by Martha Carr
“Yeah, but that was always the plan.”
“You don’t want to rule from the Heart. I get it.” Corian dipped his head toward her. “But you won’t choose walking away over everything else we both know you care about. We still have a lot of work to do here and Earthside. This will help, and Persh’al deserves to be backed by the only drow, the only magical, who can make any of this possible.”
Persh’al’s neon-orange mohawk appeared over Corian’s shoulder as the blue troll inserted himself into the conversation with a grin. “Thanks, brother.”
Corian held Cheyenne’s gaze and clenched his jaw. “Can’t do it without you, and there’s no point in trying to hide that anymore.”
She stared right back at him and breathed slowly through her nose. First, the legacy box wouldn’t leave me alone, and now this goddamn throne won’t let me walk away.
Persh’al leaned to the side and circled his finger in the air. “Can we get crackin’ on this thing? I’m about to start sweating through this getup, and it’s not gonna be pretty.”
“Fine.” Cheyenne cocked her head. “Let’s do it, then.”
“Excellent.” The blue troll’s mohawk disappeared as he returned to Elarit’s side.
Corian nodded. “Thank you.”
“I mean it, though.” She pointed at him. “No bowing or groveling or waiting on me hand and foot. And if I’m gonna make trips over here to hang around for longer than a day, I’m not staying in this fortress. Just not happening.”
The nightstalker’s lips twitched into a tiny smile, and he turned around again to face the audience for Persh’al’s O’gúl coronation and the myrein he’d always wanted. “We’ll find you an apartment.”
“Better be a good one,” Ember added.
Cheyenne shot her friend a sidelong glance and frowned. “Did you know about this whole loophole thing?”
“Nope. Feels like I’m in the secret club, but only, like, halfway.”
“That makes two of us, Em.”
Corian spread his arms wide and sent a burst of shimmering silver light out of both hands. His magic crackled along the opposite walls of the courtyard before smoothing out into waves of light that quickly disappeared.
Cheyenne thought, Looks like the place is rewriting itself not to be torn apart by crashing magic, either. Another point for upgrades.
The center of the Heart fell silent. All the gathered magicals—Four-Pointed Star rebels, citizens off the streets of the inner city, and orc guards alike, all wearing one variation or another of the ceremonial uniform—turned their attention to the small party at the base of the last Nimlothar.
“This is quite the day.” Corian didn’t quite shout, but his voice echoed against the walls just the same. A cheer rose from the crowd, interspersed with laughter and the occasional stomping of feet. The nightstalker’s silver eyes widened, and he stuck on a brilliant smile that didn’t quite match the intensity of his feral grin.
No, he saves that for when he’s kicking someone’s ass, like mine. Cheyenne pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and glanced at Persh’al and Elarit. The troll couple stood tall and proud on the other side of Corian, soaking it all in. They deserve this.
“We’re here, as the old laws command,” the nightstalker continued, “to bring in the turn of a new Cycle, no longer crushed beneath the Spider’s darkening sway.”
Roars of approval and excited shouts and more stomping rose in reply.
Corian lowered his arms by his sides again, and the strangely eclectic audience of mostly strangers quieted down again. “Persh’al Tenishi is one of a kind, isn’t he?”
The few magicals who knew the new troll Crown chuckled. Lumil cupped a hand around her mouth and shouted, “May the blue…ah!”
Byrd elbowed her in the ribs, shook his head, and whispered harshly, “Not your day, man.”
“I know it’s not my day, assface. The guy doesn’t have a title yet, for cryin’ out loud.”
The goblin man folded his arms and smiled at the group beneath the Nimlothar tree, muttering through his tight grin, “Not your job to come up with one, either. Shut the hell up.”
“You know what? You can suck it, you little—”
Corian cleared his throat and talked over them, graciously ignoring the bickering goblins in their natural state. “Persh’al Tenishi, the first troll to sit the O’gúl throne in Hangivol, accepts his duty and our pride today. He accepts the O’gúl Crown as his own, and the old laws of our world receive the new Cycle very well.”
