Son of Sun (Forgotten Gods (Book 2))

by Clair, Rosemary

  Daoine’s face softened. She looked down at her hands, rubbing her palms together, shaking her head.

  “Yes,” she finally said in a whispered voice. “Dayne will find his happiness again.”

  I didn’t want her words to hurt, but they did. Dayne would live, and he would find his happiness again without me. It was the comfort I needed. But it stung my soul like a red hot branding iron.

  “What about me? Will it at least be painless?” I asked in a tiny voice through my tears.

  Daoine stood to leave, but turned back and grasped my chin in her cold, pasty palm, turning my face to hers.

  “Do not fear death. Life is far more dangerous for you.”

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Blood On The Ground

  The time had come.

  With my arms tightly bound by golden cuffs in the small of my back, I was marched down a maze of swirling stair steps, my stomach churning violently as we descended the castle.

  In a grand procession, I was forced at sword point through the crowd of gathered Sidhe. As I passed each face paused, remarking on my appearance. Some marveled at my beauty, others just stared with hate-filled contempt, but each one made it perfectly clear—LisTirna was not where I belonged. Still, I held my head high, and wiped any sign of fear from my face.

  The path I walked was laid with boughs of flowers and thick ropes of fragrant vines. Obviously not meant for me, but a queen. Either Ara or Daoine, possibly both, led the caravan, greeting their public and whipping the crowd into a frenzy by the time we reached the stadium.

  Through it all, I was numb. Like my heart and brain were steeling themselves so the end would be as painless as possible.

  Our procession ended at another impressively ornate, ancient stone structure, looming high into LisTirna’s ethereal glow. Row upon row of bleacher style seats rose away from a rich, earthen stage floor like a giant soup bowl. Some of the seats were already filled. The rest were filling up as the crowd we had progressed through entered the stadium with great cheering fanfare.

  The only seats even with the stadium floor—sitting atop a low carved, stone stage—were a row of four thrones, all bedecked with flowers and ribbons and vines. All but one. A single throne on the end sat empty, dark, and not celebrated at all. It must’ve been Dayne’s, which made my heart sad on a whole new level.

  The guard cut my wrists free, shoved a sword in my hand, and pushed me into the dirt ring like a wild animal. Slamming the door shut behind me as if I might bite.

  Stupid Sidhe.

  The crowd roared when I stumbled onto the rich, soft earth, spinning around as I took in the shear enormity of the stadium towering over me. Every Sidhe in LisTirna had turned out for Ara’s coronation. Row upon row, they rose to the sky, which was the same sickening pastel shade it always was.

  Dread rolled deep in my stomach, and I sighed, trying to calm what was raging inside me.

  A trumpet blast quieted the stadium and a giant door to the side of the thrones rolled opened. One by one, Daoine, Finvanna and Ara stepped into the stadium. Daoine blank and sickly as she had been earlier. Finvanna as aloof as ever. Ara beaming in her conceited way like she had already won.

  I lifted the sword to my side, turning it as I inspected the tip and the sharpness of the blade. If I had all my power in check I could easily have leapt up to her throne and slit her throat, but that wasn’t an option at the moment.

  My mind was running through the possibilities when the crowd went deafeningly mad, and another door creaked open on rusty hinges.

  At the far end of the arena, Dayne stepped from the shadows in all his demi-godly glory. Mahogany waves framing his face, emerald eyes glowing, cheek muscles clenching and releasing in time with his jaw. He had been primed for Ara’s celebration too. Blood and grim no longer stained him. He was beautiful. He was perfect. And what was most important, he was going to find his happiness again.

  My heart swelled, and I stumbled dumbly toward him, dragging my sword in the sand, entranced by his shimmering glory. His eyes remained on the ground, refusing to look at me.

  “Dayne?’ I called to him, but his eyes stayed focused far away.

  I took a few more stumbling steps, ducking my head as I walked, trying to catch his attention and force him to look at me.

  Nothing.

  A flurry of motion to my left caught my attention and I turned in time to see Daoine rise from her seat and hold her arms high, sending a hush over the stadium.

