I focus on my compulsion again, sliding my consciousness into a different place, one of magic and instinct. I reach for the sparks, trying to corral the jumble of minds, but they resist me. Mother’s hold on them is rock-solid, absolute, and the longer she has them, the firmer her grasp seems to get.
“Cat!”
Kato’s warning shout severs the bridge of magic I was building again and sends me crashing back into the battle. I whip a kick at the Fisan who got past Kato. He staggers but stays upright so I spin again, this time crouching down low. He falls when I sweep his feet out from under him. A quick lunge puts my hand at his throat, and I squeeze until his eyes roll back in his head and he goes limp, asleep for now.
“Cat…”
I whirl at Griffin’s strangled call. He sounds desperate, his voice thin and hoarse. It does something to me on a visceral level, and every part of me sharpens like a blade, ready to fight.
Griffin and Flynn are facing off on their knees, their hands their only weapons now—and those are wrapped tightly around each other’s necks. Both their faces are purple, airless, with veins popping out at their temples and their lips drawn back.
I spring up and race toward them, suddenly understanding what I’m doing wrong. I’m trying to do too much at once. I need to prioritize, and getting Flynn back is my absolute priority right now. One mind at a time is the answer, not everyone all at once.
I leap on Flynn, grab his bloody, bruised head in my hands, and concentrate all my magic into one pure blast. He’s mine! And I am not giving him up!
He yells like he’s being ripped apart. I scream. Mother screams. Ha! Take that!
Flynn releases Griffin and crashes to the side, taking me down with him. I scramble to my knees and pivot so I’m leaning over him, my hands now gripping his shoulders and my eyes frantically searching for signs of the Flynn I know and love. He stares at the sky, his brown eyes wide open but blank and unseeing.
Fear punches a hole through my ribs. He’s not breathing. What have I done?
Flynn’s broad chest rises on a loud gasp. Thank the Gods! I nearly sob out loud.
Alarm flashes across his face, and then absolute horror floods his expression. I feel his emotions even more strongly inside me. The confusion. The guilt. The panic and pain. I hold him tight in the cradle of my mind, careful not to give him any invasive direction, and then search out Carver in this unutterable mess. Like a snake weaving through long grass, my magic skirts everyone in between and then strikes at him with focused purpose, claiming him fast. Carver staggers, and I jump straight to Bellanca, not giving myself a second to rest because I know she’ll kill him in the fleeting moment he’s too shocked and confused to fight back.
“You’re free,” I whisper through magic, and space, and minds.
I feel every awful part of Carver’s and Bellanca’s distress and confusion as they go from fighting each other to defending one another, experiencing along with them their gut-wrenching regret. It’s the lostness that batters me the hardest, the desperate internal screams of How could I? and What happened? and I don’t understand!
Flynn’s anguish is the worst. His guilt crushes me, his mind sinking into darkness and doubt. He looks at Griffin, at me, and I know he’d exchange his own life as penance for what he’s unwittingly done.
Griffin wipes blood from his eyes and then holds out his hand to his friend.
Flynn swallows hard. His head jerks awkwardly from side to side as he watches the people around us turn on whatever neighbor is still standing and viciously attack. It’s sickening, and in truth, he’s seeing it for the first time.
“This is humanity reduced to Mother. You are not at fault.” I offer him my hand as well.
Flynn’s throat works again. He hesitates, unsure of himself. Then he grabs both our hands, and we heave him up, setting him back on his feet.
“Thank you, Cat.” Flynn’s voice is gruff. He won’t meet Griffin’s eyes.
Tension wraps around my heart. I’m not sure he should thank me for being in total control of him. If I told him to run himself through right now, he would.
“I got Carver and Bellanca, too,” I say, pointing to them. “They’re working together now. They’re okay.”
Kato nods. “Then it’s time to gather the rest.”
