Dean Averson… duel to the death…
“I’m sorry, Bree,” he whispered as he soared over the island’s edge, giving not a thought to the expanse of blue water roiling far beneath him.
CHAPTER 20
Bree walked through the field, the morning dew wiping off the grass and onto her pants.
Why didn’t you tell me?
She’d screamed it at Dean the day before, screamed it as she struck his chest with her fists.
I didn’t want you worried, he’d said. As if that helped. As if that mattered. A mere day before, the six-month evaluation had loomed like a bear on her back, but now it meant nothing compared to her current terror. Dean had told her to meet him at the field south of the academy, just before sunrise. In the red hue, she hurried to where Dean already waited. He wore his wings, his large swords strapped to his waist. He’d drawn one sword, and he lazily weaved it through the air. When he saw her approach, he sheathed it and smiled.
“You’re almost late,” he said.
“I almost didn’t come.”
She wrapped her arms around him, settled her head against the leather straps of his chest harness. He kissed the top of her head and ran a hand down the side of her face.
“I’m glad you did,” he whispered.
Bree pulled away and put on a brave face. She didn’t want to be a distraction, not when Dean’s life was on the line, so she smiled and pretended all was fine.
“Don’t you dare get hurt,” she said. “I’d hate to lose my sparring partner.”
“I don’t plan on it.” He turned to face the direction of distant Galen. Weshern was the easternmost of the five outer islands, Galen the westernmost. Bree followed his gaze, and like a gold dot in the smoky sky, she saw Dean’s opponent flying in alone.
“Who is he?” she asked. Dean had said little the night before, promising to explain only the following morning.
“Eric Drae,” Dean said, staring at that approaching gold dot. “Three years ago, Eric killed my older brother in a duel. Three long years I’ve waited, until the theotechs would finally accept my request when I turned eighteen. This is everything I’ve prepared for, Bree. I won’t lose.”
“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “It’s not worth your life.”
“It’s not worth my life,” he said. “But it is worth my brother’s. He deserved far better. I won’t let him go unavenged.”
He reached out and brushed her dark hair away from her face, then smiled such a sad smile.
“I love you, Bree,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
Dean turned, put his thumb on the throttle, and then softly rose into the air. Alone, Bree watched him fly toward that gold dot, now barely perceptible as a pair of wings on a red-colored jacket. Bree glanced over her shoulder toward the academy, and she saw that several of the Seraphim had gathered to watch from atop its walls. Among them was a pair of theotechs, and as Eric closed in, they took to the air. Bree watched them fly over her head, red robes and sashes billowing. The pair split, one flying toward each duelist.
“You can do this,” Bree whispered as Dean floated in the blue morning sky. The two theotechs raised their arms, the groups three hundred yards apart and at even height with one another. Bree clutched her hands together, her chest tighter than a fisherman’s knot. Eric was close enough that she could almost make out his features. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but he looked rather plain, his hair dark, his body lankier than Dean’s. He looked like Kael, she realized, a tanner, older version of Kael. The realization made her even more uneasy. Dean was supposed to kill a monster. That’s what Eric was, right, a monster who’d killed Dean’s brother? Not a student just like her. Not someone who resembled her own brother.
The theotechs shouted something too far away to hear, then dropped their hands in perfect synchronization. And just like that, the duel began.
Dean tilted his body forward and then burst into motion, his right arm outstretched. Thin balls of flame no larger than his fist shot at Eric, leaving thin black smoke trails. Instead of charging, Eric turned about at the signal and fled. As Dean chased, the two theotechs flew to the safety of the academy, remaining hovering in the air to watch.
The fireballs missed, all three too far to the left due to Eric’s sudden veering to the right. Dean chased, and Bree realized how similar it was to the game she played with Kael. Eric weaved back and forth through the air, flying at an incredible speed. Dean followed like a shadow, twisting himself left and right with careful movements. Occasionally he flung another ball of flame, but with Eric consistently dodging, it looked impossible for Dean to get a clear shot. When Dean closed in, Eric suddenly killed his speed and spun about, bracing his right arm with his left. Bree felt her heart freeze as a boulder twice the size of a man shot out from Eric’s gauntlet, the stone seeming to start out no larger than an eye before rapidly increasing to its full size.
