by K. A. Linde
She felt the brush of the bonding link between her and Sarielle. The question that she didn’t have to give voice to. The strength that was there for her if she needed it.
She took a deep breath and then released it. She did it again. And again.
Until her body didn’t tremble with the magic, didn’t attempt to suffocate her.
Then, she looked up and found both dragons and a battered Vera staring at her with concern on their ancient faces. The sun crested the horizon behind them, bathing them in a soft orange glow. Dawn. They’d been out here all night. And she hadn’t slept or eaten in…she didn’t know how long.
Recharge.
She had to recharge.
If she didn’t…she didn’t know what she would do.
“Blood magic,” was all she could get out through gritted teeth.
Vera’s shocked face said everything she needed to know. This was bad. Very bad. “Let’s get you back to camp.”
Cyrene’s eyes widened with fear. Camp. Where the people were. And Vera had no magic. No sister. Avoca was broken. And the Network was a jumble of magical users. Nothing like the Ancient Ones in Fen who had helped bring her back from the brink. If things went south, there would be no one to stop it. She could become a vessel for Malysa without even thinking about it.
“Away,” she said at once. Her eyes shifted to Sarielle. A plea in the blue orbs. “Far away.”
“Cyrene, wait,” Vera gasped. “We can figure this out.”
Climb on my back, and we will soar into the skies. I will protect you from the taint that calls to you.
Taint. Yes, that was what was in her.
Yes…the skies.
Cyrene crawled away from Vera, rising to her feet as she reached Sarielle’s flank. Then, she used her remaining strength to haul herself onto her dragon’s back. And they flew away into the distance. Far from the army that beckoned her.
Cyrene felt weak.
It was a sensation she did not much appreciate. And would not allow to happen again. Could not afford to let happen again.
Sarielle landed back in the clearing the next morning. The camp was visible beyond as Cyrene slid from her powerful back and dropped to her feet. She straightened, her posture stiff yet strong. She’d slept on Sarielle’s back until the dragon set down on the banks of a small lake. Cyrene had eaten late spring brambles and roasted fish over a fire. And she had thought. Thought deeply about all Malysa had said and done in the spirit plane.
With no blood nearby—save Sarielle, who seemed to have no influence on her blood-magic cravings—she had a clear head. For the first time since Malysa had dropped in on her army.
She’d harnessed the blood magic. Buried it down deep within the pit of her stomach and trapped it there. The addiction would never go away. That much she knew. That much she had accepted. But what she wouldn’t accept was its control over her. Malysa had implanted the need in her mind, and Cyrene had every intention of plucking it right back out. And shielding her mind to keep that from ever happening again.
I still think that we should fly to the mountains now and take her on.
Cyrene snorted. “I know that you do. But we have to do this the right way.”
You do it the right way. I will await the time that we can take the skies again, uninhibited. When we can go after the petulant child calling herself a goddess and show her the power of a true dragon-bound pairing.
Cyrene loved her bravado. She patted Sarielle’s flank in response. Then, she trekked back into the camp. She passed the combined strength of the Network’s ragtag company and the might of the Eleysian army. Soldiers stared at her. Some with wary expressions. Others with awe. She didn’t know what they saw when they looked at her. But she kept her head about her and walked straight to the war tent.
And was pleased to find the war council already assembled.
All heads turned her way when she swaggered in.
“Good morning,” she said with a confident smile.
Everyone spoke at once. Orden jumped to his feet, having taken her place in her absence. Avoca stood behind him. Her ice-white blade in her hand. Her face blank. Gwynora was at the head of the long table that had been brought in. She looked put out that Cyrene was back. Their truce a fragile thing in the aftermath of their loss.
The rest of the council included some that she knew, some that she didn’t. Some that hated her, some that she might believe were allies.