I nod back, still shrinking from the idea. Griffin and Flynn spread out, defending our sides while Kato remains my faithful inner shield. Turning toward my magic again, I search for and feel the sparks of dozens and dozens of minds all around us. Many blaze with bloodlust. Some flare with pain. Others flicker, slowly dimming. The fighting was so undisciplined that it might have ended up being more incapacitating than fatal in enough cases to give me hope—hope that with effective triage and some decent healers, we can save many of these men and women before it’s too late.
Lukos comes into focus, still a bright and intact spark. I take him back next, and his bewilderment, sorrow, and shock flood me, stealing my breath and battering my heart.
From there, I jump from mind to mind, not knowing which side these people started out on and not caring. I only know that from now on, they’re mine. It’s easy once I start, like plucking cherries from a bowl. One more. One more. One more. Taking until I’ve consumed them all.
I crossed my final, really my only line, and I did what I swore I would never do. I overtook human minds and made them mine to control. I can’t regret it, though. I don’t regret it at all.
Mother makes an inhuman sound from her gory perch and tries to take my people back, her power wrenching hard through my mind.
The pain is fierce, and I whip around with a shout that somehow rocks the ruined city. Magic pulses from me like a shield, driving out her pollution and pain, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, or felt, or done. It’s bright green, shimmering, and so clear that even the dust particles in the air come sharply into focus and then stop, hovering like tiny glittering specks in a vast emerald sea. Silence blankets the world, thick and absorbing. Nothing moves. No one breathes. Everything has been suspended. Everyone stops except for me.
Wings spring out from my shoulder blades, ripping through my tunic and punching holes in my leather armor. I gasp because it hurts. They grow and unfurl, huge behind me, rising like twin nightmares above my head. With the sun at my back, I see my shadow before me—beautiful, horrifying—and in that moment, I can pick out a single, golden thread in my blood, pulsing with ancient power.
The ichor in my veins snaps to life and tells me my own story. I am what frightens the untrue of heart, burns treachery from them, and demands divine justice. Nike may have contributed to my wings, but she’s not the only one. I am daughter of the winged Furies. My veins run with their harsh blood. Throughout time and worlds, the infernal Goddesses have wielded the punishing whip of justice. Truth and vengeance have always been theirs.
Ruthlessness sweeps through me, dark and cold with purpose.
Kingmaker. Truthsayer. Settler of scores.
In the silent, green stillness of pure magic, I feel the tapestry of my life overlap my body, all the threads the Fates wove for me, all their twists and turns. The Furies both gifted and cursed me with the power to discern the real from the false. They formed me in their own images and then sent me forth to punish those who break sacred covenants, those who betray life’s most valuable currency of trust.
“What’s more important than loyalty?” Griffin’s voice whispers through my mind.
“Made for me,” my heart whispers back.
My lesson was a long time coming, this unveiling of the truth. I think I’ve learned it now, after wading through the swamp of my own distrust and lies. I’ve finally stepped onto dry ground and can see the future before me.
“Punish those who swear false oaths.” New voices overlap in my mind, grating and dark, seductive and powerful, the voices of primordial beings that coul
d boil my blood and flay me alive. In fact, they already have—an experience I have a feeling was much harsher for me than for most.
I look at Mother. Just like everyone else, even Griffin, she’s frozen in my flood of magic. And what I see is a parent whose children are pawns to her. And a queen whose subjects live in fear of her. Mother. Ruler. Her implicit pledges, the responsibilities that should have been anchored deep in her heart, mean nothing to her. Give birth but don’t protect. Hold absolute power only to abuse it. She is the very embodiment of betrayal.
A burning sensation flares in my wings, and I look over my shoulder to see the white feathers turn jet-black. A brass-studded scourge appears in my hand, a gift from my partial makers in the Underworld. The whip is wooden-handled and long, an ancient and vicious-looking tool. Dozens of thin leather straps trail in the blood and dust of Sykouri. I lift the weapon and feel the weight and sway of the studs as they clank against one another in a terrible, melodious dance.
I swing the whip up and crack it once, testing it. The menacing snap is still ripe in the air when my magic crashes to the ground, disappearing back into the fabric of the world just as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared. A final ripple sends everything shuddering back into motion, and I fill my lungs with air that tastes of sweat and blood. I let out the inhale on a battle cry worthy of my terrifying benefactors.
