by Liz de Jager
I want to laugh in relief. ‘You have to stop the ritual,’ I say very clearly. ‘Do whatever you can to stop the ritual.’
He blinks, dazed, and nods. Then, as his expression shifts to shock, a huge hand wraps itself around me, enfolding me completely. I’m enclosed in darkness and the pressure around my body increases, slowly squeezing the life out of me. Desperate to stay alive, and fighting to stay conscious against the dizzying pain, I manage to wriggle one hand free. It’s just enough for my blade to slice at the massive fingers crushing me. There’s a dull roar and suddenly I’m free and I’m moving through the air in a high arc. I flail my limbs wildly, wondering where I’m going to hit and how many bones I’m going to break.
I don’t really have time to think and curl into a protective ball – the ground comes up to meet me far too fast. I land at the base of the stage, but I don’t have the luxury of time to recover fully, so I drag myself upright and waver on my feet, getting my bearings.
All of me hurts so much I want just to fall back down again and quietly die. There’s a shout from the stage above me and I turn to look.
Thorn’s struggling with Istvan while the beast is partway through into our world. To the back of the stage Olga’s dramatic shapeshifting continues and it looks painful and awkward. It makes for an insane tableau and if I wasn’t here to see it myself I would never ever begin to believe it.
‘Kit!’ Kieran is next to me. ‘You have to leave.’ He is covered in soot and blood but he looks remarkably okay. Whatever spell he cast, he definitely managed to turn some of that energy towards healing himself. He’s holding me gently by the arm, careful of my cuts and scrapes. For a second, just standing there, I feel relief wash over me.
I’m not alone in this, after all. I try to smile but tears threaten instead and I gulp them back. Tears come later, action comes now. I draw a deep breath and face him.
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Thorn is still here. He’s awake. Look.’ I start moving up the sloping pathway towards the dais. ‘I have to help him.’
‘Let me help you first,’ Kieran says. ‘Just stand still. This won’t hurt a bit.’
And who knew a pretty Fae prince could lie so well? His hands are warm as they touch my bare arms and I feel a jolt of heat through my body before I can pull away. I open my mouth to yell at him. But by the time I do, I realize I’m feeling marginally better, more clearheaded and less sore all over. My leg is still a flaming mess but it’s a pain that I can handle, like an ever-present toothache.
I grin in relief. ‘Let’s screw up their plans,’ I say and move towards the dais.
‘There is nothing we can do now,’ he says, jogging next to me. ‘The ritual is practically complete. The Elder Gods are awake and seem pretty keen to come back!’ He does a double-take when he looks up. ‘Who . . . Is that Olga Kassan changing into a dragon?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I say to him. ‘And one I’m trying to figure out too. Kieran, pay attention. We have to reverse the opening of the portal.’
‘How?’
I have no idea but I know I’m not going to stand here and let my world be destroyed. And I’m definitely not losing Thorn to a traitorous dragon cow and her insane brother.
Chapter Forty-Seven
‘Complete the ritual!’ Istvan shouts at Thorn. ‘Do as you are told!’
In answer Thorn swings a fist at the chamberlain’s face and connects solidly with his jaw. Istvan staggers back, letting out an animal cry, and rushes Thorn, grabbing wildly at him. They crash into the base of the stone with resounding force.
As fast as I can, I limp down the aisle with Kieran by my side. He helps me up onto the dais, then he hesitates.
‘What are we doing?’ he asks me.
‘Can we blow up that piece of stone?’ I ask him, gritting my teeth. The ache in my leg intensifies as I stay crouched. ‘If we break it, don’t we stop the ritual?’
Kieran looks at me in surprise. ‘That could work. It’s a risk, but it could work.’
He looks up at the balcony, his gaze falling on the drums. ‘I have an idea. I don’t know if it will work. I’ve not done anything like this before.’ He hesitates. ‘It’s not like I can make things worse, though, is it?’
‘Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing, just do it,’ I tell him. ‘Hurry.’
He grins, suddenly looking so like Thorn. ‘I don’t think my brother knows how lucky he is to have a girl like you,’ he says and then he’s gone.