More cheers, more laughter and stomping, and Persh’al stood tall, albeit a little awkwardly, with his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked from heel to toe.
“Beneath the ever-watchful eye of the last Nimlothar,” Corian continued, “we bind Persh’al to his name and his honor, and to those who went before him.”
Cheyenne was too busy staring at the blue troll’s slightly uncomfortable fidgeting to notice Corian turning toward her. Ember nudged her with a shoulder and nodded at the nightstalker, who bowed and gestured toward the Nimlothar when Cheyenne blinked at him.
“After you, Cheyenne.”
“Right now?”
He raised his eyebrows and stepped toward the twisted bark of the gnarled tree behind her.
I seriously need to work on preparing for shit like this.
She moved stiffly toward him, her hands still jammed into her coat pockets, and tried to smile at Persh’al when he joined them.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what’s up, kid.” The troll chuckled and warily eyed the tree. “I don’t know how this thing works.”
“You think I’ve done this before?” They looked at each other and waited for Corian to take the lead once more.
“O’gúl rule hasn’t been handed down like this for quite some time.” It wasn’t a direct address to the onlookers, but it wasn’t meant to be private, either. “This is a new age for all of us, thanks to the two of you. May it last as long as the old age, if not longer, hmm?”
Persh’al said, “Maybe if I came at this a few thousand years younger.”
Maleshi barked a laugh, and the magicals closest to the tree who’d heard the troll chuckled and nodded, staring intently at their new Crown and the last piece of his official coronation.
“All right.” Corian dipped his head toward Cheyenne. “Place your hand on the tree, kid. Both of you.”
“Yep.” Persh’al smacked his hand on the rough bark and grimaced when a fleck of ancient, dried wood scraped off beneath his touch. “Shit. Sorry.”
Corian closed his eyes but didn’t say anything.
Cheyenne slowly lifted her hand to the Nimlothar’s twisted trunk and pressed her palm against it. A flash of warm energy pulsed beneath it and raced halfway up her arm. She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on that instead of the undertones of the tree’s pain that came with it. It’s dying, and it’s still giving whatever it has left to make this happen. How do I even know that?
“Whoa.” Persh’al let out a self-conscious chuckle and widened his eyes at her. “You feel that, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Way more than he does, I bet.
The bark beneath their hands pulsed with pale violet light, then the tree lit up. Wave after wave of the same light raced from their hands to the center of the tree and streaked up to the branches, illuminating the few dozen leaves still clinging to their source. The Nimlothar groaned and seemed to lean toward the blue troll and the drow halfling sharing its energy.
Corian nodded in satisfaction, then turned around again to address the crowd. “A new Cycle turns, and Ambar’ogúl answers! The Nimlothar answers! May the Ironbreak rein!”
“May the Ironbreak reign!” The gathered magicals chanted it over and over, stomping their feet and banging on their chests and the metal doors now installed within every archway around the courtyard.
“Stay like that a little longer, Cheyenne,” Corian muttered before turning to Persh’al and pounding his own fist against
his chest. “Here we are.”
The blue troll chuckled. “Never thought I’d see you swearing allegiance to me, of all magicals, vae shra’ni.”
“It’s a surprise for all of us. A good one.” The nightstalker bowed his head, then looked slyly up at his friend. “You weren’t expecting me to fall to my knees, were you?”
“Man.” Persh’al scoffed and removed his hand from the tree as he turned back toward Maleshi and Elarit, who were standing six feet in front of them.
Neither of them noticed the cold shiver that ran down Cheyenne’s spine when the Nimlothar pulsed with a brighter light the second the troll’s hand left the ancient wood. It knows the difference between us, that he’s a troll, not a drow. Another wave of cold energy shot down her spine. What does this thing want from me?
