by AJ Nuest
A black cloud formed in the empty space over Leo’s book. Shadows crept into the corners of the room, swirling and thickening. Rhys glanced at Faedrah and she blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t move.
The acidic flavor of ashes dried his tongue. A drone buzzed in his ears, and he gritted his teeth. Shit, they were so close, but he needed more, to have his powers barrel in like a freight train if they hoped to make it out of this clusterfuck alive.
Reaching inside the empty void, Leo licked his lips. The candles flickered and the flames altered to the violet glow of a black light. He stepped back, lifting out a curved, silver knife.
Yes! Rhys expelled a harsh breath, puffed a few times and filled his lungs, searching for any imperfection in the silver, any flaw he could find. His magic fizzed and sputtered at the edges. He narrowed his focus and shoved, but the god dammed knife refused to move.
Turning from the table, Leo resumed chanting, his voice pitched both high and low, two octaves at once. Whispers of otherworldly voices joined in, and Rhys’ stomach lurched; Faedrah shuddered. He thrashed at his restraints, growling.
Leo lifted his eyes to Rhys, empty and filled with black. The tempo of his incantation grew faster, the voices frantic. He balanced the knife on his fingertips and closed in. The blade glowed, and Rhys tried to fling it across the room.
Stopping before Rhys, Leo grabbed the handle and his chanting cut out. “In many ways, you were the pinnacle of my creations. I certainly hope you don’t take offense. Your death is nothing personal.”
Pushing the zipper of Rhys’ jacket aside, he lifted the knife overhead and plunged it toward Rhys’ chest.
Rhys squeezed his eyes closed and braced. A small percussion rebounded against his eardrums, and he flinched. A second passed…then a couple more. He peeked at Leo through one eye and the tension in his arms went slack. Holy shit, it had worked.
The tip of the knife poked Rhys t-shirt, piercing the fabric, but the blade had stopped dead in the air.
“What have you done?” Leo swung the knife back and jabbed it toward Rhys a second time. And then a third. “What have you done!”
He scrambled for the collar of Rhys’ t-shirt and ripped off a wide strip in one swipe. His eyes bulged at the raised ink of Rhys’ signature, tattooed over Rhys’ heart. Nostrils flared, Leo seized Rhys by the throat. “Do you think this will stop me? Do you truly think I shall not find another way?”
Yeah, good luck with that plan, asshole. Rhys grimaced and faked a cough. “God, Leo, your breath reeks. What up, major halitosis?”
Faedrah grunted, her eyes wide. She shook her head and then rocked back on her heels as a full-throated laugh burst through her gag. Gasping for air, she bent forward at the waist, stomping her foot as another round of laughter shook her shoulders.
“Right?” Rhys chuckled along with her. “I swear to God, the dude stinks worse than Fandorn.”
She nodded, laughter tears streaming down her cheeks, Rhys’ stomach cinching tighter over her amusement the more Leo stammered and fumed like some bratty kid.
He bounced the knife handle in his hand, strode toward Faedrah and wrenched her head back. “We shall see how you fare without your lovely muse.”
Everything in Rhys’ world slammed into focus. His back arched, wrists straining against the shackles as lightning bolts exploded down his spine. Light crackled from his hands. The shadows shrieked and scampered for the corners as his body buzzed like he’d been shot with a thousand volts.
A smile twisted his lips as he lowered his chin. Every piece of metal in the room, every mineral down to a molecular level was his, dammit. They all belonged to him.
An evil chuckle rumbled in Rhys’s chest, and Leo shook his head. “This cannot—”
“Now, Faedrah!” Rhys aimed a sharp beam of energy straight at her handcuffs. Her hands jerked free at the same moment Rhys shoved at his restraints.
The shackles split with a metal clang. She drove her elbow into Leo’s stomach, tangled the gold chain around her fingers and yanked. Leo bellowed. Rhys’ feet hit the floor, he ran two steps and jumped as she flung the key into the air.
An earthquake rocked the ground. Cracks zig-zagged through the foundation. The walls shook and the candles toppled. Melted wax sprayed and sparks smoldered on the black tablecloth covering the altar. “No!” Leo shrieked.