I’ve never seen anyone move that fast. He scales part of the wall with ease and drops onto the shelf where the drums are situated. There is no sign of the drummers and he picks up a large drumstick. He twirls it around his wrist, as if he’s a drummer in a rock band, before he brings it down onto the drum. The sound is loud. Somehow louder than the combined noise of all four drums had been previously.
The sound echoes around the amphitheatre and Thorn and Istvan pause in their fight for a second to look up before resuming their struggle. I take my chance. I pick up Istvan’s discarded silver sickle and run at the draconic Olga where she’s reared up on her hind legs and singing, in a surprisingly beautiful soprano, the rest of the invocation that Thorn failed to complete. I pray for balance and luck and slam into Olga.
I run up her back, sidestepping the rough spines. I’m on fire with pain and everything around me is a blur but I focus on the massive head in front of me and know that nothing else matters. I wrap my legs around her neck and with a great effort of will I bring the sickle around in a sharp cutting motion. At the same time I dig the last bits of my magic out and on impulse I stretch the energy along the curve of the sickle’s edge. The steel glides through her neck like a hot blade through butter and I lean away as her head comes loose from her neck and slides off onto the floor with a thundering squelching thud.
There is a great absence of sound as I watch her head roll across the floor and drop off the dais. I want to punch the air and laugh in shock but I don’t have the chance to do it. I’m hit by a stream of pure unbound magic and it rolls over me like a wave, forcing its way into every atom of my being, tearing and ripping. It is both glorious and painful and I think I black out for a moment, because when I look up again, I’m sitting against the small plinth that held the copper bowl, and I have no idea how I got from Olga’s back to here.
Thorn heaves Istvan away from him as the man lets outs a wild keening noise when he sees the headless body of his sister on the floor behind him.
‘Shut the gateway,’ I gasp at Thorn. ‘Send them back.’
I push myself upwards and I slam into Istvan’s knees and he falls hard. We land in a tangle of limbs in front of the mirror and I let out a scream of pain when Istvan rakes his nails along my arm in an effort to get a grip on me. He’s definitely stronger than he looks and he stands up without too much effort and lifts me with him, twisting my arm around then up in a vice-like grip. I slam my head back and feel his nose crunch but he doesn’t let go of my arm.
Thorn turns to face the demon in the archway as it struggles to widen the rift. For a moment Thorn stands there, immobile. Then he spreads his arms wide and I feel a blast of energy curve through me, running towards Thorn like a river. I will all the magic I have in me at him and almost collapse as it leaves me in a surge. Thorn’s gaze widens in surprise but he pulls all my magic into him unquestioningly, filling himself with the raw energies filling the amphitheatre.
There’s a second of complete stillness, save for Kieran’s drumming, before Thorn unleashes his magic. It hits the reflective surface of the stone I’m facing in a massive explosion of sound and magic, enhanced by Kieran’s drums.
Istvan staggers under the onslaught and I spin out of his grip, grabbing hold of his restraining arm, and I lift my leg up and kick him with all my might, ignoring the pain in my leg and arms. I kick with all the force I have left in my tired limbs and throw the very last dregs of my magic with it.
His face turns red with the effort of holding on to me but then we’re both in the
air and I see a massive hand wrapped around him, squeezing, holding fast. I scream and flail at him as we rise into the air as the demon on the other side of the doorway lifts us effortlessly.
I remember my iron baton and I jerk my arm forward. It slides out and I start hitting his arm frantically. I smell his burning flesh and my ears are assaulted by his screaming and the bellows from the ancient creature behind him.
Istvan lets go of my arm and I hit the ground hard. I slump to the floor in a messy heap and through slitted eyes I watch Thorn walk up to the almost manifest beast in the gateway.
The beast turns to look at Thorn and a look of recognition crosses its features. It opens its mouth to trumpet at him but Thorn gets there first. Claiming the remaining energy ricocheting around the amphitheatre, working with the sound Kieran is creating with the drum, channelling all that cacophony and chaos, Thorn opens his mouth and shouts all his defiance at the demon. The raw power of the noise flattens me and I struggle to raise myself on my arm.
