It spun in two full circles as it slid toward me as if on ice, the gold catching and throwing reflected light from the fire. I stopped it with my boot. The details etched into it were more exquisite than any I’d seen, the blade sharpened to the finest point.
Redalia trembled, her face white as she glared at Brownlok. “You would choose these children over me?”
Brownlok’s impassive face cracked, and his eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t care.”
Ren let out a laugh. “Oh, she cares. She doesn’t take rejection well. Isn’t that right, Red?”
She slammed the staff into the ground and Brownlok and Ren flew backward, hitting the shelves and landing with a crack.
Then Redalia turned to me.
Her eyes were lit with black fire. A slow smile spread across her face and she chuckled, one hand on her hip, the other using the staff to lean on.
“Oh yes, this will be a fair match, I’m sure.” She bobbed her head toward me and I flinched, but nothing happened. “Look at yourself. You have no skill to speak of; you’re trembling. You are useless.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t force air into my lungs or unclamp my jaw. Ren pushed himself up—healing, though slowly. Jenna still clutched her arm, Mari crouched next to her, and Enzo stood over them. Weaponless.
Redalia shrugged. “Well? What are you going to do now?”
I took a gasping breath. I wasn’t useless—at the very least, I could be a distraction. My hands shook, but I did the only thing I could. I reached down and grabbed Redalia’s dagger by the hilt, and held it in front of me.
No one moved. Not Ren or Jenna or Enzo or Brownlok.
The dagger trembled, but not because my hands were trembling—well, not completely. It was power. Redalia’s power.
And…and it didn’t hurt.
Redalia growled and wielded the black staff in front of her with both hands.
I pulled my shoulders back to the exact position they’d taken every day of my life. I had no skirt to swish, so I raised my chin instead. “I am not useless.”
Redalia twirled the staff once, sizing me up again now that I held her dagger.
I swallowed. The dagger didn’t tremble anymore. “Believing in goodness and caring about others isn’t a weakness. I choose to see the good in the world.” Redalia advanced toward me. “But you? It doesn’t matter how much power you wield, how many artifacts you collect. No one will ever love you. You will always be alone.”
Redalia’s eyes turned to slits and her nostrils flared. She brought the staff forward and inhaled.
I didn’t raise the dagger in defense. I tossed it into the fire behind me.
If Redalia was going to take over the Plateau, she could do it without her precious dagger.
The flames licked at the gold plating, and the meticulous designs melted away.
A shock wave exploded out of the fire, but not one of flame or ash or anything tangible. The only one hit by it was Redalia. She held the staff in front of her, but even with its protection, she was blown back three steps.
Ren kicked Graymere’s sword at me, and I tossed that in, too.
“No!” Redalia screamed. She lunged at me. I dove out of her way. Ren ran at her from behind, pushing her into the fire, staff and all.
Another explosion tore through the library, and this one knocked me into the shelves. My ribs ached. Everything went black. I blinked, but it wasn’t my vision. The fire had gone out.
Then Enzo was there, lifting me, dragging me and Mari toward the door, Jenna limping behind. I coughed. “Wait! Where’s Ren?”
Enzo frowned. Didn’t stop. “Ren’s coming. We’ve got to get out.”
I found my feet and took Mari’s hand in mine. The ground shook. The entire library shook. Scrolls, books, and trinkets crashed from their shelves. A dim light shone from the rock itself, getting brighter as cracks formed in the floor like a vase about to crack.
A great chunk fell from the domed ceiling and smashed to the ground, spraying us with tiny shards.
The rock around us dimmed, and even when we made it into the cavern beyond, the ground shook and bits of wall and ceiling tumbled all around us.
“Hurry, Mari.” I looked over my shoulder. Enzo scooped Jenna up into his arms and dodged another chunk of fallen rock.
But Ren wasn’t behind us.
“Wait, we have to get—”
Enzo pushed me along and Mari pulled, her hand clamped over mine.
