Seared

by Bethany Adams

  Ralan paused, and his voice lowered when he spoke. “Is Kien susceptible to steel?”

  “Yes,” Teyark answered. “Why?”

  “If I fall, kill him with steel or iron. It is vital.”

  As soon as Teyark nodded, Ralan strode past him and out the door.

  Bile rose in Cora’s throat as she followed him into the huge main room. But this time, it wasn’t empty. In the center, Kien stood, ten warriors ringing him with swords drawn. More guards lined the walls, but the prince didn’t appear concerned. A smirk tilted his lips as he watched them cross the expanse of floor.

  The door snicked closed behind them, and Cora looked back to see Teyark and the king following. She fought a wave of dizziness as she returned her attention to the dark prince. Now was not the time to be sick. If there was any way she could save Ralan, she would do it. She would blast a smoldering hole through Kien herself, regardless of where his energy was bound.

  Ralan’s mind brushed hers. “Talk to me.”

  “Not the time,” she whispered back.

  “I’d say we’re running rather short of that commodity.”

  “I’m following your daughter’s advice.” Cora sucked in a breath. “Maybe you should, too.”

  He fell silent at that. Did he know what she meant? Though she hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, Cora had heard some of Eri’s words to him when he’d said goodbye. You’ve given up, she’d cried. Well, if that distressed the child, there was a reason. No matter what Ralan believed, there was something to fight for.

  When Ralan halted a few paces from the line of guards, Cora stepped up beside him. Her palm itched against the desire to place her hand over her belly, but she straightened her spine instead. Kien would not miss such a gesture, and she refused to give the bastard something else to use against them.

  “Quite the welcome home,” Kien said smoothly. “Only Mother is missing.”

  The king halted beside Cora. “She is out of your reach.”

  Kien lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose you neglected to tell her about your invitation to me? I’m surprised you knew I would be at Pereth’s estate. I thought our friendship had gone unremarked.”

  “I hear you left your friend near death.”

  “Alas, he was not eager to renew our acquaintance.” A dark glint entered Kien’s eyes. “But his blood was of great benefit, so perhaps I will forgive the slight.”

  Cora buried her trembling hands in the folds of her dress to hide their shaking. The motion caught Kien’s attention, but Ralan took a step forward, drawing his brother’s gaze back. “This game will be finished today.”

  “What a useless, cliched line.” Kien lifted a hand, and an orb of energy sprang to life in his palm. Dull gray swirled sickly around lines of white. “Do you see this? Attack me, and I’ll cast this little spell straight into my connection with Earth’s energy. Perhaps you should let me. After all, it might kill me. But there’s no telling what it’ll do to all the fae living there.”

  Resolve flowed along their bond as Ralan’s hand landed on the hilt of his sword. “You’re too weak to fight one of us?”

  Kien laughed. “You want to challenge me to a swordfight? Not Teyark?”

  “You’ve spent years trying to kill me,” Ralan said. “So I’ll give you one fair chance.”

  Chapter 33

  Deadly calm layered like ice over the worry and fear in Ralan’s heart. He waited as his brother’s eyes narrowed on his face. Everyone in the room, save possibly Cora, knew the offer was foolish. Although Ralan had been trained the same as his brothers, he’d never been more than adequate with a sword. His Sight was as much hindrance as help, the strands of possibilities difficult to examine in the heat of battle. Teyark was the warrior in the family.

  “You’re up to something,” Kien said.

  “Of course,” Ralan answered. “As are you. Really, brother, what is your grand plan? Your spell might save you from being attacked by the loreln before your hand reaches your sword hilt, but you know well enough that we won’t hand over the throne to save Earth.”

  “I see even your nobility has a limit.” Kien’s smile turned mocking. “And here I came to challenge Father quite honorably for the throne.”

  “Then—” the king began.

  “You’d still have to face me and Teyark to ascend,” Ralan said, smoothly interrupting his father before he could accept the challenge. “Your hatred for me is strongest. Defeat me first.”

