The Light Unleashed

by Kim Stokely

  A hazy fog seems to have filled my tent. Everything is clouded with despair. I force myself to shake it off and order the soldier to put me down so I can sit on a stool at the large wooden table someone has set up near the center of the tent.

  My grandmother pushes through the crowd of advisors and soldiers gathered, her pale face and wide eyes evidence of her panic. “Praise Ruahk, you are safe!” Her wiry body falls against me, folding me into an awkward hug. “You are safe.”

  I don’t have the strength to push her off. “A Portal took Kyran.”

  “I know.” She places her hand along my face. “But you are safe.”

  My stomach twists into a knot. “I have to save him.”

  A loud grumble rises from the group of advisors. My father leans on the table. “Goram and Devnet have already gathered the Elders with spiritual gifts. They are putting bans up around the camp. No one will be able to get in . . .” He raps his knuckles on the wood. “Or out.”

  “But I can find him.”

  “That is exactly what Braedon wants. To lure you to him so he can try again to kill you.”

  Although there is truth to his speculation, I know it’s not Braedon’s only plan, but I don’t voice my suspicions to my father.

  Naill steps forward. “Your Majesty, if Kyran is to be used as bait, or for ransom at the end of this war, he will be kept alive.”

  I look into Maris’s face, reading her thoughts. They echo my own. “And if not, Braedon’s already killed him.”

  My grandmother’s eyes well with tears but she takes a sharp breath and stands tall. “Then the only thing you can do is honor him by defeating the Mystics.”

  Naill and the other military advisors pull stools up to the table to discuss plans of actions. I agree to all they say because I know none of it will matter. If it eases the minds of these men to think they have control of what happens, then who am I to ruin it? Let them sleep peacefully tonight having drawn up their battle plans and strategies. Someone should get some rest.

  The brazier’s embers are red hot but casting only a light glow in the tent. Tamra tried to coax me into bed some time ago. When that failed, she promised to stay awake in case I needed anything. Her soft snores drift up from behind me where she has fallen asleep on her pallet by the curtain. If I strain my ears, I can hear the heavy breathing of sleep from nearby tents, along with the murmur of men’s voices, no doubt discussing the battle ahead. The chances of their survival. Or maybe their prayers for the same.

  As even those sounds fade, so does hope. Hope that Kyran isn’t being tortured. Hope he may still be alive.

  When the last embers turn black, I poke them with a piece of kindling until a tiny flame sparks then place some straw on it to coax the fire to burn again. The tinder smolders for a minute, sending up a plume of gray smoke, then it ignites in a blaze of light. I feed the brazier a small log, more to keep out the dark than for warmth.

  After sitting in silence for so long, the sudden mumbling of conversation outside sounds like a cacophony. My knees protest when I unfold them from sitting and walk to the entrance.

  I shock Quinn and the two guards with my appearance. One of the soldiers has Quinn by the arm. “Sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty. We were told not to let anyone inside.”

  I can only guess my father gave the order. “It’s okay.”

  My eyes search the darkness behind him as I step aside to let Quinn enter the tent. He stands by the fire, his pale hands stretched over it. They tremble slightly, from cold or fear?

  I don’t have the heart to wake Tamra, nor do I want her a part of this conversation, so I pour my own goblet of wine. After drinking it down, I pour another. And one for Quinn. “Here. You look cold.”

  Quinn takes several swallows then places the cup on the table, pausing for a moment, shoulders slumped, before turning back to me with his arms open. I step into his embrace. He rubs my back as a parent would, to bring warmth and comfort to his child. “Have you slept at all?”

  “No.” I rest my head against his chest.

  “You have a few hours before dawn.”

  “Then I will spend it in prayer for Kyran.”

  Quinn lets out a long sigh. “You will need your strength and your wits to fight this army of evil.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep knowing Kyran is being tortured by the Black Guards. What do you suppose Braedon wants from him?”

  “From Kyran? Nothing.”