Lightning strikes above my head. Thunder roars in response. Ground-shaking power pulses from me, and the remains of Sykouri gasp their last breath. The ruins on either side of the main thoroughfare collapse, imploding with a long, low groan. Stone dust clouds the sky, momentarily blinding. When the storm settles, everything and everyone is silent.
Around me, the ancient city is leveled. Newly opened marble gleams in the sun. The white stone contrasts sharply with my black wings, which suddenly seem too dark.
Mother staggers to her feet, having fallen from her shattered pedestal. She stares at me in shock, her mouth ajar.
I stare back, my mind filled with Fisans, Tarvans, and Sintans. I have them all. Everyone but Mother. I don’t want her.
“I took these people from you.” I don’t mean to sound any different, but my voice comes out powerful, layered, and deep, like an echo of thunder from the high peak of Mount Olympus. “And I give them back their free will.”
I slam down barriers behind me in each and every one of them as I exit their minds as fast as I can, leaving them fortified with my own natural resistance to compulsion. The move is impulsive and totally instinctive, but also very difficult. It shreds my power down to the deepest, rawest layers. I give so many people a piece of myself that there’s not much left when I’m done.
I hold very still, my spine straight and my shoulders back, not showing my loss of balance. “I just coated their minds with the armor of my magic. You cannot touch them ever again. No one can.” Not her. Not me.
My voice is normal again, evidence—at least to me—of power lost. I don’t let on. Mother sniffs out weakness like Cerberus sniffs out snakes.
At the same time, I can’t entirely regret what I just did. Right now, parceling out my magic to protect the survivors feels more worthwhile to me than black wings and a whip. Darkness and vengeance chafe against Elpis in my heart. I’m not sure there’s room for both.
Mother’s face flushes with anger—and maybe something else. Real worry. Her eyes dart from side to side, her hands clenching into fists.
The satisfaction of seeing Alpha Fisa scared is suddenly overcome by an intense throbbing in my shoulder. I forgot I’d been stabbed. Injury and magic fatigue start to plague me, but I’m not finished yet, and my reserves have never failed me.
I force the tremor from my hand and pull a knife from my belt. This fight isn’t over, and maybe it’s time to finally accept that Mother’s name is written on my blade in blood.
CHAPTER 22
I don’t hesitate. Unfortunately, neither does she. Just before I release the blade, Mother morphs into the shorter form of a Harpy, and the knife sails over her head. She shoves off with a beat of powerful wings and flies away, abandoning her remaining soldiers and contingent of Metal Mages without a backward glance.
Cursing under my breath, I watch her go, a mix of disgust and relief churning in my gut. I would have done it this time. But I didn’t. And I don’t know which sickens me more.
I don’t fly after her. Seeing to the welfare of the people right here in Sykouri holds more sway over me. Even though it galls me, dealing with Mother will have to wait.
No one resumes fighting. Everyone is too stunned. Or afraid. Or troubled. Or in awe. Mother’s soldiers lay down their weapons, not interested in pursuing a battle for a leader who literally just took off on them and is definitely not coming back. Or maybe it’s because of me. I’m bloody, winged, powerful. I wouldn’t want to fight me, either.
Behind us, I hear a shout to search for the wounded. It’s Lukos’s voice. At least someone is taking control like they should.
I whirl to face Griffin. “What is wrong with me?”
Griffin frowns. “What are you talking about? You did it. You got everyone back.”
I glare at him. Yes, there’s some positive. But this was also a colossal failure. “After half of them died!”
“Not half.” He sweeps a hand out. “Look around you. There are more injuries here than deaths.”
I refuse to acknowledge the pride in his voice and flex my empty hands. The scourge is gone. I didn’t use it. I chose healing instead, and the Furies took their ancient weapon back.
“Stop looking at me like I did something right,” I snap. “Sometime, somewhere else, all this starts again. Gods damn it!”