  Kien’s low laughter echoed through the room. “So eager to meet Kenaren? Your new bonded must be thrilled.”

  Ralan’s heart pinched at the hurt those words must have caused Cora, but he refused to let the ache show. He kept his eyes trained on Kien. “I’m weary of you. I’d like to have done with you and move on with my life.”

  “Your confidence is admirable but, as always, misplaced.” With a shrug, Kien wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. “Very well. I will accept your challenge first. Let the people of Moranaia see my benevolence.”

  Ralan snorted. His brother’s idea of benevolence had always been perverse at best. “May all in witness acknowledge our rightful duel.” He gestured toward the guards surrounding his brother. “Take your places at the perimeter to ensure that honor is met.”

  The loreln hesitated for a moment, clearly unhappy with this turn of events, before repositioning themselves. Ralan couldn’t blame them. Of all the ways he’d envisioned confronting his brother, this farce of a duel hadn’t been one of them. He reached for the strands, hoping he could confirm the rightness of his choice now that he was in the heat of the moment, but his Sight had gone so muddled that he couldn’t even see the futures of those not affected by the battle.

  He turned to his family. Cora’s eyes glistened, but her posture was. “Create a new future,” she sent.

  A sad smile crossed his lips. “I will try.”

  Teyark stared at him, shock and concern lining his face. “Why didn’t you let me go first?”

  Ralan lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “You said this was foreseen,” the king said, stepping closer. Anger furrowed his brow and sparked from his eyes. “Gods help me, Ralan, if you lied, there will be consequences.”

  Ralan’s nostrils flared. “I did not. But only a few strands have been clear.”

  “And this,” Kien interrupted, his tone almost pleasant, “Is why a seer should never be king. Unreliable, tricky lot. We all know it, yet you made him your heir. Why do you think I’ve fought for so long? It is all to save Moranaia from that folly.”

  “Yes, brother. A butcher who uses dark magic is clearly a better choice,” Ralan drawled.

  “I suppose the point will be moot once I defeat you.”

  “We shall see.” Ralan scanned his family’s faces one last time, lingering on Cora before returning to his father. “You should remove yourselves to the dais. Teyark knows what to do if I fall.”

  For a moment, the king looked like he was going to argue. His face reddened and his hands clenched. But Teyark interceded. “The duel has been called, Father. Honor demands its completion.”

  Ralan stared at King Alianar, taking in the lines that had deepened in his father’s face. His hair appeared even grayer than a few months before, and his shoulders bowed with the weight of almost three thousand years of rule. Grief shadowed his eyes as he nodded. So much was unresolved between them, and now it might never be. Not if Ralan maintained his stubborn pride.

  “I forgive you,” Ralan said softly. “For all of it. Now go.”

  He flicked his eyes toward Cora and lifted his brows, not wanting to deliver his other message in Kien’s hearing. Protect my bonded. Not because she was weak. If Ralan died, the pain would overcome her. He would not have his brother kill her in that vulnerable moment, a feat that would be all too easy.

  His father paled, but both he and Teyark nodded. Message received. As they gestured for Cora to follow them to the dais, she darted forward, pressing her trembling lips to his
in a quick kiss before she rushed to stand with the other two in front of the king’s throne.

  Ralan spun to face Kien as he tried to forget his bonded’s fear and grief. “Draw your blade.”

  “Took you long enough.” Metal rang as they both pulled swords free. The corner of Kien’s mouth lifted. “You seem less than confident about the outcome, brother. Perhaps your cursed Sight has finally led you astray.”

  “We all know the future is never set.”

  Ralan strode forward, lifting his blade to parry Kien’s oncoming thrust. The strands remained murky and useless, but he’d trained enough over the centuries that muscle memory kicked in. The clang of metal rang through the room as they danced back and forth across the floor, swords clashing. Through it all, his brother’s smirk never slipped.

  They both knew Kien was the superior swordsman.