Dean may not have been prepared, but he reacted quickly enough to save his life. Shoving his upper body downward, he dived underneath the boulder while increasing his speed. As smoothly as he’d spun, Eric rotated another hundred and eighty degrees, flaring his gold wings with power. Just like that, he was now chasing Dean instead of being chased. Thankfully Dean had maintained his speed, while Eric had not, which meant he had a large degree of separation. The two zipped across the skies above the field, Dean pushing his wings harder than she’d ever seen him fly. Eric did everything he could to shrink the gap, hurling slender stones the size of a fist to force Dean to weave and dodge. Doing so cost him speed, and with steady determination, Eric closed the distance.
As the stones came flying in, Dean looped upward, then twisted halfway through so he could charge straight at Eric. Again Bree felt her heart skip a beat as the two unleashed their elements at each other, fire and stone connecting in midair. Neither harmed, they looped back around for a second pass. Instead of small projectiles, Dean attempted a single spray, lashing his right arm to cover a far larger area. Eric seemed to have anticipated the tactic. He flung a large stone straight at it, and as the projectile cleared a path, he dove through. Two smaller stones followed, one clipping Dean across the leg, the other flying just above his head.
“Just a little longer,” Bree whispered. The man from Galen had used far more of his element than Dean. If he could endure a few more minutes, he’d gain the advantage, with Eric forced to use the last of his element for defense. And if he ran out completely, and had to resort to blades…
It seemed Dean had the same thought. Abandoning the headlong charge, he veered away, flying in Bree’s direction. He weaved and twirled, and when Eric started firing stones, Dean pulled up and shot straight into the air. Eric failed to anticipate, and as he shot underneath, Dean unleashed a barrage of six balls of flame. Five missed, but one caught the top of a wing. Bree held her breath, hoping it’d damage the mechanics, but that appeared to not be the case. Unhindered, Eric plummeted toward the ground to force Dean back into the chase.
Except Dean didn’t chase. He kept the height advantage, hovering in place as he steadily rotated, watching Eric fly about.
“What are you doing?” Bree whispered. Dean was letting Eric get away, and once safely out of reach of his fire, Eric rose back into the air. Looping about, he charged headlong, and it seemed like that was exactly what Dean wanted. The two raced toward each other, subtly weaving and shifting to make any potential shots more difficult. Bree watched the distance between them shrink, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two Seraphim. Dean must have seen something, or learned something from their previous charge, but what?
Eric unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp spikes, and Dean twirled his body as he knifed through them. Now close, he straightened up and braced his arm with his other hand. Fire burst out of it, again in a wide wave. Just like before, Eric shot a stone to blast a hole through it. That was it, Bree realized. That was the maneuver Dean had anticipated. Dean sent lances of fire into the
exposed gap, except Eric never tried to fly through. Instead he dove low, beneath the fire, and then curled upward. Bree saw his gauntlet reaching, and she let out a cry.
“No!”
Eric flew skyward, passing mere feet away from Dean. A single stone fired, just a blur of gray reflecting the morning sun. Bree couldn’t see the connection. She didn’t have to. Dean’s body tensed, and his wings lost their silver glow. Arms and legs suddenly limp, Dean began to drift to the ground. Bree’s mouth hung open, and her mind refused to accept what she saw before her.
This isn’t happening.
Eric looped back around at a more careful pace, and he drew a sword from his belt. On his second pass he slammed straight into Dean’s body, his sword leading. It buried into his chest, and as they spun from the impact, Eric guided them toward the ground. Toward her, Bree realized. When he was twenty feet away, he shoved the body off his blade, dropping it at Bree’s feet.