Brigette, the queen of Eleysia and Dean’s sister, who still blamed her for their parents’ murder. Darmian, a close friend of Dean’s, who had been promoted after the fall of the Eleysian capital. Fenix was a former Network spy, who was apparently dating her closest friend from home, Rhea. Then, there were Joffrey and Brendt. Both Eleysian politicians who thought the sun shone out of their asses.
“Where have you been?” barked Gwynora, her voice ringing out above the others.
“Where I’ve been doesn’t matter. Yesterday, I learned the history of our enemy from her sister. Then, Malysa revealed herself to me.”
A gasp rang out around her.
“You saw her again?” Orden asked in concern.
She nodded once sharply. “She came to me in a dream in an attempt to break my will. She didn’t win. And she’s not going to win.”
“She trampled all over us, hardly lifting a finger,” Joffrey spat. “Now, you’re saying she managed to get into your dreams, and that isn’t cause for concern?”
“She reached in through a loophole. It won’t happen again,” she confidently told him.
“You don’t know that,” Brendt said. “You could give away all of our battle tactics without us being able to do anything about it.”
“As far as I know, we don’t have any battle tactics. We’re sitting here, unable to decide what our next move is.”
“If you didn’t notice,” Brigette said with intense superiority in her voice, “we’re planning them right now. Thanks to your disappearing act, we were actually able to get something accomplished. You interrupted.”
“Enough,” Gwynora said, silencing the room. “Tell us what you came to say, Cyrene.”
“Malysa is not a goddess. She might claim to be the Destroyer, the goddess of destruction, but she is a mere mortal, like you and me. She can be killed,” she told them. “What we saw on the battlefield was the undoing of a powerful splitting spell. A long time ago, her body and spirit were severed, and she was trapped away in the Haeven Mountains. She reunited with her body and is gaining power with every hour that passes. She remains in the Haeven Mountains as her base. And we can’t sit here and wait for her to become unstoppable. We must march on the Haeven Mountains and slay her.”
Silence followed her proclamation.
Eyes skittered around the table, as if everyone was waiting to see who would be the first to speak.
“It’s a trap,” Fenix finally said. He leaned back in his chair and cocked an arm back over the back. “She’s taunting you.”
“Trap or no, we can’t sit here like ducks, waiting for Malysa to make her move,” I told him.
“The Haeven Mountains are inhospitable,” Joffrey chimed in.
“Not to mention, a thousand leagues away from here,” Brendt added in.
“The frozen tundra cannot be penetrated. How would we survive the cold?” Joffrey continued.
“Or transport men and food and equipment?” Brendt asked.
Cyrene had answers for that. She knew about the portal at Tenchala in the Sand Plains. That she had a coin that could walk them through it to Byern or Aonia, the ruined Leif city.
“There is a way,” she told them. “Magic can get us there.”
“We want to believe you, Cyrene,” Gwynora said. She placed her dark hands on the table and leaned forward. “But it is a lot to ask.”
“We don’t want to believe you actually,” Brigette jumped in. “What you’re suggesting is preposterous.”
“What we need to be considering is what to do about Aurum,” B
rendt said, talking over the rest of them.
“Yes. They are without a sovereign at the moment,” Joffrey said. “It would be beneficial to put our own on the throne rather than to wait to see if the Dremylon boy returns or someone else puts themselves in the position.”
“Do you even have a sovereign right now?” Fenix asked with a smirk. His tall build and broad shoulders made him look like a giant next to the sniveling politicians.
“The Queen’s War is on hiatus,” Brigette snapped. “I, for one, think the vote of no confidence shouldn’t even stand. I have proven myself here. And, when we take Aurum, it will be undisputed.”
“That’s not really how it works though, is it?” Fenix asked.
“Watch how you speak to my queen,” Darmian threatened.
“You’re not taking Aurum,” Orden growled from his position. “My sister was once queen, and I am a lord of the realm. If there is no current king in Aurum, then the lords will assemble to determine a regent in the interim. In no world will I sit by and let you talk about conquering my country.”