  From outside the closed double doors, a few shouts sounded. Then a muffled scream. Ralan tried to focus on his brother. Kien was a mage, and magic wasn’t strictly forbidden during this type of duel. Why hadn’t he used it? No illusions or flickering lights. No spells designed to stun.

  Ralan sent his own power outward, searching for some crack in his brother’s shielding. The mental blast had bounced off in the cavern, so that would be useless to try again. At least until he found a weakness to exploit. But Kien had clearly spent a great deal of time preparing to deal with a telepath. Ralan’s magic slipped along his brother’s shield like water over a glass sphere. He needed to shatter it, but it was all he could do to counter Kien’s blows.

  “You aren’t as terrible as I expected,” Kien said.

  Ralan grunted with effort as he parried and feinted. “I’m older.”

  “Not wiser.”

  Kien dodged left and then ducked, his sword slipping under Ralan’s guard. Ralan hissed as the blade slashed along the side of his abdomen, cutting a deep gash into his skin. He bit back a shout as the pain of it hit, but Cora’s soft cry echoed across the room. At once, he shielded as much of the agony from her as he could. And prayed it was enough.

  Ralan danced back, trying to breathe through the pain. His hand convulsed around the hilt of his sword until he firmed his grip. Then he shoved it all aside and charged his brother. Dammit, he couldn’t go out like this. Kien could be defeated. He had to be.

  “You may thank Lyr’s bonded for that blow,” Kien gritted out. “It was in her honor.”

  Smiling at the memory of Meli, quiet Meli, stabbing his brother in the side, Ralan parried the next thrust. “She did more damage.”

  Kien’s smirk dropped. “Fuck this.”

  The blows came frenzied, then, and Ralan knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. Even without the injury, his body was weakening. The sword grew heavier in his hand, his parries a hair slower each time. Strength dripped from him with the blood that poured from his side.

  When he saw the opening, he didn’t hesitate. Ralan slipped his sword through, aiming for his brother’s black heart. But Kien caught the movement, feinting just enough to change the course of the blow. The steel blade slipped through his brother’s gut instead.

  Kien’s eyes went wide, and the sword dropped from his hand. Then he smiled. “Not a killing blow.”

  Fury roared through Ralan at his brother’s mocking words. They both knew such a strike would cause a painful death without the intervention of a skilled healer, and quickly. But it could be healed. His hand trembled as he tried to gather enough energy to twist the blade and push it deeper, but Kien shoved himself free of the sword with a heave.

  Kien stumbled, then dropped to his knees. Still. Fucking. Smiling. “Big mistake, brother,” Kien taunted.

  A flash of light. Dark magic darting free, winging toward the dais.

  The vision gave him mere moments to act. Suddenly, Ralan knew how he would die. He spared the quickest glance for Cora, sending his love along their bond, before he propelled himself forward. Directly in the path of the spell his brother had just cast.

  The agony was instant. Searing. Ralan did scream, then, as the death spell overcame him. He hit the ground hard, but the impact was nothing compared to the magic roaring through his body. Kien had been saving his power for a reason. A final blow for the king.

  As darkness dulled his wavering vision, regret and relief twined within him. He’d saved his family. No other strands were meant to be.

  Cora’s knees buckled as the pain swept through her, unrelenting. Teyark’s arm curved around her, supporting her as the world hazed around her. No. Great Divine, no. Whatever spell Kien had cast, it was killing Ralan. She felt him weakening with every heartbeat. But he’d stabbed his brother with steel. Kien should have been drained of power.

  Her chest heaved as she fought against the pain. Her vision cleared enough to focus on Ralan’s slumped form, and she let out a cry. Shoving free of Teyark, Cora stumbled across the floor toward her bonded. She barely noted Kien, already surrounded by several guards.

  “Leave him to me,” King Alianar called out.

  “Use Ralan’s sword,” she heard Teyark urge.

  She didn’t care.

  As soon as she reached Ralan, she dropped down beside him. Blood from the gash in his side squished into her knees, but she didn’t care about that, either. Her hands went to his face, and her heart skipped a beat at the hazy, vacant look to his eyes. Almost gone.

