She was dizzy and couldn’t stop staring at Deffren, at the bodies all around. When she was put into a bed, she began to fall asleep, but a sharp voice told her not to. Someone looked into her eyes, felt her neck and her face. Even the pain was distant.
Deffren was dead. She’d killed him. He had killed himself, with enough ego to make the sword into his heart. But that wasn’t true. It had been her.
The bloodshed would stop. It had to, after what she had endured. Ancil could take Deffren’s place. Somehow that had to make it worth it, even though she felt an incredible monstrous despair in her heart. She had crossed some threshold of inhumanity, and she would never be the same, never be able to turn back and uncross it.
Her mind drifted after that. She thought of the voices from the dark dreams, but it was difficult to remember their words.
When the sharp voice allowed it, she drifted to sleep, and she did not dream.
She woke to a weight on her legs, warm blankets over her body, and pain EVERYWHERE. She blinked, and she saw Kuo at her side. The weight on her was Marv, burrowed into a nest of blankets on her lap. It was her room. Her bed.
Kuo was watching her, eyes narrowed.
“Can I help you?” she said. Then she winced, because her throat was cracked and dry. Then she groaned, because wincing hurt too badly.
“Here is water,” Kuo said. He picked up her hand—one of them was bandaged—and put a smooth porcelain cup in it, then helped her fingers curl around it and find purchase. He helped her raise it to her lips, helped her tip it back and take small drinks, and then helped her ease it back down.
“I . . . .”
“Do not speak, if it hurts,” he said. He wiped absently at his face. With the coarse hair on his cheeks and chin, and the darkness around his eyes, she imagined he had been watching her for some time without resting.
"I think I need to get you a doctor, Kuo,” she said.
“Quiet. You—do you know—?”
“I do not. You won’t finish a sentence.”
He smiled, a small thing. Things might finally be right. Then the smile fell, and he closed his eyes.