Chapter Seven
“Look at this,” Maleshi called to the crowd as Persh’al rejoined her and Elarit. “We have a binding to the Crown and a myrein all in the same day. Lucky us.”
Corian grinned at the general, now putting on her own show for everyone, and stepped close to the tree, where Cheyenne’s hand rested against it. “Like I said, kid. This is pretty much the same thing as what you worked on with the Nimlothar seed for your trials.”
“I don’t think so.” She eyed the pulsing streaks of violet light shooting up the tree and into the branches, over and over. Like a heartbeat. “There’s something else going on here.”
“That’s a bunch of magic older than anyone in this courtyard.” He sniggered. “Yes, including Foltr. Try to focus and do the best you can, all right?”
“Sure.” Cheyenne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. And once again, I’m taking pointers in drow magic from a nightstalker. What could possibly go wrong?
“Two O’gúleesh together at the Heart’s doorstep,” Maleshi shouted. “Persh’al Tenishi, the Ironbreak Crown of Ambar’ogúl, and Elarit Masharun, the best spark-setter in Hangivol. I don’t think I have to say more about either one of them.”
Harsh, unabashed laughter echoed through the courtyard.
“You can connect with the seed to reach the tree, if that helps,” Corian muttered. “It fell from these very branches when the tree still blossomed.”
“Okay. Connect and do what?”
“Bind yourself, Cheyenne. The Nimlothar wants a promise. It may tell you what that is, though I wouldn’t be surprised if its voice has grown too quiet for you to hear. If that’s the case, tell it you’ll be a part of what happens next in this world. Show your commitment.”
She cracked open one eye and settled it on his face. “Next you’re gonna tell me to start hugging trees, huh?”
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Just do it.”
Shutting her eye again, Cheyenne pressed her hand more firmly against the rough bark and focused on the pulse of magic flaring beneath her touch. Talk to the tree. Make a promise. Well, tree, if you’re still capable of telling me what you want, now’s the time to share.
“Bound by the old laws and carried into a new dawn.” Persh’al’s and Elarit’s voices echoed the appropriate response for their myrein ritual.
Maleshi grinned at them and stepped back to retrieve something from a metal box at her feet. When she stood with a small green orb in her hand, the crowd erupted in bellowing cheers and roars of approval. “Now to bring your promise to life, eh?”
Corian leaned so close to Cheyenne’s ear, she could feel his body heat when he whispered, “Anything yet?”
“I’m working on it.” Promises from everyone. And I’m trying to hear what a tree has to say to me. This is ridiculous.
“Let it come to you, kid. When it happens, you’ll know.”
“Yeah? You have personal experience talking to drow trees?”
“Focus whatever’s in that drow head of yours on the Nimlothar, not me.”
Cheyenne whispered, “Then stop talking.”
“The fire that unites us all,” the general shouted, “now uniting two in their first step together toward the final flame.”
A flash of silver light erupted in her hand, and the green orb cracked before bursting into green flames. The O’gúleesh in attendance went wild, stomping their feet and pounding on anything within reach.
Cheyenne could hardly think with all the noise and the shuddering tremble of the stone floors beneath her feet. What do you want from me?
The small ceremonial deathflame leaped from Maleshi’s hand, splitting in half to settle first in Elarit’s open palm and then Persh’al’s. The troll woman sucked in a sharp breath when the flames touched her violet flesh.
“Now you carry the deathflame as one.” Maleshi stepped back behind the troll couple and spread her arms. “And you’ll face it as one.”
Grinning at each other, Persh’al and Elarit stepped closer and clasped each other’s wrists. The green fire sparked and hissed and raced up their arms, growing and spreading across both their bodies as they stared at each other and fought not to let go.
Cheyenne frowned, her eyes still closed in concentration. Okay, maybe this isn’t gonna happen. So, tree, I’ll make my own promise.
A burst of searing heat jolted violently through her hand and into her entire body. She tried to pull her hand away but couldn’t; tried to open her eyes, and instead found herself looking at the Nimlothar tree but without anything else in the courtyard.