  No.

  Agony surged through her, pounding through her blood, as she latched onto their bond and kept it strong when he’d wanted to shield her. Like there was any way to shield this. Her own vision grayed as she pulled upon her power, and the air around them began to heat. Then she shoved herself into him, seeking the source of the damage.

  She sealed the gash first. His body lifted and slammed down as she seared the wound closed with her flame. But still, he slipped away. A cry tumbled through her dry lips as she poured more power in.

  It wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t have enough.

  Not here.

  As Ralan’s heartbeat slowed beneath her hand, Cora reached for the wealth of energy that eddied around her. She’d already decided to stay on Moranaia if he lived. Now it was up to her to ensure that he did.

  Without hesitation, she cracked open the wall that separated her from his world. The power flooded in, binding to her spirit in a pale imitation of the soulbond. A shiver tracked through her entire body, and her hands shook where they rested against Ralan as the full measure of Moranaia’s vast power scored through her.

  But when her vision cleared, Ralan’s chest had already gone still.

  Fire.

  His brother’s spell. Cora’s power. Like his dream, he thought it would never end. But just as in his dream, it did.

  Physical sensation faded, and his mind began to drift. He hoped Teyark remembered to use the steel sword to finish off Kien. He hoped Cora decided to stay with Eri. She’d need help with their child if his suspicions were correct.

  Their child.

  He waited for the surge of pain and regret, but it didn’t come. It was too cold for emotion here. Everything was cold. But that couldn’t be right. Not with Cora’s heat.

  A soft glow filled the darkness where he drifted. This was it.

  “No.”

  Cora’s voice rang through his mind, startling through the chill. “Too late.”

  “My fire consumed the spell. Come back.”

  The glow grew brighter as he struggled to comprehend. “Can’t be.”

  “Ralantayan Moreln, you will not leave me.” As her voice grew stronger, the light dimmed. “Your soul is bound to mine, and I am not letting go.”

  “Dark. Cold.”

  “Fight it.” Her pain reached him, piercing the stillness that bound him. “I need you. Eri needs you. Our other child needs you.”

  “Cora.”

  “You were right. I’m pregnant.” Her words rang through his head, and a hint of her desperation cracked into his heart. “And if you don’t get your ass back to your
body, I might cause her damage with all this magic use.”

  The impassive calm that had held him shattered. She was using her power up on him. And with Galare so far away. The physical pain of his body itched at his consciousness, but he no longer fought against it. Without hesitation, he latched onto Cora and let her pull him through.

  Chapter 34

  Cora had never seen anything as wonderful as Ralan’s golden eyes. But she didn’t get to see them for long. Almost as soon as his eyelids flicked open, he slammed them shut again. A moan rattled through his throat, and his body quaked beneath her hands. She wanted to collapse across his chest and hold him, but instead she sent her magic back through him, trying to find out if there was another reason for his pain.

  Unfortunately, her healing skills were more of a blunt instrument than a fine tool.

  “Were you hurt elsewhere?” she whispered.

  “Heat. Too much.”

  “Oh!” Cora pulled her hands away and winced at the raw red marks welting on his chest. Even his shirt had been burned away where she’d touched him. “Oh, no. I can’t heal that. I don’t think more fire will help.”

  “Kien?”

  Her heart clenched at the rough, pained sound of Ralan’s voice, but she glanced up to see what had happened to his brother. The king stood above Kien’s prone body and fastened his gaze on his son. Ralan’s sword was clutched in his father’s hand, but she couldn’t tell if he’d stabbed Kien or not. Cora gave Kien a closer look. His chest still rose and fell, and his eyes were open.

  “Not dead yet,” she whispered. “But I’d guess soon.”

  Ralan shifted, pressing his palms against the floor as though he intended to get up. Frowning, Cora pinned him with a hand to his chest. “Stop. You’re in no condition for this. He’s being dealt with.”

  “Prop me up,” Ralan said. “Please.”