Rawk swung his sword at Rhoa, who flipped backward to avoid it. The two looked down at the imaginary, dead monster.
“With the threat removed, you may think it was safe perhaps, but the castle was well-laid with deadly traps. Here was where Jerrell’s true gifts arose, for the traps he disarmed had killed many foes. Deeper and deeper, he advanced with care, hoping that treasure awaited somewhere.”
Together, Rawk and Rhoa circled the floor, moving in fits and spurts, stopping to hop on some squares, avoiding others. At another point, she took his hand and he spun, tossing her over an invisible chasm. The two ducked and dodged, then climbed the stairs.
“Deep in the warrens, beyond the final trap, Jerrell discovered a chest with an old, secret map. While the treasure might be true, the location was not, for the secret cache was located in another spot.”
Jace frowned. He didn’t mention the amulet or bracelet, but where did he hear about the map?
Rhoa appeared frustrated, Rawk disappointed. She pretended to hold a map before her while descending the stairs, Rawk at her side.
“Tossing aside his frustration, Jerrell memorized every detail of the location. The mountains, the rivers, the landmarks of note, in his mind’s eye is where he wrote. He then handed the map to his partner in crime, bidding him farewell and paying him for his time.”
Pretending to give Rawk the map and coin, Rhoa turned and walked away from Taladain’s platform, while Rawk moved closer to it.
This is it, Jace thought, forgetting the story and focusing on his true mission. His heart raced as he watched Rhoa, well aware of what she was about to attempt. His hand went to his chest and the item hidden beneath his tunic. The guilt buried inside him resurfaced.
Rhoa was a good person whose life had been diverted to a different path. Her family had been taken away from her at a young age, just like his own. In Rhoa’s case, her tragedy had been his fault. Jace had killed her parents, even if indirectly. He could not allow her to die, as well.
Salvon’s voice rang out. “Rather than return to his city of old, Jerrell Landish sought a new pot of gold. He would find the location outlined on the map. Someday, the treasure would fall into his lap.”
Jace snuck forward and eased the dagger from his sleeve, careful not the touch the blackened blade itself. He needed to reach Taladain before it was too late.
“The years passed, and Jerrell’s legend grew, but if he ever found his treasure, nobody knew.”
With a final stanza, Salvon strummed heartily while Rhoa ran toward Rawk. By then, Jace was only two strides from the wizard lord. He gripped the hilt of his poisoned dagger and lunged.
38
The Impossible
Rhoa was used to performing. She had done it half her life. Dancing, tumbling, and acting with Rawk while Salvon recited the story, she focused on her actions, thinking no more than one step ahead the entire time. Somehow, she ignored the man who had killed her parents as he watched her every move. Still, she could feel an unease building inside as the performance unfolded.
When Salvon reached the climax of the tale, her anxiety struck a crescendo. She looped to the far end of the floor while Rawk positioned himself below Taladain’s platform. Salvon finished his tale, ending with a final stanza, and Rhoa ran forward.
On the platform, Taladain and his daughter stood, both watching eagerly. Rhoa leapt. Rawk caught her foot, twisted, and pushed upward with a mighty heave. Flipping once, Rhoa drew her hidden fulgur blades and raised them high, ready to strike.
Time seemed to slow with many things happening at once.
“Blade!” the female guard shouted as she sprinted toward the viewing platform.
Jace appeared from behind Taladain’s throne and, dagger in hand, lunged toward the wizard lord. The female guard slammed into Jace, the two of them colliding with the princess’ chair, which knocked her off the platform’s edge.
The entire time, Taladain’s dark eyes were on Rhoa, flashing to rage the instant he realized her betrayal. A blast of lightning burst from the man’s hands, striking Rhoa with blinding light, enveloping her.
“Blade!” someone shouted as Jace lunged with his knife.
He saw the flash of a body coming at him and knew it would be close. Rather than burying the blade in Taladain’s back as he had hoped, Jace sliced across the man’s arm as someone slammed into him. The force drove him into Narine’s chair, taking her legs out and sending her sideways off the platform.