  It was a surreal moment. When the mouths of several thousand people close, but every eye remains fixed on you. I spun wildly, taking it all in, so overwhelmed by the crowd bearing down on me. Looking up into the weathered stone seats of a Coliseum that rivaled Rome. In that moment, I could feel my life begin to unravel, standing in a hostile arena where the love of my life waited to kill me. My heart hammered. My body went numb. My throat was a useless lump that refused to let air move past it.

  “You may begin!” Daoine ordered, the flat monotone of her voice snapping me back to reality.

  “What?” I twirled around to face her, and when I did, I caught the sight of Dayne charging at me like a bull in my periphery. From out of nowhere, he closed the gap between us in a heartbeat and was so close I could see the pupils of his eyes.

  Lunging to the side the moment before his blade would’ve pierced my heart, I screamed a high, hot, visceral sound that burned from the pit of my stomach to the tip of my head and left my throat on fire. The crowd thundered their approval above.

  But my cry didn’t stop him.

  Cheers turned into boos as the crowd voiced their opinion of my refusal to fight.

  As soon as Dayne recovered, he turned and charged me again. His eyes never once meeting mine, fixed in some sort of trance like rage as he barreled down the arena toward me. I jumped to the side as he passed again, weakly lifting my sword to deflect his sharply honed blade.

  It came close enough to slice into a gauzy white sleeve, but did not draw blood. The crowd roared in excited chaos, clapping wildly when we made contact.

  My sword hand ached from the sheer, brutal force of the blow I diverted, but I had little time to get over it before he was coming at me again.

  This time I dropped to the ground and rolled into his legs, tripping him so he hit the ground and crumpled in a heap several yards away.

  “Dayne, look at me!” I shrieked from where I lay on the ground, face covered in dirt and tears streaming over my cheeks. He didn’t flinch. “Dayne!” I hissed louder, knowing he heard me, but obviously didn’t care. My mouth went dry.

  The future had slipped from my control. Our love wasn’t strong enough to break Daoine’s spell. With my magic gone, there was only one thing left for me to do. These people wanted a show. Ara wanted my blood and Dayne’s crown. They would get what they came for, one way or another. The only part of it I could still control was whether my death brought beauty into their twisted world.

  Dayne remained slightly stunned on the ground where he had fallen.

  Without hesitation, I tossed my sword to the side and crawled to my knees. I took a deep breath to calm my self and closed my eyes.

  The next few seconds hung in the air like an eternity, too heavy to pass as normal time would.

  A slight breeze whipped up from the crowd’s wild raging. It caught the wisps of hair escaping my elaborate up-do and whispered across my cheeks. Once rosy cheeks, now smudged with tears and dirt.

  My body swayed ever so softly, feeling my core muscles tighten to hold me in place. The crowd burst into wild roaring again. I could only assume it was because Dayne had gotten to his feet, but I didn’t open my eyes to see.

  It wasn’t something I wanted to see—someone I loved preparing to kill me. But there was no way around it. I had made the decision that I would use my powers to help others. By doing that, my life had purpose.

  Wasn’t dying for someone I loved the most selfless purpose there was?

  I was ready to go. Like Daoine
said—it wasn’t death I should fear. Dying was easy. When it’s quick and painless, like I hoped Dayne would make it, it was the simplest thing in the world. Easy as breathing. Living was infinitely harder.

  The world stilled. The roar of the crowd silenced. A floating feeling took over my body. I was ready.

  On my knees, I waited. Eyes closed. Bowing before a man I would gladly die for.

  They started slowly, like thunder echoing from miles away. Rhythmic, methodic, perfectly timed. One after the other. Dayne’s footsteps rang in my ears, vibrated my body, shook the earth beneath me as he approached. Every muscle in my body clenched.

  And then, they stopped.

  I leaned my head back, eyes still closed. Giving him invitation to do his worst.

  Nothing.

  I opened my eyes one at a time, wondering what had stopped him from carrying out the will of his queen.