Rhys snagged the key, spun and punched both hands forward, throwing everything he had into the knife. It flew from Leo’s hand, but he thrust both arms up, stopping the blade in mid-twirl.
Gritting his teeth, Rhys dragged the knife to eye-level, pushing harder, aiming the tip toward Leo’s chest. Heat built at his back. Flames sputtered and licked at the air. Leo’s face grayed. His skin sagged. He panted and curled his fingers as the nails lengthened and yellowed.
A moan wound up from Faedrah’s chest and her legs wobbled. God dammit, her memories. Her parents had said she might lose them. She staggered back, tearing the gag from her mouth, and dropped her head into her hands.
“Stay with me, Faedrah!” Rhys grappled at the knife with his mind. Leo growled and the sharp end spun back toward Rhys. “God dammit, don’t you leave me!”
She shook her head, blinked and glanced around the room. Her eyes landed on Leo, and her jaw firmed as she peered past his shoulder and locked on to Rhys. “Never. I shall never leave you, my heart.”
Hands fisted, she went up on her toes and sprinted straight for Leo, jumped and rammed both feet into his back. Rhys roared, pouring the last of his power into the knife. It twirled as Leo careened forward. Rhys grabbed the handle and jammed it all the way into Leo’s chest, down to the hilt before giving it a hard twist.
Leo stumbled back, fell and scrambled away, crab-walking and flopping around like some possessed, disjointed body. He smacked into the burning alter and his hands fluttered and slapped at the knife. Hot wax streamed onto his head. The black bled from his eyes, streaking down his face.
Flames snaked over his clothes. The stench of rotting flesh filled the air and Leo screamed, thrashing. “I may die in this realm, but I live on in mine!”
Beams of blue light shot from his fingers, from his eyes and gaping mouth. His back bowed off the floor as fire enveloped his body. Rhys dove for Faedrah and knocked her to the floor, covering her head with his arms. The shadows screeched. The air was sucked from the room a second before a bone-jarring detonation lifted and slammed them back to the ground.
Debris pounded Rhys’ back and legs. Dust and smoke filled his lungs, and he buried his face in the soft slope of Faedrah’s neck. Coughing, holding her close, he waited as the tremors subsided.
He lifted his head and ran his hands over her cheeks, her shoulders, down her sides and back up again. Ashes floated past his shoulder and caught in her closed lashes. Black smudges covered her forehead and cheeks. “Are you all right? Sweet Jesus, Faedrah, can you hear me?”
She wheezed and waved a hand in front of her face. “I am fine, my heart. None the worse for wear.”
He slumped back on top of her and crammed his arms under her shoulders, squeezing her tight. “Thank God. For a second there, I thought I’d lost you.”
“I am afraid you are still burdened with my presence.”
He chuckled and leaned away, cupping the top of her head so he could wipe the grime off her forehead with his thumb. “Holy shit, we did it. We won, Princess.”
She smiled. “I did not harbor any doubts that we would.”
“Rhys? Oh my God, are you there? Just…say something. Todd’s coming. He should be there any second.”
“I got ya, Violet.” He dropped his lips to Faedrah’s, and damned if he didn’t give two shits about anything else other than the fact she returned his kiss.
Footsteps thundered down the hall and the blown-out frame of the door slammed open against the wall. “Rhys!” Another round of bricks fell from the rafters.
“Over here!” The weight holding Rhys in place eased up as Todd and a f
ew members of his crew dug him and Faedrah out from under. He sat up and scanned the basement, but there wasn’t much left…unless he could count the pile of cremated ashes that had once been Leo.
Rhys pushed to his feet and offered Faedrah a hand up, kicked a smoldering beam out of the way and high-stepped over a pile of cinderblock. He nudged the black mound with the toe of his boot and his brow twitched. No way.
Leaning down, he picked up the silver knife and swiped it back and forth over the side of his hip to clean off the oily residue. Faedrah wound her hand around his bicep and leaned in, and he glanced at her, flipping the blade over and back. “What the hell are we supposed to do with this, now?”
She frowned, and the confusion in her eyes made him hesitate. “For all my efforts, I cannot recall its significance.”