A bright flash of lightning blasted from Taladain, enveloping Rhoa with a thunderous crack.
No! Jace screamed in his mind, the moment frozen in time.
Even though he had tried to do the right thing, he had killed Rhoa anyway. The failure soured his stomach. The loss of a friend tightened his throat.
He could not allow Taladain to live. Not now.
While still falling, Jace twisted his body, pulling his assailant to the side to avoid her landing on him. He hit the marble hard, the wind blasting from his lungs. His grip slipped, and his knife sailed over the platform’s edge.
He hastily rolled and got his feet beneath him. The female guard slashed with her sword. He dodged, spinning and scooping up Narine’s toppled chair, using his momentum to finish the turn, the chair striking the guard’s hand. Her blade went flying as she staggered from the blow.
Jace turned toward Taladain and drew the knife from the leg of his trousers. Just five strides away, the wizard faced him, sparks of raw magic sizzling from his hands. Beyond the man, the two male guards rushed in, swords drawn.
“You seek to poison me?” Taladain shouted with disdain. “Fool! I have already burned the poison from my veins. I will live. You, however, will not!”
The man’s hands shot out, dozens of narrow threads of power, like metal wires, shooting from his fingertips and lashing at Jace. His breath caught in his throat, fearing he would be shredded to bits. When magic struck, he experienced nothing but a tingle, while the amulet on his chest turned frigidly cold. The magic unraveled in a flash of whispy twinkles.
Jace quickly examined himself, his hand feeling his torso to find it still intact. Beneath his shirt, the amulet he had stolen from Rhoa was still like ice.
“It worked,” he whispered to himself. “It actually worked.” He grinned, raising his blade while advancing toward Taladain, who gaped in shock.
The two male guards ran toward Jace, raising their blades, ready to strike.
Taladain snarled and swept his arms downward. An ear-splitting crack of thunder rang in Jace’s ears while the blinding white light of lightning surrounded him. When it dissipated, he blinked at the spots before his eyes. His ears rang, his head fuzzy, but he was intact and alive. The world, through his spotty vision, came back into focus. The charred husks of the two male guards lay beside him, their armor blackened, their capes still burning.
Jace smiled at Taladain.
The wizard shook his head and stepped backward. “It’s not possible.”
“Oh, but it is, old man.” Jace flipped his dagger from one hand to the other and advanced again. “We all must die sometime. Your death is long past–”
Someone struck Jace from behind, driving him toward the platform’s edge and over, the two of them falling to the floor ten feet below.
Rhoa was blinded by the light, but the image in her mind told her she was going to fall short of the platform anyway. She and Rawk had practiced, but not enough to perfect the leap. Sensing herself falling, she jabbed forward with both fulgur blades. They dug into something, and she held on tight, wrenching her arms at the shock of catching herself.
She closed her eyes, and the negative image of the lightning flash remained. Opening them, her focus gradually returned.
With her fulgur blades buried in the platform wall, Rhoa dangled, her arms extended. The wall between her and the platform’s edge obscured her view of anyone or anything above. Taladain bellowed something in a rage-filled voice. With a glance over her shoulder, Rhoa spotted Princess
Narine sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. Her gaze met Rawk’s, who knelt beside the fallen woman. He nodded. Rhoa took a breath and began to climb.
One after another, she thrust a blade into the marble wall and worked her way toward the platform’s top. Another blinding flash of light emerged, the thunderous crash causing her to shy away as bits of broken marble rained down. Her vision cleared again as she heard Jace issue Taladain a challenge.
What are you doing, Jace? Rhoa wondered. He will kill you.
Two people suddenly tumbled over the platform edge, falling past her. One was Jace, the other the female dressed in leather. Rhoa didn’t know if Jace were dead or alive, but she had to focus. She jammed one blade, then the other into the top of the platform and pulled herself up.