  When my eyes found his, glowing warm, emerald green, the look in them broke what was left of my heart. The spell of murderous rage that had possessed him had fallen away. No longer was his look a million miles away. It was right there. Right in that moment.

  He held his sword raised over his head, ready to lower it across my neck and finish the deed.

  Instead, the blade fell from his hands, and his knees landed in the deep arena dirt the same moment his blade hit the ground beside him.

  He kneeled before me, saying nothing, but not needing to. I could see it all in his eyes. The helplessness that consumed him. The love that tortured him. The regret that choked him. He shook his head slowly, then dropped his face into his hands.

  “Ara! Ara come back here! This is not your fight!” Daoine’s voice rang out in the silenced arena, clear and full of queenly authority. Her words should’ve stopped Ara in her tracks, but the murderous rage that had been in Dayne’s eyes, now burned in Ara’s. Only she wasn’t under the command of the queen. She was simply out for blood.

  As she descended from her throne, with Daoine hot on her heels to stop her, I locked eyes with her and knew she was coming to finish what Dayne had started.

  I jumped in front of Dayne, refusing to let her get anywhere near him.

  Behind her, one of the spectators had struck a match to light a pipe. With every thought I focused on the flame and begged it to move. Pleaded with it to come to me.

  Instead of cooperating, it simply flickered out. Any magic I possessed was long gone.

  Ara was almost to me, reaching for the sword I had discarded a few feet away. I took off running, knowing she would follow me and leave Dayne.

  She did, picking up speed as she raised the sword and began to chase me around the arena. In the back ground, the crowd began to cheer again, and Daoine was still ordering Ara to stop. She didn’t listen.

  Around the ring we went. Me frantically searching for any source of fire I could find. Ara chasing me like a demon screaming from hell.

  We made one lap and I found nothing, running back to where Dayne still remained on his knees, bowing beside the queen he had denied. His sword glinted in the arena’s soft sand. I turned my path toward it and managed to grab it from the dirt on the run.

  Spinning to face her as soon as it was firmly in my hand, we squared off.

  Blade to blade. Murderous glare to murderous glare.

  Daoine watched silently, Dayne still bowed at her feet.

  Ara lunged at me and I skipped to the side.

  The sword felt clumsy in my hands. My stupid Sidhe dress bound my upper body so tightly I could hardly move. The arena dirt was so deep it made moving hard, but I was determined to keep her blade away from me. For Dayne, I would die. For Ara, I would fight.

  On the next pass, our blades struck each other. Their solid thrum echoed around the arena and shot numb tingles all the way up my arm. I shook it off, and we began to dance. Forward and backward, posture low, free arm out for balance. I had never done this before, but my feet somehow knew the steps.

  Ara was growing increasingly frustrated. I was growing increasingly worn out.

  She hissed and spun around, bringing her blade the opposite direction that I was expecting. Its sharply honed tip sliced a deep gash down my right arm.

  “Argh!” I screamed, clutching at my wound and falling to my knees. Behind my hand, blood oozed from the gash, hot as fire and flowing so quickly it was hard to keep pressure on it.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Ara with a snarling smile on her face. She spun around in the dirt, raising her sword and aiming it at my heart. I leapt to my feet, determined not to die by Ara’s hand.

  She followed me step for step as I lunged to the side, out of her way.

  If I had had any frame of reference for where we were in the arena, I would’ve stayed right were I was and let her stick that damned blade into my heart.

  But as it was, I was so disoriented and distracted by my own pain that I didn’t know where I was.

  In slow motion, I ducked and rolled to the side, away from her onslaught of murderous rage. Ara’s blade never found me again.

  Instead, it found the soft flesh of Dayne’s beautiful cheek and then sliced its way across Daoine’s abdomen. Bright red blood spewed into the air, rained down to the ground, and immediately soaked her gauzy queen’s robe.

  Daoine’s pale-as-death face froze in shocked horror. Releasing a single, audible breath, her body curled into itself as her mouth fell open. But no words found their way out.