  I lift my head. “Then why did he take him?” Quinn studies me a moment, as if deciding whether to give me his opinion. “You may as well tell me. You won’t be able to block your thoughts from me forever.”

  “It could be Braedon wants you distracted and upset before you come against him in battle. If you are angry, you will act on impulse. Make mistakes.”

  I contemplate his answer, but it doesn’t resonate as truth. There is some niggling feeling in the back of mind that this has been allowed for a specific reason.

  “The second is that he wants something from you. He will give Kyran back for a price.”

  The Chrysaline

  My knees weaken as the thought pierces my consciousness like an arrow.

  Quinn grabs my arms to keep me from falling. “You know, do you not? What Braedon wants?”

  I take a deep breath and force myself to stand up straight. “Yes.”

  The concern on his face signals that he knows, too. “You cannot give it to him, Alystrine. With its power, and that of the Fallen he has enslaved, Ayden would be lost.”

  “But if I don’t . . . .” I fold my arms across my stomach, trying to quiet my nerves. Ruahk, what do you want me to do? I pace around the table. Do I give the Chrysaline to the Mystics? Is that what you meant by we won’t use its power? Or is this Noam’s premonition? That Kyran must sacrifice his life?

  It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I ask the question, the god of Ayden remains frustratingly silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Deal

  Only the sliver of pale gray sky proves dawn has broken. The steady drizzle of yesterday’s rain now falls in sheet, but does nothing to wash away the tension in the camp. Most of the soldiers saw the demon. Those that didn’t were regaled with stories throughout the night. The fact that Kyran and I defeated it kept most of them from going AWOL. But I can read the fear on their faces. Rumor has it there will be hundreds of demons, perhaps thousands. Do they believe we can defeat them all? Especially now that Kyran has disappeared?

  Mud turns Salaan’s legs and stomach brown. My throat closes as I grab her reins and look to my right. Where Kyran should be. Even Salaan is restless, as if she searches for him.

  After a night of pleading for answers, I still don’t know what Ruahk wants me to do with the Chrysaline. For now, it rides in an unmarked crate on one of the wagons, guarded by both Elders and soldiers, as I am. I prayed whether I should carry it with me as we set out this morning, but although Ruahk remained quiet, my sense was no. The Chrysaline should remain hidden for now.

  I’m surprised at how alert my mind is with no sleep, especially with no break in the rain and an endless sea of mud. Even in the cold and damp my skin feels warm. Not with fever but nervous tension. Like that moment on a rollercoaster when chains drag you up a hill . . . click . . . click . . . click. You have no control. No way to steer. No way to get off the ride.

  But will I survive?

  Ruahk has only promised that Ayden will win, not that I will be unhurt. Not that I won’t die.

  Does it matter? It’s my own voice that asks the question, not Ruahk’s. My own mind wondering if I’m okay with dying.

  I don’t want to. Not now. Not before I have the chance to save Kyran. I send my thoughts out, looking for the cords that bind us just as I searched for it throughout the night. I pray its invisibility is because the Mystics are blocking it from me, not that he is dead.

  If he is dead, will you still fight?

  I let this question swim in my thoughts for a bi
t. I had promised Kyran I would do everything in my power to win. But to know he will not be there afterward to help me rule? Can I do it alone?

  The thought trembles in the air around me, like a fly in a spider’s web. Is this a test? If so, whose? Ruahk’s? Braedon’s?

  My eyes only half focus on the gray horizon. Another part of me looks back on the last six months. The girl from Connecticut. The one in high school worrying about grades and driving tests. That girl, too self-absorbed and self-contained, would never be able to rule a kingdom.

  But that girl doesn’t exist anymore. Hardened by mistakes. Softened by grief. Strengthened by the obstacles she has overcome, that girl has become a different person. And this new person can do anything with the power Ruahk has given her. I could rule as a tyrant, like Braedon, forcing people to do my will. But I will rule with humility, serving the people of Ayden— all of them, not only the Elders but Commoners and Mystics, too.