Taladain turned toward her, looking down with a furrowed brow. “You, too? How can it be?” He looked at his hands crackling with raw magic. “Die!” he screamed, thrusting his arms toward her. Purple flames wrapped around her, roaring with fury.
Jace sat up and gasped. His shoulder hurt badly. He tried to move it, but the white-hot pain made him discard the idea. The woman who had tackled him was on her hands and knees, her face twisted in pain.
“Narine!” the female guard exclaimed.
The woman crawled away from Jace and toward the fallen princess, Rawk kneeling at her side.
As Jace slowly rose to stand beside Salvon, he looked toward the platform above. Taladain’s eyes were wide, teeth clenched in rage, while wave after wave of purple-hued flames shot from his hands. The flames burned everything in their path, blackening the smoking marble. The magic stopped, the flames dying to reveal Rhoa standing before the wizard lord. Unharmed.
“How in the name of the gods is it possible?” Jace asked in disbelief. “She should be dead twice over.” He clutched at his chest and the enchanted amulet he had stolen. The necklace Rhoa wore was a fake, a replica crafted by a jeweler in Fastella.
“How, indeed,” Salvon said in a somber tone. “Now, watch.”
Flames enveloped Rhoa, obscuring her surroundings. The tiles beneath her blackened and cracked as the blaze continued. Yet Rhoa felt nothing. She raised her fulgur blades and advanced toward the source of the fire, closing the gap in three determined strides. The flames stopped as the man lowered his arms. His furious expression had changed, replaced by something else.
“So…” The man nodded, his posture slouching, as if he were deflating. “It is time. Finally.”
He did not run, nor did he lift a hand to defend himself. Rhoa lifted her arm high and said, “For my parents and all the others you have killed, I return the favor.”
The fulgur blade pierced the man’s chest with ease, the blue sparks singeing his robe. She left it buried as she glared into the man’s dark eyes.
“Forgive me,” Taladain whispered in a choking voice.
“Never,” Rhoa said, resolute.
He fell to his knees and coughed. Blood sparkling with power sprayed from his mouth. Like a felled tree, he tipped sideways, hit the scorched marble, and sprawled out on his back with his limbs askew. Glittering blood oozed from the hole in his chest, and his vacant eyes stared toward the darkened sky. Rhoa stepped close, gripped the hilt in Taladain’s chest, and tore the blade free. More blood oozed from the wound, twinkling like tiny stars. Where the blood struck the floor, crimson crystal began to form, spreading with a crackling sound. She backed away from it, the glowing crystal stopping at a five-foot radius around the dead wizard lord, glowing red with power. All fell silent, as if the world were in shock.
The sky opened up and rain began to fall, giving her the impression the heavens themselves wept for the fallen wizard lord. Whether the weeping were from joy or sorrow, she didn’t care.
Rhoa turned her face toward the sky, allowing the rain the wash over her. She looked at her blade as the rain cleaned the sparkling crimson away, leaving only the stain on her heart. After all these years, the man was dead. Yet her pain remained. Her parents would not return, nor would any of the others Taladain had slaughtered over centuries of rule. Her objective had been achieved, but it carried no sense of accomplishment. She had never considered what she might do with her life if she succeeded. Suddenly, she felt very lost and alone.
An awareness came from deep within, something she never dared consider until that very moment.
I want to live.
To survive, she needed to escape the palace.
39
Panic
Flashes of light flickered in the dark recesses of Narine’s mind, accompanied by the crash of thunder. Her head hurt, and the noise added to the pain, like searing heat against skin already burnt. Someone shook her, called to her. She fought through the darkness.
Wake up.
Her eyes opened and closed, wincing at the ache in her head. It felt as if her brain might burst. The image of her head exploding like a melon falling from a great height emerged. She opened her eyes again, dismissing the disturbing notion.
Everything was a blur, shifting from side to side as if she were on the sea. Nausea arose, as if stirred by the memory of her uncomfortable journey from Tiadd. She saw faces above her, coalescing as the haze faded. Adyn was one, the other an unfamiliar man wearing dark spectacles and a ridiculous hat. Suddenly, she recalled the outdoor theatre and falling from the platform.