“A fine battle,” Eric said, dipping his head as if in respect. Bree stared at him in shock. Respect? This man killed her lover, dumped his body at her feet, and then pretended to have respect? As Eric flew away, Bree rushed to Dean’s body, fell to her knees. There was no hope, no delusion of his survival. His eyes were lifeless. A shard of stone was embedded halfway into his stomach, and his chest bore a vicious puncture. When she put her hands to his chest, smearing them with blood, she felt no heartbeat.
“Dean,” she whispered, tears trickling down her face. “Why, Dean…”
She looked up and saw that Eric was calmly flying back toward his home island. Whatever life he’d known, he’d resume, but there’d be no such thing for Bree. Her afternoon training sessions, her swordplay, their nights sneaking out to watch the midnight fire… gone. Something snapped within her, and she looked back to her friend’s body with growing rage. She had to hurry. The theotechs were on their lazy way. Her hands flew across the buckles, undoing one after the other. She dared not think of the consequences, dared not doubt her actions, anything that might persuade her from her revenge. Instead she focused on her fury, let it fuel her movements. Faceless, nameless Seraphim of Galen had taken her parents, and now Eric had stolen Dean from her as well. She wouldn’t let him get away with it, no matter the cost.
The last of the buckles undone, she pulled the wings off his body and slid her arms into the harness. Dean’s was obviously fitted for his much larger frame, and she tightened the straps as she buckled them on her own person. That done, she grabbed the sword belt, wrapped it about her waist, and then cinched it tight. Her eyes scanned the sky. Eric had shrunk to a distant dot, likely with no idea of what she was doing. The theotechs, however, looked like they understood, and they flew with sudden urgency. Not that it would matter. They were too far away. There’d be no stopping her now.
“Come back here,” Bree whispered. She burst into a run, then leapt into the air. Her thumb pushed the switch to its maximum, the first time she’d ever done so. Her wings flared, catching her and then yanking her skyward. Air blasted about her, tugging at her hair and clothes. The sensation of speed was incredible, and it seemed her launch was accompanied by a rumbling shock wave. She flew straight at Eric, no dodging, no weaving. Just speed.
Bree was halfway there before Eric realized he was being followed. The Seraph glanced over his shoulder, saw her, and then temporarily cut the power to his wings. As his momentum carried him, he spun about so that he faced her, braced his arm, and then unleashed a torrent of stones. Bree reacted on instinct, shifting left before twirling her body as she rolled right, lances of stone knifing beneath her. She kept the throttle pushed to its maximum, refusing to slow.
Mere seconds away, she lifted her right gauntlet and opened her hand. Eric saw it, and instead of fleeing, he countered it with his best defense. It was a wall meant solely to protect him, flat and broad and moving with hardly any speed. But Bree didn’t fire quick balls of flame, nor did she send out a fan like Dean’s. Palm wide, fingers stretched back, she unleashed every bit of the power within the fire prism. There’d be no other chance, no second shot. The fire burst out of her, draining her, erupting in a massive explosion that rolled through the air. The power of it jarred her arm backward, and she had to push against it with all her strength to prevent losing control entirely.
Eric had not expected such a display, and his wall was meager protection against it. He banked to the side while trying to dodge, and he was only partially successful. The fire washed over half his body, charring his skin and melting parts of his left wing.
There in the sky, she heard him scream.
Eric hovered, trying to regain control of his wings as he fought against the pain. Bree gave him no chance. She drew one of Dean’s swords, not bothering to latch it to her gauntlet. It was longer and heavier than hers, so with two hands she gripped it as she flew toward Eric. With a single swing, she opened him at the stomach, just like he had Dean. He gave another cry, the golden hue around his wings fading, and then he began to plummet. Bree looped around, still not satisfied. Angling lower, she caught him halfway to the ground, slashing one of his legs. Blood splattered upward, leaving a trail in the air. Bree twisted, righted herself, and then cut the power to her wings. She fell just above Eric’s body, the handle of her sword gripped tightly with both hands, the blade pointed downward.