Griffin shakes his head. He looks terrible. There’s blood everywhere and a huge gash at his hairline. “No. She won’t underestimate you again.”
I scowl. “Great. So we’ll lose faster next time.”
Griffin looks like he’s gearing up to argue again, so I turn away from him, really just wanting to stomp off and lick my wounds. I won’t. There are more important things to do, like find my husband a healer.
I pull up short when I see the way Flynn and Kato are staring at me. Flynn is wide-eyed and has the strangest, bemused look on his beat-up face. As for Kato, all the strong, masculine lines of his features have softened, and he doesn’t once take his blue eyes off me.
Suddenly self-conscious, I fold down my wings, trying to get them back inside me. They stay where they are—huge, heavy, and solid black. I bite my lip, tasting shattered rock and the sour residue of failure on it. I don’t say anything, and neither do Flynn and Kato.
Carver and Bellanca limp closer, both of them barely intact. Carver’s burn-reddened arm is slung tightly around Bellanca’s blood-soaked waist, and I don’t know if her pinched expression is because she’s having to rely on Carver, or because she’s in pain. Probably both. They stop just short of me, Carver supporting most of Bellanca’s weight.
“You have wings!” Carver’s expression is both dazed and awed. “And what was that magic?”
Probably for the first time in her life, Bellanca keeps her mouth shut and just looks at me. I half expect her to shrug Carver off, but she doesn’t. It seems odd, considering they were just trying to kill each other—and clearly nearly succeeded. Turning homicidal against one’s will must draw people together. Tomorrow they’ll likely be bickering again. For now, survival trumps all.
“I don’t know,” I answer about the strange magic. “I think I put everyone but me into some sort of stasis.” I leave it at that, because that’s all I’ve got.
“It was like the whole world went dark,” Carver says.
Huh. For me, it went green. But there was darkness on the inside. Enough to color my wings black.
Conflicted, I think about the Furies’ blessing for bloody vengeance. I think about how I ignored it—ignored them. And now Mother’s
gone.
Today’s bloodshed and loss will haunt me forever, but for now, I open my senses and search for healers in the overwhelming field of Metal Mages Mother left behind. I feel the strong, liquid tide of their power in more than one place and know that at least some of the healers survived.
Our soldiers haven’t dared approach us, so I have to call out to the nearest ones. “Find me the healers!” To another group hovering not too far away, I shout, “Organize triage. Those who can wait, wait.”
“What about theirs?” one of the Sintans calls back.
“There is no theirs,” I answer in a tone that successfully conveys my loathing for that question. “I see no difference between dying Thalyrians.”
He pales and nods. He and his comrades rush to do my bidding.
To drive home my point—unity and all—to a group of Fisans that didn’t arrive with us, I say, “Put the injured on the left.” I point to the pockets of shade created by the rubble. “The dead go on the right.”
I don’t bother to ask if they brought any healers with them. Mother thinks she’s too omnipotent to ever need a healer for herself, and she doesn’t care about anyone else.
Instead of moving like I asked them to, the Fisans look at me like I’m a ghost. They’re a good decade older than I am, which means they might have known me as a child. A child in a cage. I’ve gone from a cage to wings. Is that fear in their eyes, or pity that I’ll never be able to fly away and be free?
I give them a hard stare, and they vacate the vicinity within seconds. I know I must look like a monster. If I still had the brass-studded whip, it would definitely complete my Don’t mess with me, or I will annihilate you look. Pent-up aggression seethes inside me, but my rage is directed inward. Maybe that’s the difference between the monster that is Mother, and the monster that is me.
With only Beta Team within earshot again, I say fiercely, “I did everything wrong.” I’m livid at myself, at my own irreversible choices. “I had the magic. I had a weapon. I could have ended her—ended all of this. Fifteen years ago, I could have stopped her. At Frostfire, I could have stopped her. Here, I could have stopped her, but I didn’t! I never do!” I ball my hands into fists. I want to beat them down on myself. “Instead of ending it like I should have, I gave up the magic. I lost the bloody weapon!”
Heart on Fire Page 26