She looked up as her father unleashed foulfire, a frighteningly destructive spell. Someone emerged from the fire as the magic faded. Impossible. Nobody can survive foulfire, Narine thought. Yet, somehow, the female performer emerged from the inferno, unscathed.
Still dressed in the bright blue and red costume, the girl said something to Narine’s father before raising a blade and plunging it into his chest. Narine gasped.
The man stumbled as Narine watched in shock. Rather than heal himself as he had in the past, her father fell to his knees, wobbled, and collapsed.
She struggled to come to grips with what she had seen. A slip of a girl, no taller than five feet, just killed the mightiest wizard in Ghealdor, a man blessed with the power of a god.
Taladain had been Narine’s father in name, but scarcely in deed. In truth, she had barely known the man. He had little time or patience for her when she was a child, leaving her in the care of Mistress Shavon, who was part nanny, part tutor. In many ways, Shavon had been more a parent to Narine than Taladain.
She was saddened not for the loss of her father, but for the fact he had never been one in the first place.
The skies opened, and it began to rain.
“Stay away from her,” Adyn growled.
Narine turned and saw the man Adyn addressed. It was the servant from earlier.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We have no reason to wish Narine harm.”
“It’s Princess Narine.” Adyn turned toward Narine, her tone softening. “Are you all right?”
“My head hurts something fierce,” she moaned. “Help me up.”
Adyn took hold under one arm. The man in the purple and green costume took the other, the two helping Narine sit up. The nausea suddenly grew worse, the world spinning. She leaned to the side and retched, forcing Adyn to shuffle backward to avoid having her boots soiled.
“Your head is bleeding,” Adyn said. “I think you cracked your skull.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Narine said in a sullen voice.
The musician in yellow approached, standing beside the mysterious palace servant, who held his shoulder. Both watched Narine with narrowed eyes.
“If you are well enough for sarcasm, it gives me hope.” Adyn turned to the squat, muscular man at her side. “Let’s get her to her feet.”
They hoisted Narine up. She wobbled and leaned on Adyn. The girl in the red and blue costume slipped off the platform, hung by her hands, and dropped to the theatre floor.
“It is done,” the girl said as the musician in yellow met her. Her gaze shifted, her brown eyes locking with Narine’s. “I am sorry you lost your father, but I am not
sorry he is dead. I understand if you wish to kill me. Revenge is something I know well. It drove me to this end.”
Narine blinked the rain from her eyes. Her own tears did not join the raindrops running down her cheeks. She considered the girl’s words and struggled to sift through her own feelings.
A hint of sadness, a touch of anger, but mostly, she felt relief. The man had never been warm, but since her return to Fastella, she had grown to wonder if any humanity remained within him.
Perhaps the world is better with him gone.
She glanced toward the tower above the palace and gasped. “The flame no longer burns.”
“What?” Adyn said as she and the others followed Narine’s gaze.
“People are sure to notice that,” said the old man in yellow.
A disturbing thought struck as Narine realized a new danger. My brother…
She turned toward the performers. “You must help me escape.”
“What?” Adyn said, brow furrowed.
Narine turned to her bodyguard. “Eldalain. When he returns to find my father dead, nothing will stop him from killing me. Nothing.”
“What kind of family do you have?” the servant asked. “Do you all just go around killing whoever gets in your way?”
Narine looked at him. “In my brother’s case, that is exactly what he does.” Again, the man hadn’t used her title when addressing her. With narrowed eyes, she asked, “You aren’t a servant, are you?”
“Not quite,” he said with a smirk. “My name is Jace. The girl is Rhoa, the short one is Rawk, and the musician is Salvon.”
“Jace–” Narine began, interrupted by the sound of distant cries above the patter of falling rain.
“He is dead!” a man shouted, his footsteps racing away from the theatre. “They killed Lord Taladain!”
“Ugh,” Jace said. “Hoann. I forgot about him.”
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