Shit, he forgot. The key. Unless he got that chain back around her neck, they’d be stuck here…her kingdom, her mom and dad and everyone who loved her in that world would be gone from her memories.
Sirens wailed somewhere off in the distance, and Todd glanced up at gaping hole in the floor of Leo’s study. “Later. It’s time we hit the road.”
“Yep.” Rhys shoved the knife into the back waistband of his pants and faced his muse. “Just one last thing.” He clenched the chain he still had wound through his fingers and closed his eyes, searching for any defect in the gold. The broken ends helped, giving him the perfect place to start, and the middle of his hand got hot as he concentrated on melting the links together.
He opened his fingers and, all things considered, the necklace looked pretty damn good. A nod down at his work, and he dropped the chain around Faedrah’s neck.
Todd muttered a curse, bracing his legs as another earthquake shook the ground. A few more chunks of concrete tipped from the walls and shattered. White dust hissed from between the cracks and a row of books slid off the overhead crater, flapping and bouncing as they landed.
But Rhys kept his eyes on Faedrah, watching…waiting…hoping he hadn’t fucked up the key’s magic and everything they’d been through would fall back into place.
She grabbed his arm and pressed two fingers to her forehead, squeezed her eyes tight and shook her head. The rumbling eased up and she lifted her gaze to his—aware, sharp, the perfect chocolate brown. “I remember…” She searched his face. “The two of us floating amongst the stars.”
The mural he’d painted in her bedroom. Damn straight. He smirked. “Floating, huh? That all you remember?”
One of her eyebrows rose, and he crossed his arms as she ran her focus up and down his body. “If memory serves, you and I have agreed to be wed.”
Yep, his furious little muse was back, and apparently reliving everything they’d done in her bedroom since she seemed to be mentally tearing his clothes off. He strode one step forward, snuck an arm around her waist and jerked her to his hips. “That’s right, Princess. And don’t you ever forget.”
Epilogue
Denmar released the catch and the sand bags creaked, swinging to and fro over the narrow wooden beam at the gate of the Gantlet.
Faedrah sighed, searching the far tree line to either side of the large audience gathered beneath the white canopies staked upon the lawn. Royal blue pennants woven with the silver crest of the Austiere Kingdom caught and fluttered in the warm autumn wind. Green and floral garlands hung draped in a colorful display around the chairs and heavily-laden refreshment tables. Liveried servants batted at flies as they bowed and coursed through the crowd. Every able noble within her father’s rule had arrived to celebrate this joyous occasion and, yet, she could not displace the lingering disquiet burdening her heart.
Two full cycles of Selene’s passings had lapsed since Faedrah and her beloved Rhys had returned to the realm of Austiere. Two cycles of the moon, whilst every soul had rejoiced, the woods and surrounding lands had begun to heal and preparations for this long-awaited day had consumed the entirety of the kingdom.
Following her and her beloved’s victorious purge of Gaelleod’s foothold in the future, Sir Todd and his loyal band of steel-horsed riders had hastened their troupe to the home of her two faithful uncles. There, amid tears of farewell and heartfelt promises to one day return, Rhys had passed to Wizard Oliver and Sir Jon the silver blade Gaelleod had employed during the rite of his immoral transformations. Whilst both she and Rhys were hard-pressed to let such powerful magic vacate their watchful eye, the goddesses would not allow such an object safe passage through the veil. Rhys and Faedrah been left no choice but to take heart her uncles had vowed to secret the blade inside the armoire.
The moment they had returned to the castle, she’d removed the golden key from around neck, locking away both sides of the veil and the dangerous power contained therein.
Yet, in this realm, Gaelleod and his lost blade remained.
Faedrah closed her eyes, smiling softly over the impatience of the confident warrior threatening to take hold inside her. She stepped past the first bag and paused. Many hours Rhys had endeavored to locate Gaelloed’s most treasured instrument of evil, toiling long into the night beside Fandorn whilst they combed through the castle’s library. He’d lead several excursions into Gaelleod’s crystal crypt, the days long spent exploring the tunnels, enough Faedrah had become accustomed to her beloved entering their bedchamber coated in diamond dust, his dark hair shimmering like a sea of stars. Still, for all his efforts, the dagger’s location remained shrouded in mystery, and though Rhys used a portion of his powers to ward the tomb of Gaelleod’s undead sleep, he would not allow for the entrance to be sealed.