On the dais Thorn looks bigger, wild and feral, like he did back in Covent Garden. But here now, he’s nearly as tall as the beast facing him and the sound just keeps coming from him in waves. With his arms spread wide, he challenges the beast. White swirls of energy gather around Thorn, and I don’t need my magic to see this energy. It’s in the air, visible and wild and increasing in volume and power. The whole amphitheatre is shaking and I realize that the noise must have triggered an actual earthquake. The rune-carved mass of stone sways dangerously and cracks appear on the surface.
The beast lets out a howl of anguish as a hand even more massive than its own reaches through the rift that it’s blocking. The hand is followed by a hugely muscular arm and it winds itself around the beast’s neck, choking it, controlling it. It proceeds to move backwards, pulling the creature and a desperately flailing Istvan, back into the dark abyss beyond.
With a final bone-crunching heave, the muscled arm draws the beast fully back into the yawning dark maw behind it and the first beast’s howl fades into nothingness. The rift closes slowly over, but not before I see the face of the Sidhe warrior guarding the rift.
Thorn makes a complicated gesture that reminds me of martial arts katas. He draws the wild energies to him, gathering them into a tightly compressed ball, working it into a manageable shape and, with a thrust from both hands, sends the now-combined whorls of energy straight at the gateway.
It explodes in a thunderous roar and I turn and run (limp) towards the passageway in a bid for safety. Massive slabs of black rock break loose from the stone and smash onto the dais. Over my shoulder I see Thorn’s blond head disappearing in a cloud of dust and debris. I let out a yell and skid to a halt.
I hear a shout behind me, from the tunnel. I look back to see a familiar Fae warrior thundering towards me. Behind him, I recognize Dina’s anxious features and behind her is Aelfric.
There’s the sound of thunder and the earth heaves beneath my feet. I let out a cry and flatten myself against the wall as an avalanche of rock and debris fills the tunnel.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Kit? Kit, you have to wake up now.’ The voice is Thorn’s but it sounds raw, stretched tight with worry. ‘Come on. You’ve slept for almost five days. You need to wake up.’ The bed moves beneath me. ‘Marc is driving everyone insane, threatening my father’s physicians with bodily harm if they don’t get you to wake up. Megan is designing scarier and scarier weapons and has all the generals following her about. Aiden’s managed to seduce all of the young women at the Court, along with a few of their mothers, and whenever he leaves his rooms he has a bevy of followers who attend him. It’s embarrassing and annoying my mother.’ He sounds pretty annoyed too. ‘Kyle’s not talking to anyone and has locked himself away in the scholars’ study, not allowing anyone in. I think, Kit, that if you wake up now, everything will be fine. And calmer, much calmer.’ I hear a heavy sigh. ‘Kieran’s pacing the hallway outside and takes every chance he gets to tell me how useless I am. I think his wife is worried he’s going to run away with you. You’d better wake up and fix this.’
I reluctantly, slowly, surface back to waking from the deepest pools of sleep I’ve ever fallen into. I feel lethargic and my limbs are heavy, not my own. My head is weighed down and I manage to open my eyes with the greatest of difficulty.
For a long time there is only light, but then I focus on the dark shape next to my bed. The smile that stretches across his face helps rid my head of a lot of the fuzziness.
‘Oh, thank the stars,’ he says, closing his eyes for a few seconds. ‘I didn’t think you were ever waking up again.’
I become aware of my bandaged hand resting in his. I smile at him. He looks rough. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and the bruises and cuts on his face from Istvan’s beatings are still visible.
‘Your poor face,’ I whisper, finding that my own throat feels very dry.
‘Have some water,’ he says, holding a silver goblet to my lips. ‘Careful, not too much or you’ll be sick.’
‘Is everyone safe?’ I ask him. I’m not a vain person but I don’t think I look my best lying here with bandages on my arms and hands. I’m tempted to ask for a mirror to see how many bruises and cuts I have on my face, but I hesitate. I’m still hurting almost everywhere, especially the left side of my body, but it feels far less than the first time I vaguely remember waking up.