“We’re not invading Aurum,” Gwynora muttered in exasperation.
“We have to secure the country while we can,” Joffrey said.
“Civil unrest helps no one in this situation,” Brendt confirmed.
Cyrene slammed her hands down on the table. “You are sitting around, discussing the fate of one country, and I am talking about the fate of the world! What you are speaking about doesn’t matter. None of this matters. I’ve seen Malysa at the height of her powers. There is only one choice here. If we do not move, if we do not stop Malysa, then we will all surely perish.”
5
The Vote
They didn’t understand. Cyrene could see it on their faces. They didn’t understand what Malysa could do or her conviction to burn the world to the ground.
“Malysa will stop at nothing to see this world burn. She fought against the Doma long before our histories were even recorded. She created the Nokkin and Indres and Braj. She can self-portal to places without a talisman. With just the flick of her wrist. She believes humans are beneath her. Just mongrels to rule over. And she is not just going to go away because you want to conquer another country,” she tried to reason with them.
Joffrey laughed. “Indres don’t exist. And these Nokkin, I’ve never even heard of. Braj are just twisted assassins. Nothing magical.”
Cyrene glared at his ignorance. “They are magical beings. Indres are giant wolflike creatures that run in packs. They’re wicked smart and deadly. Nokkin are hooded wraiths that suck the magic out of magical users. And, if you have no magic, they just suck the life out of you. Braj are most certainly not plain assassins. They steal the faces of their victims. They keep coming until the person is dead. And even then—”
“Stop,” Gwynora snapped.
Cyrene frowned. Gwynora’s own father had been killed by the Braj. “Tell them, Gwynora.”
“They exist.”
Joffrey and Brendt looked like they might protest, but one look from Gwynora was enough to keep them silent. Magic wasn’t as taboo in Eleysia as it had been in Byern. But it was still a relatively foreign concept to these men.
“Malysa has spent the last several thousand years trapped in the mountains. Her spirit disconnected from her body while she toyed with the minds of the weak. She tainted Viktor Dremylon and converted him to her cause. She is the reason that magic was all but wiped out in Emporia. She wanted to keep us weak for her return. You have to see the threat that she poses.”
“She sounds like a fairy tale,” Brendt scoffed. “Some story you tell little children to scare them.”
“All fairy tales are true,” Cyrene said. Every one she had ever heard was not a fantasy. They had all come from somewhere. “There are dragons out on the plains as we speak. You have walked into a fairy tale, gentlemen. You should get used to it.”
“You have said that the enemy is fearsome,” Fenix offered. His arched eyebrow and smirk said he wasn’t really taking this seriously. “But how do we defeat her? Did you see how to do that, too?”
“We take the fight to her doorstep and crush her while she’s weak.”
“Yes, but how?” Fenix asked.
“We have two armies, three dragons, and enough magic to win in a fight against her. We lost because she had the element of surprise. We use that to our advantage. And we either do it now or wait for her to grow more powerful than we can possibly stop.”
Brendt shook his head. Joffrey seemed unconvinced. Brigette looked as if she was about to tear Cyrene down at any moment.
But even Gwynora seemed skeptical. “Cyrene, I understand the urgency. But we need a plan.”
“She doesn’t have a plan,” Joffrey burst out. “She is a child. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
Cyrene gritted her teeth. “Eighteen.” Almost nineteen.
He scoffed. “Eighteen years old, and you think that you should command this army? What experience do you have? Where is your training? Your expertise? What battles have you fought in? Do you even know how to use that sword at your belt?”
Cyrene saw red. “I am not a trained battle commander. I have never claimed to be part of your military service. I was trained in magic. I can access all four elements and harness spirit magic. I have spent the last two years doing nothing but working toward this very moment. Training physically, mentally, and spiritually to win this war.” She pulled Shadowbreaker from its sheath and leveled it at his chest. “And the answer is yes,” she hissed, “I know how to use this sword.”
