by K. A. Linde
“There was no place for me with her family. Benny made sure of that.”
Cyrene shook her head. “No. She wanted you. I know because I saw the love she had for Matilde. I saw the love she had for her family. A part of you is still Matilde. You could be that part again.”
“That is the part that loves my sister. The rest is nothing,” Malysa growled.
Cyrene wished that she could reach Malysa.
She really wished that she could.
But, where there was a tether of goodness and rightness in Kael, that was gone from Malysa. Whatever Benetta had done to separate her goodness and evilness, it had reverted when they merged. Matilde was no more. The woman Cyrene had loved and been tutored by had been overtaken by the sinister side of her character. And there was nothing Cyrene could do to take it back. To make Matilde transform out of Malysa.
Cyrene wanted to save people.
That was who she was.
Who she had always been.
She had never met someone that she didn’t want to save or fix or change. To bring them back to the good side. Even Kael. Even herself.
But Malysa…
There was no goodness left.
And reaching for it would only drag out the inevitable.
Cyrene held her sword aloft. Avoca flipped her ice-white blades as she stared down the Voldere before her. They hovered off the ground, each at least a foot taller than the one she had fought in the pit. And then there was Malysa. The real threat.
They could do it.
They could do it together.
Cyrene reached out down the bond and felt the two threads there. Just two now. No longer three.
Avoca and Sarielle.
Her soul sisters.
More sister to Cyrene than Malysa could possibly understand.
Because her idea of family was warped.
Family didn’t mean giving up when times got hard. Family meant fighting together through the worst. Only then could you appreciate the best of someone.
Cyrene touched both bonds, felt the hearts of her sisters, and then they linked. Doma met Dragon met Leif. Three becoming one.
And so it began.
67
The Gift
Dean
“You will not get past me,” Merrick said. He whirled the long black blade in his hand and menacingly narrowed his eyes.
“We’ll see about that,” Dean said.
He had never faced a Nokkin. And hearing Cyrene’s stories about what one had done to Avoca, he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. But he was standing between him and Cyrene. Between him and Malysa. There was only one way forward, and that was through.
Kael snorted. “I should have gutted you when you were living in my castle the last two years. Creator knows, you were annoying enough.”
Merrick’s eyes slipped to Kael. “There is something different about you.”
“Nice of you to notice,” Kael said. “It’s the hair.”
Dean chuckled despite himself. “It’s definitely the hair.”
“Where has your magic gone?” Merrick demanded.
“I’ll tell you if you ask nicely,” Kael taunted. “Or if you let us through. Your choice.”
Merrick leveled the sword at Kael. “You have rid yourself of the blood magic. You are more of a fool than I imagined.”
“I have been hearing that a lot lately,” Kael said with a shrug.
“For the last two years, I have fed off of your magic,” Merrick bit out. “Weakened you until you had to kill to survive the withdrawal of the blood magic feasting on you. To survive the addiction. It has been a pleasure to eat away at you bit by bit. To watch you suffer.”
“Pleasant guy,” Dean muttered.
“And now, you have nothing to offer me,” Merrick said. “Which means that, when I next touch you, it will not be to drain your reserves but to kill.”
“And oh, how I look forward to that,” Kael said. “But can we end the small talk and get to business? I never did like listening to you drone on.”
“We’ve only just met, and already, I tire of you,” Dean confirmed.
“Imagine two years of this drivel.”
“I’d rather not.”
Merrick whirled his sword one more time and then settled into a fighting stance. That was all the invitation that they needed before Dean pushed into motion. He parried Merrick’s enormous sword, feeling the vibrations of the massive thing all the way down through his arms and up into his shoulders. If he hadn’t had a Hohl blade, then it surely would have snapped under the strain of the metal.
Kael was there next, darting into the fray and slicing at Merrick. He was deft and agile despite his injury. But careful to stay well out of reach of Merrick’s touch. One touch from the Nokkin could drain the magic from a person. But it could kill a human. And Kael was just a human now. He had to know the risks.
Surprisingly, they worked well together. They were matched in swordsmanship, which Dean found to be impressive. He’d assumed that Kael’s swordplay came from his magic, but it appeared he was just as well versed in it as Dean was. They were both princes after all. He’d just never thought of Kael as similar to him in any way. He wasn’t sure he liked it now.
He used his own magic to push against the Nokkin before him. But it did little good. He absorbed more magic than anything.
Cyrene had said that she was only able to destroy the Nokkin that had appeared before them in the Drop Pass with her spirit magic. It had unleashed from within her, and she had eviscerated the Nokkin.
But Dean didn’t have spirit magic.
He didn’t know anyone else who did.
That meant…he had no real way of killing it with magic.
He’d have to be more imaginative than that.
Merrick went for Kael again, but he skittered backward out of reach, slicing his blade down toward Merrick’s outstretched arm. Dean came in strong from the other direction, shooting electricity toward him. Merrick ducked the attack, and the energy hit the opposite wall, blasting a hole through the rock to the outside beyond. Wind whistled in through the opening, and they could see the enormous hundred-foot drop below.