  The crowd collectively gasped, and then fell silent.

  Dayne was awoken from whatever dream held him captive and clasped his cheek. Blood seeped between his fingers. The wound was deep, but he would live.

  Daoine stood still, her ashen face blank and eyes empty as stones frozen in water.

  The bloodied tip of Ara’s sword clanged to the ground, buried inches deep in the arena dirt. She leaned heavily against her sword, forcing it to hold her weight as she stared dumbly at her dying mother, her face aghast by what she had done.

  Like a sapling in the wind, Daoine wavered on her feet, threatening to fall down.

  Strangely enough, even though she was surrounded by her subjects, not a single one came to her aid. They were all too dumbstruck to move. Even Finvanna was standing, staring blankly at his wife, clearly unable to comprehend that she might be dying.

  She began to fall, and I immediately moved to catch her. As I lounged forward, I had to release my wound to cradle her in my arms.

  It seemed superficial enough, but when I released the pressure I had held on the wound it erupted like a volcano on my arm.

  Nothing could have prepared me for what rained down on the arena floor.

  Sparks of fire, flowing like lava from the wound, trickled down my arm, dripping onto the dirt where it actually began to travel along the ground like a gunpowder fuse instead of pooling as blood should. Higher and hotter it flared to life on the moist ground, burning where nothing should. Intent on its target.

  Daoine revived in my arms, just enough to raise her head as we watched the flames track toward Ara with dogged determination. We both watched as the flames morphed into a familiar scene. A scene we had both watched before.

  I had birthed the flames, yet wielded no control over their path. I didn’t even know what was happening. For some reason, my blood was turning to fire, and chasing after the one who had spilled it, defending me in a way only fire could.

  Goose bumps prickled along my skin, and a tingling sensation took over my arm as the wound healed itself, leaving nothing but an angry red mark.

  I was speechless, watching the fire that flowed from my body attack Ara. Normally, this would have scared me out of my senses. But it didn’t. Something deep inside me, something near the place that was so satisfied when I tasted fire, released. Unwinding and filling my body with a relaxed longing as I watched the fire in a dreamlike way. It was part of me. It was a living, breathing part of me. And what was more...it was defending me like my own personal army.

  The sword in Ara’s hand
caught my eye when tiny flames ignited against its steel surface. The drops of my blood shed on her blade when she sliced into my arm were coming to life and racing up the sword toward her hand.

  She shrieked and dropped it, eyes wide as melons as she stared disbelievingly at the flaming blade.

  When the trail of spilled blood met the blade where it rested in the dirt it ignited with a thunderous explosion, sending sparks of fire up the length of Ara. The hem of her dress began to catch fire and she ran around in a circle swatting at it and trying to put it out. It was no use. As the flame climbed higher, she stopped her wild running.

  With a bewildered expression on my face, I turned to Daoine, who lay helplessly in my arms. Never, had I ever seen this look on Ara’s face. She was always so confident, so poised.

  “Put your sister out, Dayne,” Daoine whispered weakly.

  Without another word he rose and went to Ara, sweeping her feet out from under her and rolling her around in the dirt to extinguish the flames.

  Daoine wheezed in my arms, her face fading from ashen to white. She looked more dead than alive at that moment, and if it weren’t for the shallow breaths that lifted her chest I would’ve thought she was already gone.

  I leaned into her, clasping a hand over her heart to find its rhythm and lowered my lips to hers.

  “No.” She put a feeble hand over my mouth to stop me.

  “What then? You cannot leave your world in such chaos.” I took her hand in mine, pulling it from my lips.

  I didn’t know what had happened between us. Was it the vision or something else? Whatever it was, things had definitely changed. Like she had finally let go of something she had been fighting for way too long, and in letting go of whatever it was, she had been freed.

  “The future simply is.” She repeated her words from earlier. “No matter how much I tried to change it or keep you apart. This is now your destiny.” She coughed and her body went limp.

  “Daoine!” I screamed, shaking her frail shoulders. The crowd collectively gasped again.