The tension in the room escalated. Joffrey stared her down, clearly itching to reach for his own sword at his belt. Cyrene waited to see if he’d dare.
When he didn’t, she sheathed the sword. “I am not what you wanted. I understand that. I was trained to be a lady and a scholar. I didn’t ask for this magic, but I will not walk away from doing what is right.”
“I just don’t see why you think we should follow someone so…untrained,” Brigette said in distaste. “Your magic changes nothing if you have no strategy to implement it.”
“Aside from that,” Brendt added, “your temper proves enough that you’re unfit.”
Unfit.
She couldn’t believe these imbeciles would throw that word at her. They had no idea what she had gone through. No clue what she had sacrificed or the price she had paid to get here. She was not a soldier. Not in the way they understood. But she was far, far from unfit.
“Brendt,” Gwynora snapped.
But Brendt just stood and thrust his arm toward Cyrene. “We followed her harebrained idea once to go to war against Aurum and Byern. That’s how we got here in the first place. She had no plan then. She has no plan now.”
“The prophecy says that she will lead us,” Gwynora said.
“I, for one, will not put my trust in some superstition,” Brendt muttered.
“Neither will I,” Brigette said, standing. “Eleysia will not go on your suicide mission. We have lost enough.”
Joffrey and Darmian both nodded their silent agreement.
Cyrene’s gaze shifted to Gwynora, who looked helpless at the other end of the table.
“Fenix?” Gwynora asked.
“You’re the strongest among us, Gwyn,” Fenix said.
“Cyrene is stronger.”
Fenix shook his head. “I’ve seen nothing to confirm that.”
Cyrene opened her mouth to object. Gwynora only had her ability to use her magic because of Cyrene. She had convinced Gwynora not to see magic as a burden that her father had bestowed upon her.
But Gwynora shook her head. “She’s stronger. She took down a sea dragon with a lightning bolt.”
“It doesn’t make her the leader. Nor does it mean she has the best judgment.”
Gwynora looked even more uncertain. “I think…I think we need more planning.”
Cyrene’s eyes rounded. She was serious. She was going to just sit around and wait. “Gwynora…”
/>
“The Network needs more time. It needs to practice with magic out in the open. It needs training that you have and we are sorely lacking. We’re haphazard at best. I can’t risk these people who have put their lives in my hands.”
Cyrene’s eyes moved from Gwynora to Orden and Avoca. The only ones who hadn’t made up their minds in this. Her friends. The ones who had seen her through everything. Through all of her crazy ideas. They might not have all worked perfectly, but they were here now. They had come out on the other side. This wasn’t something she could just let slip by. If Malysa grew stronger, she didn’t know what they would be able to do to beat her.
“I think Gwynora is right,” Orden said softly.
“What?” Cyrene gasped.
“You’ve always been rash. Maybe we should plan more with the other magical users. Have a real chance.”
Cyrene turned to her bound sister. To Avoca standing against the tent wall. Her silence so loud in the war room.
“Avoca?”
Her gaze slowly lifted. “Ahlvie is gone.”
“We will get him back.”
“I have always gone along with all of your plans, Cyrene,” Avoca said, her voice hard, her eyes blazing. “I believed that you would always win out in the end. There was never a doubt in my mind that you should lead us. But now, Ahlvie is gone. And you have no real plan to get him back. Just false hope.”
“Avoca, no, that’s not it at all,” Cyrene said. Her heart ached at the words. At the harsh quality that Cyrene had never heard from the Leif who was practically her sister. She might be over a hundred years old, but it had always felt like they were two sides of the same coin.
“It is. Everyone is telling you that we can’t just rush in without a plan. That we need time and resources and training. Otherwise, we are walking into a trap, and we will all die. But you don’t care.” Avoca stepped up to the table. The strength in her body evident. The pain even more so. “You want to play at hero, like always.”
“That is not what this is about. I am your leader. I want us to win.”