Kael ducked in close again and attempted to get in a low blow against Merrick. But Merrick was quicker. There was a split second where time slowed down. Where Merrick was reaching, reaching, reaching, his fingers a hairbreadth from Kael’s collar. Merrick could pull Kael in and kill him within a heartbeat.
And then, with a swiftness Dean had had no idea Kael possessed, he darted back out of reach, bringing his sword down on Merrick’s wrist. It dug into the bone, spraying black blood onto the floor.
“Don’t get that close,” Dean snarled at Kael.
“Yeah, I’m well aware,” he shot back.
Merrick roared at the cut. His dark eyes turning perfectly black as he seemed to grow in size. The injury only angering him rather than stopping him.
And there was a moment as he turned all of his attention on Kael that Dean wondered why he was protecting him. Kael was a murderer. He had destroyed Dean’s home and so many of the people he had cared about. Kael had done it unprovoked after slaughtering Dean’s parents. There was no reason for him to survive this fight.
But he had been in this moment before.
Something so similar that it was eerie. Not a Nokkin, of course, and hardly a prince. Still, it had the same feeling.
When he had been in Domara, he had been given the gift of magic, and in return, he’d had to work for Valesamy. She hadn’t seen it as slavery or even indentured servitude. It had just been a part of her culture. What she understood to be true. The strongest among them could bestow gifts, and if you wanted the gift, then you had to work for the person who had given it to you.
Not all were like Valesamy, but he’d just gotten unlucky enough to get a gift from her. She had made him do horrible things in return. Things he still had trouble thinking about. Things that still haunted his dreams and ripped him from sleep.
/> And one of those occurrences had been just like this. He and another gifted had gone to take down one of Valesamy’s enemies. Dean could have saved him. He could have been the better person, but when her enemy had gotten too close, he’d let the man die. He’d even thought that maybe it would bring him that much closer to leaving Domara. The death of another gifted was one step closer for him after all.
It hadn’t gotten him free.
It had done nothing but anger her.
And get him punished even though he had completed the task. Killed her enemy. Robbed him. Destroyed his palace. And laughed as it went up in flames.
The act still haunted him.
So, he could let Kael die here.
He wasn’t even sure it would haunt him as the last one had.
But this wasn’t about whether it would haunt him.
It was about whether or not this was the right thing to do. Cyrene had thought Kael was worth saving. That he had some redemption left in him. Dean had to be able to see that anyone was worth redeeming. Because, if he was worth it after all he had done for Valesamy…then why not Kael?
If he let Kael die here, was Dean any different than the monster he had been in Domara?
Had he really changed? Or was he just pretending?
Because it would be so easy to let Kael die.
And yet…he couldn’t do it.
With a burst of energy, he threw another bolt of lightning at Merrick just as he reached for Kael. This time, it hit him square in the chest. Merrick hadn’t been expecting the attack, and it jolted him instead of absorbing.
In the moment that Merrick was distracted by the lightning bolt, Kael swung his sword as fast and deliberately as he could. Merrick’s head rolled off his body and fell to the ground. A second later, the entire body collapsed backward. The last Nokkin of Emporia was no more.
Kael brought the blade back to his side, his injured shoulder leaving his left arm hanging dead. Kael leaned forward, breathing heavy. “For a second, I thought you weren’t going to do anything to stop him.”
“For a second, I wasn’t sure I was,” he told Kael honestly. Then, Dean patted his back. “But I’d rather see you rot at trial than die here as a hero.”
Kael laughed, straightening to his considerable height. He swept his dark hair off of his forehead. “You know…you’re not too horrible after all.”
Dean shook his head. “You’re still horrible. But a hell of a swordsman.”
“And you shoot actual lightning bolts out of your hands. One day, you can send me to get magic like that.”
Dean snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Yeah. Probably for the best,” Kael said with another laugh.
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Good enough.” He shrugged. “Nothing I can do for it right now.”
“All right. Let’s go help, Cyrene.”
“Knowing Cyrene…she doesn’t need our help.”
“So true,” Dean agreed.
Then they both laughed and jogged down the hallway.
68
The Wings
Cyrene had never felt this before.
It was her first official link without the curse. She hadn’t realized until that point how much it had been holding her back. Completely hindering her ability to delve into the links she had actually chosen in her life. Sarielle and Avoca were her people. They were the ones she wanted to be bound to. And, now that she was free of Serafina’s and Viktor’s bond, everything was suddenly perfectly clear. As sharp as a razor’s edge and so much stronger.
Cyrene took a step toward Malysa, who just smiled like a Cheshire cat and snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the two Voldere dropped out of the sky and landed before Cyrene. Avoca was at her side in a second. As if they were so attuned to each other that they no longer needed words.