  So no, I don’t want to rule without Kyran by my side, but I will, if that is what will bring peace. And no, I don’t want die, but I will if that will save this world and the good people in it.

  I straighten in the saddle. For the first time since Kyran’s disappearance, I feel confident. I do my best to push those thoughts out to the men around me. They should know I am ready to do anything to assure the Mystics are defeated.

  Are you truly prepared to die for your people?

  I shiver as Ruahk’s voice thunders through me. “Yes.”

  It’s as if by speaking the word, I make an oath. My ring blazes with white light. Warmth floods my body.

  Will you trust me?

  “Yes.”

  Then you must destroy the Chrysaline

  My fist tightens around Salaan’s reins. Destroy it? Why?

  Ruahk answers me, not with words, but memories. The reverence with which the Elders treat the orb. Their awe at how I’ve learned to wield its energy. Their faith in how, with the Chrysaline, they will defeat the Mystics.

  You want them to put their faith in you.

  Yes

  I don’t voice my fear but the thought threatens to undo me. If I destroy the Chrysaline before the battle, my army may turn and flee. I will be left alone to fight Braedon and his horde of demons.

  And if that is what I ask for

  Will you do it?

  “Yes.” When? Tonight?

  When it is time, you will know

  The glow of my ring fizzles to nothing as Ruahk’s presence leaves me. It is mid-afternoon and the sun struggles to break free of the clouds. It sits, pale and yellow, like a faded coffee stain. A cold breeze turns my cape frosty as we reach the Plains of Sharne and rendezvous with the rest of my army. By my estimation, we number around five thousand. My mouth dries as I picture the Mystic army with its demons. It’s easy for me to trust Ruahk when I feel his power surging through me. But it’s even easier to doubt when I stand on the battlefield with so many lives depending on my choices.

  “Alystrine?” My father’s voice stirs me from my thoughts.

  I dismount from Salaan. “Let me guess. The Joint Counsel wants to meet with me?”

  “And the generals from the new battalions.”

  My muscles are stiff and sore from riding in the cold. “Let me put on some dry clothes first.”

  “The Elders need time to put up bans of protection. We could all use food as well.” He glances up at the sky. “Shall we say after dusk?”

  I nod, grateful he agreed to give me time to defrost and eat before my advisors keep me up most of the night drawing up battle plans I doubt we’ll ever use.

  Quinn comes to stand by me as my tent is being erected. “Do you mind my company?”

  “I’m grateful for it.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I know this may be the last time we see each other before the battle tomorrow. Geran will not let me be a part of tonight’s discussions, I’m sure.”

  I lean against his chest. “Join me for dinner? I’m not meeting with the Joint Counsel until later.”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  The soldiers call to each other then pull the ropes to raise my tent. I sigh at the thought of getting out of my wet clothes into something warm and dry. But then my muscles go rigid. Quinn gasps in surprise as he tightens his grip around my shoulder.

  “Alystrine?” His voice sounds distorted, like he’s speaking underwater.

  Lord Braedon appears in front of the tent, translucent, like a holograph. Hovering a foot off the ground. He stares at me, but somehow through me.

  Quinn’s muted voice continues to call, the volume rising. I ignore him and step toward Braedon. “How are you doing this?”

  “A gift from one of my demons. The ability to cast a piece of myself to you.”

  “What have you done with Kyran?”

  “Bring me the Chrysaline and he will keep his life.”

  Quinn grabs my arm, twirls me around to face him. “Alystrine? What is happening? What do you see?”

  He stumbles back with a pulse from my ring. I turn to the fading apparition. “How do I find you? You have the passages blocked.”

  “They are open now.” Braedon disappears. “You must come now.”

  My mind searches for the cord tying me to Kyran, but it is still lost. Growling with frustration, I seek the way to Braedon. No cord appears, instead I feel a strong wind, like the current of a stream. Something tries to hold me back, but I will not be stopped. Feeling as though I carry a thousand extra pounds, I drag myself into the passage.

  The air rushes past like a whirlwind. Before I can process what’s happening, I land on the ground, surrounded by trees.