‘We lost a lot of good people in the battle at the lake. Eadric surrendered unconditionally the moment he realized the ritual had failed.’
I nod and close my eyes for a second. The room was very bright. ‘What about Kieran? Is he safe?’
‘Kieran is safe and his wife has vowed to name their first-born after you. You have a friend for life in his wife, Evi.’
‘They are going to call their daughter Kit? That’s a horrible name for a girl.’
Thorn’s laughter lifts my spirits and I chuckle weakly. ‘No, if it’s a boy, they will call it Kit and if it’s a girl, Katherine.’
‘I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried.’
‘Even my mother approves.’
‘Worried, definitely worried.’
‘And how are you, Kit Blackhart?’ His face is so serious, his voice very deep. ‘You did so many stupidly reckless things without thinking about your own life. I almost died from fright when I saw you in that room.’
I try to shrug but pain lances through my shoulder and I gasp. He folds his hands around my fingers and leans close. I stare into those impossible eyes of his and keep on falling. ‘I think I’ll be okay,’ I say earnestly. ‘I’m just glad it’s all over and you’re safe and not broken.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ he says and looks incredibly sad. ‘I have to go soon but I wanted to make sure you were . . . you know, okay.’
I smile at him and bridge that tiny gap between our faces and let my lips touch his. I feel the shock reverberate through him and he goes very still and my heart stutters. Did I offend him? Was I being too forward? But then his hands cup my face and he looks down at me through long dark lashes and it feels as if I’m swimming in the golden light all around us and I have to squeeze my eyes tightly shut because it hurts so much.
His lips touch mine, a bit shy, a bit hesitant at first but then when I don’t draw back, and I rest my hand lightly on his collar bone, letting my fingers run into the thick tangle of his hair at the back, he gives the softest of sighs and gently teases my lips apart with his. Heat flushes through me and I don’t know how I’m not bursting into flames because it feels as if I should. I murmur against his lips and I can feel his mouth curve into a smile against mine in answer to whatever inane thing I said and then he kisses me properly this time and I’m sure if I look down at myself I’ll find myself floating a few inches off the mattress. He keeps the one hand against my cheek, his thumb stroking downwards, while his other hands rests against my hip, pulling me towards him. When he finally lifts his head and looks at me his breathing is un
steady and my ears are rushing with the sound of blood.
‘Wow,’ he says, his smile slow and sweet and far more eloquent than I can even think to articulate.
‘Yes,’ I manage, swallowing. ‘Exactly.’
We smile at each other and I know my face is flaming red because I can feel my ears burning. He lifts my chin and looks down at me and I wonder why he looks so unbearably sad when we’ve just shared possibly the most amazing kiss of all time.
‘What?’ I ask him, holding on to his wrist. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘I have to go,’ he says. ‘And it’s really very hard to leave you.’
I want to say something flippant, to make him smile and maybe kiss me again, but there is something serious in his voice, in the intense way he’s looking at me, taking in my face and holding on to my hand, that makes me think that this goodbye isn’t just a normal goodbye.
‘Do I get to know where you’re going?’ I ask him, careful to keep my voice from thickening up into a sob.
‘I don’t even know that,’ he tells me and I know it’s the truth. ‘It’s an apprenticeship of some sort. I’ve not been told the whole story. But it means that I’m leaving Alba. It means I’m leaving you.’
‘For how long?’
He hesitates for a second, breathing deeply. When he looks at me his expression is one of anger and frustration and resignation. His voice is low, miserable. ‘Possibly forever.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Geas: A geas is an inherited responsibility that allows the person it falls on no choice in the matter. It can be seen as a curse that’s been magically laid upon a person or persons, and once laid it is irremovable, regardless of rumours to the contrary.
From an archived report filed in HMDSDI HQ, 1978
‘Thorn?’
He presses a kiss to my fingers and I feel his tears against my skin.
‘Please understand,’ he says, his voice hesitant. ‘It’s not a choice I’ve made. It’s not a choice I would have made, especially now, having met you.’ He tangles his fingers with mine. ‘I can’t escape this. It’s been decreed, it’s apparently “my destiny”.’