Though his appeal contained a treacherous risk, neither the king nor queen nor anyone in all the realm dared to argue his request the doorway remain open. How could they when Vaighn had yet to reemerge from within that warren of diamond littered halls?
Another step, and Faedrah slipped past the second bag. Each morning as Helios had announced the beginning of a new day, she had hoped for the best and, each night, as the sun god set, her brother’s rightful place within the kingdom remained vacant. For a time, Faedrah had insisted they postpone her contest in the Gantlet. Of all her brothers at arms, Vaighn was Austiere’s true champion, stalwart of heart and fealty, unbested with his able sword, and she could not rightfully accept the Austiere crest until the two of them had contested.
Her heart slowed as she envisioned her brother’s smile, the devilish mischief glinting in his eyes. What that she would give to have him taunt her? To have him enter the sparring room, his hair a tousled mess and his clothes unkempt after a long night tossing the bedclothes with a courtier?
Out of love and the deepest respect for her brother, she had continuously deferred…until the goddesses made known to her they had other plans in mind.
The swing of the final bag formed a steady rhythm in her mind, and she widened her stance, unsheathing a short sword from her back. A fortnight had passed since the expectation of her womanly course, and before Rhys confined her to lazing about the castle…before the grand announcement of their upcoming arrival had spread to every ear in the realm, she would follow through on this day. She would do the one thing she could to honor her brother, and take his place as the King’s right arm until the joyous moment of Vaighn’s return.
The crowd quieted. A soft breeze tugged a loose strand from her braid and she smiled as it tickled across her lips. Her first opponent lingered near, hidden behind the foremost wall on her right. The scent of his sweat and leather chest plate gave his location away.
The knock of an arrow, the creak of a bow, and her second opponent made himself known. Straight ahead, he kneeled behind the low defense of a free-standing partition. Silver hummed as the third withdrew his sword, and she lowered her chin, targeting his position high atop the rope bridge. Once engaged in combat, she could locate the fourth and fifth from that vantage point with ease.
Filling her lungs, she awaited the swing of the bag, then dropped to one knee and rolled beneath it, using the unexpected maneuve
r to mask her advance. The first arrow loosed with the recoil of a bowstring, and she dodged left, knocking its aim off-kilter with her sword. The crowd ooohed. A smattering of applause accompanied their praise. She sprinted dead on for the archer, batting his arrows from the air, veered right at the last moment and charged for her first contender. His brows shot toward his hairline at her misdirection, and she used the beat of his surprise to leap and rebound off the wall.
Her boot heels rammed his shoulder. He staggered sideways and an arrow thunked into his leather shield. She landed behind him, flipped to her shoulders and pinioned her legs toward the backs of his knees. His full weight slammed to the ground from the force of her kick. A second well-aimed thrust at his shoulders, and she sprang to her boots as he careened face-first to the ground.
A sickening crunch accompanied his fall, and he turned his head aside, one hand holding the bridge of his nose and blood gushing down his lips. “Submit, milady. I submit.”
The tip of an arrow glanced off her shoulder, and Faedrah hissed, spinning for the edge of the Gantlet and the high wooden arm that extended toward the crowd. A length of rope dangled from the top, swaying in the breeze, and she leapt with all her might, body extended, and snagged the cable in mid-air.
The audience cheered, ducking low as she swung toward the tents. A careening swoop through the center of the Gantlet and she flipped, soaring aloft to gain hold of the bottom support rope of the bridge.
Her momentum spun her under and around, and she brought her knees to her chest as her side slammed her opponent’s hardened chest plate. Pain ricocheted through her body. His back rebounded off the side hand rope, and he flailed his arms, tipping forward as the hit swung her under and back up behind him. A hard shove with her boot as she crested the hand rope, and he flipped like a piece of lumber, tumbling head over heels to smack the ground.
The rope bounced beneath her boots as she landed, and she peered down at the guard’s prone form.