A small white rectangle, the door, the only shaft of light, grew as they forced me toward escape.
“Wait!”
Enzo pushed Mari and me through first, then followed with Jenna. He set her down, and Mari helped her while Enzo grabbed me and dragged me from the opening as I fought to go back in.
No. NO.
The mountain groaned and shrieked, the ground rumbled. A huge crash rent the air, and then a gust of debris blew out of the entrance, sending me sprawling onto my back. Dust rained down on us, smothering and final.
Ren.
Marko
Marko had been cramped in the tiny cave with Luc and Cynthia for two days while a storm raged. They’d hid in a cellar after the attack on the street, then snuck to the cave later that night.
And while the accommodations were tight, at least Luc and Cynthia had finally stopped bickering. Silence reigned, but that was probably for the best. Marko’s head was ready to split open at the slightest sound. No one had to tell him something was wrong. His head hadn’t gotten better with the food Aleksa had been bringing them.
And now, Aleksa was late.
Marko stared at the ceiling, as though the entire cliff would swallow them soon.
Finally, light footsteps sounded outside, and a hand rustled the vines covering the mouth of the cave—the signal of a friend entering so that Luc didn’t gut them.
Aleksa ducked inside the next moment, an unfamiliar, broad smile lighting her features. “It’s safe to come out!” she whispered.
Marko rubbed his aching leg. He was too old to sleep on cold rock, and Enzo still hadn’t returned for him. So why was this girl retrieving them, and not his kin?
Cynthia sat up, all traces of sullenness gone. “Really?” she squealed. Marko winced at the sound, but he couldn’t begrudge her hope—sitting under solid rock for so long took its toll. But the cave smelled better than the dungeon.
Aleksa darted a glance at Marko, then leaned close to Luc, whispering something in his ear. Luc’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re sure?”
She nodded and held the vines open. “This way, Your Majesty.”
Marko grunted as Cynthia put her hand under his arm to help him stand. The king’s first step outside the cave, into the soft yellowing grasses at the base of the cliffs, suffused into him. The sun beat against him, warming him despite the chill wind blowing off the ocean. The sky arched overhead. He’d missed that sky.
“This way,” Aleksa said, bobbing her head toward a faint path through the brush.
Luc took Marko under one arm, Cynthia took his other. They walked for a long time, and though stretching his legs felt wonderful, Marko tired quickly and leaned more and more on his friends. Eventually, they entered a city—the same city they’d escaped from, he presumed, though nothing looked familiar.
Only stray animals wandered the streets. Luc kept his hand on his weapon.
“Shouldn’t we be on a boat?” Marko finally asked. “The plan was to get to Turia.” To safety. But the girl was leading them deeper into Vera. A sound rose then, almost like the waves they could hear from their tiny cave crashing against the shore.
Aleksa looked back with a grin. “That was the plan, but as it turns out…” She paused as they turned a corner. The little lane fed into a square filled with people, a large wooden stand took up the middle, and a group of soldiers in brown and gold s
tood atop it. “As it turns out,” Aleksa continued, “Turia came to us.”
Marko’s eyes snapped back to the soldiers. Dark hair, olive skin. An old woman with silver hair and deep wrinkles pointed her finger at one of the soldiers like she was chastising him. Something about her felt familiar.
Then the soldiers on the platform shifted, and a woman appeared, deep in conversation with a tall man, pointing out something on a large unrolled parchment.
Dark hair twisted behind her head, a gold scarf wrapped into it. Marko’s brows furrowed. That hair—it should be hanging down her back, long and wavy. And instead of a dress, she wore leather trousers and…was that armor?
He shook his head, trying to reconcile what his mind was telling him with what he saw. A sharp pain split his skull. The woman turned her head, almost as if she were drawn by his gaze. Locked eyes with him.
Any pain wisped away on the wind. Her features were plain. Average. And yet, she was his heart.