The vision was so much like the last one she’d had of this tree, every branch and twisted spiral of ancient bark consumed by black flames. Her body was on fire too, and the lilting song coming from the Nimlothar rose into a grating screech of pain and sorrow. Somewhere far away, another voice wailed in mourning. More voices joined it, wordlessly crying out. Then Cheyenne was standing in the destroyed Nimlothar forest outside the Sorren Gán’s fiery lair, feeling every one of the decimated trees calling out to her, begging, pleading, sharing their pain.
The last Nimlothar in her vision dipped its branches toward her and brushed them over her face, her hair, her clothes, creaking and groaning.
In the Heart’s courtyard full of celebrating magicals, Elarit and Persh’al shouted in their effort to keep a firm hold on each other’s forearms. The deathflame consuming them flared brighter, stretching feet above their heads toward the open sky, and a deafening crack split the air.
Cheyenne gave a searing gasp and finally opened her eyes. Corian turned toward her in surprise, but she stared blankly at the Nimlothar’s glowing violet light, which was growing steadily brighter beneath her hand. Okay. Okay, I get it. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it right.
The tree’s purple light blazed with a second-long intensity, momentarily blinding every pair of magical eyes in the courtyard.
When the light faded from the tree and didn’t return, the deathflame fire around Persh’al and Elarit snuffed out. The troll couple fell to their knees together, still gripping each other’s forearms as trails of dark-green smoke rose from their arms and shoulders.
“Well.” Maleshi chuckled in surprise and spared the Nimlothar and Cheyenne a quick glance. “Seems like a pretty unanimous approval to me.”
The magicals who’d gathered to witness both ceremonies one right after the other recovered from their shock and erupted into cheers and roars, snarling and throwing fists in the air as they chanted for the Ironbreak and now his mate.
Persh’al bowed his head toward Elarit and laughed weakly. “Not as bad as I expected.”
Breathing heavily, the troll woman looked at him with a crooked smile, the thin silver chains settling across the bridge of her nose. “You were screaming like a pup.”
“Come on. If anyone’s gonna make me scream, it’s you.”
Maleshi snorted, then cleared her throat. “Time for the real party now! Let’s get the hell outta here!”
The Four-Pointed-Star members lifted another cheer for their new Crown, and the random citizens and O’gúl guards echoed it as they shoved and jostled each other on their way toward the double do
ors at the end of the courtyard.
The troll couple stood, still recovering from their shared pass through the deathflame.
“Look at you!” Byrd shoved Persh’al in the shoulder and winked. “Tied to the ol’ ball and chain now, ain'tcha?”
Elarit narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a useless Earthside saying,” Persh’al muttered. “Doesn’t mean shit.”
Byrd’s grin faded as he glanced at the trolls. “For real? Aw, come on! Lighten up a little.”
“You can explain it to me once we’re through those doors. How ‘bout that?” Elarit gestured at the dwindling crowd surging through the courtyard’s exit.
“Not until I’ve had at least an entire bottle of Bloodshine,” Persh’al muttered, wrinkling his nose at the streaks of burnt cloth along his arms.
“Even better.” Elarit grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, shoving Byrd out of the way to follow the magicals partying in their names.
“Hey, wait up!” Byrd turned in a quick circle, his eyes wide. “Where the hell’s Lumil?”
A crash and explosion of red light flared in the corridor on the other side of the double doors, followed by Lumil’s cackling laughter and someone else’s furious roar.
Maleshi gestured at the doors with a pert smile. “There you go.”
“Damnit! She can’t sit still for two seconds.” Byrd took off across the courtyard, shoving random magicals out of the way and slipping past as they snarled and tried to engage him in fights.
Cheyenne watched the procession leaving the Heart’s courtyard with wide eyes, trying to breathe steadily so her heart would quit rattling around in her chest.
Corian tilted his head until his ear almost touched his shoulder and studied her. “You heard something.”