  Quinn appears, not an arm’s length away, his face red. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “He said Kyran is still alive. I had to come to make sure.”

  “Who? Who did you see?”

  I turn as a figure steps from the trees. Caradoc. His smile falters, seeing two people when he expected only one. He recovers quickly. “Alystrine, I am glad you came. It is the only way to save Kyran.”

  “Where is he? I want to see him.”

  “You will have to work that out with Braedon. I’m sorry.”

  Quinn growls, believing this is all an elaborate trick, however I feel sure this is what I am supposed to do. “Take me to him.”

  Kyran? Can you hear me?

  Although he doesn’t answer, I keep trying as Caradoc leads us through the camp to Lord Braedon’s tent. Stepping inside, the hairs on my arm prickle. My gaze sweeps across the opulent surroundings, taking in the thick fur rugs, the cushioned chairs . . . the full-sized bed in the corner.

  Braedon pushes himself up from behind a table strewn with parchment. Lord Rafer steps from the shadows so they stand side-by-side. Caradoc joins them.

  Braedon spreads his arms out wide. “Welcome, Queen Alystrine, to my humble tent.”

  “If I had known you were inviting me to your bedroom, I would have refused to come.”

  His chuckle is low and sensual. “I still hope to one day change your mind on that account.”

  Quinn stiffens behind me but I speak before he does, “You can’t intimidate me anymore. I am not the child you dragged through a passage six short months ago.”

  His lips curl into a snake-like smile. “I can see that.” His gaze, which had for a moment smoldered with heat, turns cold and calculating. “But forgive me. I should have expressed my condolences for the loss of your adopted mother.” He turns his attention to Quinn. “And for the death of your wife. Or should I say our wife?”

  I will Quinn not to rise to Braedon’s taunts as I take a step forward. “Enough of this. Where’s Kyran?”

  “None of the ritual formalities of negotiations?” He turns his attention to Rafer and Caradoc. “I suppose I should be grateful.”

  I remain silent as Braedon and his entourage stare at me. He arches an eyebrow. “You first. Where is the Chrysaline?”

  “Somewhere guarded and safe,
” Quinn answers. “And far from your hands.”

  Braedon’s anger burns across my skin like a desert wind. “You were told to bring it.”

  My voice doesn’t betray my nerves. “I do not take orders from you.”

  His face hardens. “I thought I made it clear. You will get the bastard back when you have given me the Chrysaline.”

  “And you have proven over and over again you can’t be trusted. I want to see Kyran. I want to know he’s still alive.”

  Braedon’s arms hang by his side, his fingers clenching into fists. “Do you think I am a fool? That I would let either of you, Portals,” he spits the word like it’s a curse, “that I would let you near him before I have the Chrysaline in my possession? Either of you could take him through a passage in an instant and then what would I have to bargain with?”

  “Tell the Black Guards to put down the barrier they’ve placed around him. Let me Mind Speak with him.”

  “So . . . the bastard can Mind Speak, can he?”

  My stomach twists into a pretzel as I swallow my anger. I hate these men. All of them. Pompous. Arrogant. Dismissing people on the basis of their skin color and heritage instead of getting to know them. I was once the same, seeing Kyran only as an outlaw. A rogue. But not now. “I will consider bringing you the Chrysaline once I know your brother is alive.”

  Braedon’s nose twitches, like he’s smelled something foul. “He is not my brother.”

  “You share the same father. Where I come from, that’s called family.”

  His eyes look like two round pieces of granite. Hard. Cold. Without emotion. “He was an unfortunate accident of war, nothing else.”

  “Nevertheless, you will allow me to speak to him or you will face me tomorrow as I carry the Chrysaline into battle.” I let my lips ease up into a smile. “And you will be amazed at what I’ve learned to do with it. Not only me.” I hope my eyes don’t betray my lie. “But other Elders as well. If you try and keep me here, or kill me now, my father will use his wrath, and the Chrysaline, to destroy you and every last one of the demons you think will protect you.”