She gasped and started toward Marko, and for a terrifying moment, he thought she’d fall right off the edge of the platform, but a soldier took her hand and helped her down. The crowd parted for her, and she ran, stopping just shy of him.
Her brows dipped down and she watched him carefully, a trembling hand reaching partway to him, but hesitant, as though she were afraid to touch him. But he wasn’t afraid.
He slipped his hand around hers and drew her hand to his heart. He closed his eyes and inhaled, catching her faint scent, another forgotten memory. When he opened his eyes again, her face was there, like a ghost from his past. He didn’t remember their life together, but he knew. He was home.
Ren
A huge chunk of the cavern ceiling crashed onto the Black Library’s domed roof. A crack reverberated through my bones, and the next moment, the entire library collapsed.
Black shards exploded toward us, but Brownlok—Erron—covered us with his cloak, protected us from the worst of the debris.
Five steps from freedom, and the stupid sword was stuck.
Rock screeched against rock, cracking like a spiderweb above us. Like ice over a lake about to break.
“I thought you didn’t want to die,” Erron muttered with a cough, leaning heavily against the wall.
I jiggled the sword and tugged again. Finally, it came loose. I jammed it into its sheath on Erron’s belt, tucked my arm under his shoulder. “I don’t.”
I pushed him through the door first, muttering curses about promises and rocks and swords. And then sunlight seared my eyes, and we were out.
A blurry shape flew toward us, a brown smudge in the wash of red. I blinked. Chiara plowed into me, almost knocking us all over, and wrapped her arms around me.
Enzo came and helped me with Brownlok. With Erron. We stumbled away from the mountain as it fell in on itself, piece by piece, until the only thing remaining of the Black Library was a pile of rubble.
We collapsed in a heap, coughing and breathing and letting the sun roast us as the ground shuddered beneath us.
We’d done it. Well, Chiara had.
Jenna hit my shoulder, but her punch lacked strength. She held her right arm close to her stomach. “What took you so long?” she asked, her words a shadow of the shout she probably meant them to be.
Erron lay still, a hand over his eyes. He tried to unclasp the buckle of the sheath, but couldn’t manage with his shaking fingers. I carefully unhooked Jenna’s sheath from his belt, then handed it to her. “Stupid thing was stuck.” The key—the Medallion and ring—rested heavy in my pocket.
Jenna gasped and wrapped her good hand around it. “Thank you, Ren.”
Chiara groaned next to me, face ashen. “I didn’t get it,” she muttered. “I didn’t find the artifact for my father.”
“You were a little busy saving everyone, so—” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key, then a white scarf, its pearlescent fibers shimmering. Erron had assured me the small square of cloth was the right artifact. I handed it to Chiara, its power crackling under my fingers. “Erron helped me find it. That’s what took so long.”
She held the artifact in her hands and tears streaked tracks through the reddish mud on her cheeks. Then she clenched it in her fist and threw her arms around me. I buried my face in her neck and squeezed my eyes shut. She smelled like dirt and sweat and something distinctly her. She smelled like life.
She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose along her filthy tunic, but her face was already smudged. I laughed and brushed my thumb against the dirt.
She shook herself, then turned to Erron. Mari sat next to him, holding his hand. His skin had lost all color, and his breath rattled in his chest.
“What does it do?” Mari asked, staring at the cloth.
“Heals,” Erron said.
Mari squeezed his hand and smiled up at us. “Erron saved us—now we can save him!”
She didn’t know about her father. None of us had told her.
Chiara held the artifact to her chest, hesitating. But then she held it out to Brownlok. “She’s right.”
I swallowed hard. I’d never known someone like her, hadn’t known people like her existed.
There were no birds to make sounds, no critters scratching against rock. No wind, even.
Brownlok folded Chiara’s hands back over the scarf. “Thank you, but no. It would take all of its powers to heal me. You have a greater need awaiting you.”
Mari sniffled. “Well, what about wintergrain root? Yesilia says that will heal anything.”