When Eric hit ground, Bree followed. The sword tore into his chest as she slammed onto the field, the impact jarring her entire body. Her weight gave the blade power, and it pierced to the hilt, pinning Eric to the grass field. Bree gasped, and it seemed all her rage poured out through the weapon, leaving her with a sudden numbness in her hands and chest. She leaned on her knees, still clutching the sword, her forehead pressed against the hilt. Her eyes closed. Finally, in the silence of the field, she released her sorrow, let it tear out of her from the very pit of her stomach as she screamed and screamed.
At last she quieted. Tears sliding down her face, she rose to her feet and looked to the academy. The theotechs approached, coming for what was theirs. Bree yanked at the buckles, and she felt so tired, so defeated.
“Take it, you vultures!” she screamed as she hurled the harness toward them. “Take it back!”
The two landed in flanking position, their faces stone masks. One she recognized as Theotech Vyros from their seventh-day services. The other was a stranger.
“On your knees,” Vyros ordered.
She obeyed, not that she had any choice in the matter. The other theotech pinned her arms behind her back before slapping cold steel manacles about her wrists. They gave no reason. They asked for no explanation. Silent, they lifted her up and carried her away.
For several hours, Bree waited on the bench outside Headmaster Simmons’s office while the theotechs summoned a representative from Galen. The time crawled by like a wounded animal. Her face was dirty and wet from her occasional tears, and her right arm and shoulder were sore from when she unleashed her fire. No one talked to her, nor offered to remove the manacles that trapped her arms behind her back. Over-Secretary Waller swung by once to speak with Jay, and when she came back out, her look was calm as ever.
“The theotechs will be here soon,” she said, tightening the band that held her brown hair away from her face. “Say as little as possible, and let Jay do the rest. And for your sake, pray the theotechs are in a good mood.”
Bree nodded, said nothing. She felt too empty and drained to discuss anything. There was no excuse she could offer, no debate to be made. She’d killed Eric Drae in full view of two theotechs and a number of Weshern Seraphim. The only thing left to resolve was her punishment. So she stared into nothing, reliving the two deaths. Eric’s should have given her satisfaction, but each time she imagined the sword plunging through his chest, she felt increasingly numb. Dean’s, though… that singular moment ached every single time.
She heard a door open, and she glanced to her left. Coming down the hall were the two theotechs who had attended the duel. They’d removed their wings, w
hich revealed more of their long, flowing red robes and their golden jewelry adorned by the symbol of Center. With them was a man she did not recognize, and she assumed him to be the Galen representative. He wore white pants and a white jacket, black boots, and a deep crimson shirt. Sewn into the fabric on either shoulder were burning torch emblems. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and while the theotechs completely ignored her as they stepped into Headmaster Simmons’s office, this man glared as if she were the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen.
The door to the headmaster’s office had barely shut before it opened again.
“Come,” said Vyros. Standing with a groan, Bree ignored the ache in her legs and walked inside.
Jay sat in his chair, his face an unreadable mask. When she entered, he acted as if it were beneath him to even look at her. The two theotechs flanked either side of his desk, and Bree had a feeling they would be moderating this meeting, not her headmaster. The Galen representative stood beside the door with his arms crossed over his chest. A lone chair waited for her, and she sat on its front edge so there was room for her bound hands.
“We’re all here,” Jay said. “Shall we finish this meeting so I can return to my students?”
“In time,” Vyros said. He ran a hand over his balding head, as if smoothing hair that was no longer there. “But first, let us hear her confession. Breanna Skyborn, I want you to address all your answers to myself, and no one else. Do you understand?”
“I do,” she said.
“Good.” Vyros tilted his head, his green eyes drilling into her. “Then let us get straight to the point. Did you steal Dean Averson’s gear and use it to kill Eric Drae?”
Bree swallowed a rock the size of an apple.
“I did,” she said.
“Then I see no point to this discussion,” the Galen representative blurted out. “She has admitted to the murder. Combat between islands is expressly forbidden without Center’s permission, and it carries only one penalty, death.”
Skyborn Page 22