The two beasts were enormous and yet preternaturally quick. Their wings double and again as long as they were tall. They tucked the wings in tight against their backs. Those devil-red eyes flashing as they moved in sync.
She had taken out one of these things with her spirit magic. She knew the rest didn’t work on it. Just like the Nokkin. In fact, it seemed as if the Voldere, this new beast, had been bred from dragons and the Nokkin. Immune to flame and the other elements, but still susceptible to spirit magic. They could be cut down but not without difficulty.
She nodded her head, and Avoca moved to the left as Cyrene moved to the right. The Voldere sprang for them in the same instant. It was clear they wanted to divide and conquer. They’d both come for Cyrene, which was fine by her if they believed that she was the deadlier threat. They weren’t wrong, but Avoca was much more powerful with a blade.
Cyrene engaged the Voldere, throwing blasts of connected elemental energy toward them. She knew that it wouldn’t stop them, but it would slow them down. It also had the advantage of using less magic and making them think that she had no idea what she was doing.
You killed our brother, the first hissed at her.
You will not get away with another, the second said.
“Do you things have genders?” Cyrene asked, sending another shot of flames to their flame-retardant, leathery skin. “I really can’t tell. Are either of you female?”
The things snarled at her. One lunging for her legs as the other attempted to go to her exposed throat.
They missed Avoca jumping in from high above as her air magic effortlessly carried her onto the back of the first. She had out both ice-white blades and shredded its wings as she slid down its back to the ground once more.
The Voldere shrieked in horror, whirling around to reach for her. But she had already rolled out of the way.
The second Voldere seemed to have realized its mistake in ignoring Avoca. It circled back to face off with both of them. Its comrade was still howling as if its wings were the most precious part of its body.
Avoca winked at Cyrene as she came back to her feet. “Ceis’f and I found out they’re protective of their wings.”
“Noted,” Cyrene said. Though she winced at the mention of Ceis’f. He still remained out of reach before Malysa. The longer they fought, the more unlikely it was that she could save him. If it were even possible.
You will pay for that, the injured Voldere roared.
Cyrene just tipped her head at Avoca and felt the weight of the bond strengthen between them. Sarielle added the weight of her magic and the protection of her spirit magic to the binding. Then they were both running toward the Voldere and not away from them.
Cyrene pulled in her spirit magic tight. Then she sent a shot of energy toward the injured Voldere. It flew back a dozen paces, slamming into the balcony railing and crumpling the age-old stone. The thing dangled helplessly without the use of its wings as Avoca descended on it.
The other saw what had happened and launched into the air.
Cyrene didn’t know if it was running or preparing a counterstrike. But she had no interest in letting it do either. Certainly not get away.
She reached deeper into her well of energy and felt how little she truly had left. She had used a lot to release their blood magic, break the curse, and then heal Kael. It had been a calculated risk. One that she was paying for now.
Still, she pushed her spirit energy toward the beast, raking the blast down the expanse of its wings. It screamed mid-flight. Tried desperately to correct itself, but it was too far over the side of the building. It couldn’t gain momentum, couldn’t slow down or stop, or even hope to reach the railing. There was nowhere for it to go. She watched as the thing plummeted down, down, down. Until it landed with a crunch a hundred feet below on the stone steps of the castle.
When she turned back around, Avoca had the head of the other Voldere in her hand.
“I really don’t like these things,” Avoca said, tossing it toward Malysa. “You can keep it.”
“Good point about the wings,” Cyrene said. “Made that one easier.”
“Anytime.”
Cyrene
and Avoca turned as one. Their movements so similar that it was perfection. This was how she had always envisioned them fighting together. How she had seen them in their Bound ceremony. They’d been on horseback in the Hidden Forest, heading for Eldora, hunting Indres, as they were on their way to see Avoca’s mother, who had been dying then, as she was now. And, though Cyrene and Avoca were in a different place and time, it felt the same. Finally, it felt how she had always thought it would feel. This bond like nothing else in the world. Complete synchronization, complete trust. And Sarielle to bind it all together.
Malysa didn’t look concerned in the least. “I’ll have you know it took a long time to make one Voldere, and you have killed three of them now.”
“Five,” Avoca corrected. “You forget the two that Ceis’f, Dean, and I took out before finding you.”
Malysa pursed her lips. “Five.” She shrugged. “No matter. There are seven more of my pets terrorizing your army as we speak. That is enough to level a city. Let alone a ramshackle army.”
“You can hardly call my army ramshackle,” Cyrene said. “When I have the might of Eleysia, Aurum, Tiek, Tygh, the Network, the Doma, and all of the Indres, which my alpha has returned to our side. That is enough to win a war.”
“You’ll need something more than that if you think you stand a chance against me.”
Heavy footsteps interrupted their conversation. And then, suddenly, Dean and Kael burst out onto the terrace. Both of them had their swords withdrawn. They looked worse for wear. Dean was rumpled and breathing heavy. Kael’s left arm was hanging limp at his side as if he didn’t have full control of it. His face was white as a sheet.