Brownlok chuckled, ending in a dry cough. “It’s not poison that’s killing me, little one. It’s my past.” He patted her hand. “I’ve lived a long time. It’s okay.”
Chiara folded the scarf gently and put it in her pocket. “Thank you,” she whispered to him.
Mari sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Stay close to me, then. Maybe it won’t hurt as much.”
I stood, then helped Enzo up. “Thank you for getting them out.”
“You’re thanking him for leaving you behind?” Chiara said with a dark look at her brother.
Enzo rubbed the back of his neck. I held my hand out to him. “I asked him to take care of all of you. And he did.” Enzo took my hand and we shook. I wouldn’t worry about Jenna in Turia anymore.
Enzo and I helped Erron up, and Chiara and Mari helped Jenna. We were a ragged bunch, but we were alive.
We finished off the food and water in the packs the crewmen had dropped, then trudged through the endless red sand, retracing our steps long into the night. The key didn’t work anymore. Jenna said she felt the difference too—the artifacts and magic felt quieter.
The red sand still drained my energy, but not as much as before. I wasn’t sure whether it was because I had reason now to hope or whether destroying the Black Library had something to do with it, but either way, I’d take it.
We followed Chiara’s map through the gorge and faced the moonlit expanse of desert between the mountains and cliffs.
“If the key doesn’t work, the enchantments shouldn’t, either,” I said.
Enzo nodded. “I don’t see anything.”
So we walked straight through, stumbling over sagebrush and snake holes. Jenna was weak, but not worsening. Brownlok staggered next to me, my arm under his shoulder, Mari on his other side. I wasn’t sure if he appreciated me dragging him out of the cavern—his face was frozen in a grimace.
A hand slipped into mine.
“I know it’s not as good as Mari’s, but you look like you’re going to fall over.”
I grinned down at Chiara as best I could. “You’re wrong,” I said to her. “Your hand is every bit as good as Mari’s.”
She’d stood against a mage with nothing but her courage and her kindness. She believed in me. She trusted me.
I wasn’t sure how I’
d be able to leave her when the time came to return to Hálendi.
Chiara walked the smallest fraction closer to me and I leaned into her. I couldn’t help myself. She studied the map in the faint light. “We should reach the cliffs soon. We can camp for the night, climb down in the morning, and rest again, if we need it.”
My lips tipped up. I could get used to this new, commanding Chiara.
Behind us, Jenna muttered a curse.
Her hand appeared normal, yet she said it felt as though it were on fire. And there was nothing I could do. Not yet, anyway, not when I was so empty myself. But I knew my sister well enough to know she didn’t need an apology or explanation.
“If you’d just let me heal you,” I told her in a singsong voice, “you could stop cursing like a blacksmith.”
She grunted and cursed again. “You can heal me once your skin isn’t so gray.”
I shrugged, though she knew I knew she was right. I had no idea how much magic she’d need from me, and especially now with Chiara’s hand so snugly in mine, I didn’t really want to die.
We reached the cliffs with a few hours of night left, so we curled up in a pile of limbs, too exhausted to care that the ground was hard and oddly cold. I never thought I’d miss the suffocating heat.
The sun rose eventually, as it always does, and we slowly—ever so slowly—made our way down the stairs. We drank our fill from a spring that bubbled out of the cliff and rifled through the packs the crewmen had left because they hadn’t wanted to carry them up. There wasn’t much, but we gathered what we could.
When we rowed out of the inlet to where waves crashed against our tiny boat, the only thing that met us was an endless horizon. The boat we’d sailed here in was long gone.
So we did the only thing we could. We stayed near the cliffs and rowed.
And rowed.
And
rowed.
We took turns sleeping and rowing through the night and the next day as well.
“We all know you’re faking it, Erron,” I said to break the silence and to take my mind off the aching muscles in my back and arms and legs. “So how about you take a turn rowing?”
Untethered Page 34