Shimmer

by Sharon Ashwood

  But he still owed her one wish—and she could call on it. It had to be available despite the change in ownership, or Barleycorn wouldn’t have warned her against using it. She could wish herself free, get vengeance for Tina, get the lamp from Corby, and fly back to the Wheel with Ronan.

  Do it. Do it. DO IT!

  Alana ground her eyes with the heels of her hands. “But it makes no sense,” she murmured. Running that way was building on sand. The Shades would be after them forever. They took Ronan once; they could do it again.

  She pulled her hands away. Tears slid down her cheeks, leaving salt on her lips. Pain flowered inside her, shredding her with might-have-beens. What good were future plans if she was dead by sunrise? How could she help Ronan then? Alana sobbed once, then clamped a hand over her mouth. The guards couldn’t, wouldn’t, hear her cry. She still had some pride left.

  Maybe she could phrase the wish carefully, building in language to cover every loophole? She was no lawyer, but she’d always been clever. Surely she was good enough for this!

  Yes, do it. DO IT!

  Yet, Barleycorn had said using the third wish put her into Blacktongue’s corrupting power. That was what had happened to Hugo Martigen and Corby. Would she end up like them? She’d wanted to be a bodyguard, offering protection for a living. Would the Shades make her an assassin instead? Twist the anger and sadness in her heart to something deadly?

  It doesn’t matter. Do it anyway. DO IT!

  “Get lost,” she muttered to the voice in her head. “You’re the wish talking, and it’s not gonna happen.”

  Wiping her face dry, Alana stood, checking her armor more thoroughly this time. She was a fighter, and that meant trusting her own sweat, blood, and brutal honesty. There was no wishing in the circle, just doing.

  Maybe—probably—this was her last fight. She’d go out on her own terms.

  Alana straightened her spine, lifted her chin, then pounded on the door, summoning the guard.

  By the time he opened it, she was focused on one thing only. “I’m ready.”

  The guards took no chances, chaining her hands and feet before letting her out of the cell. That, she supposed, was the price for being at the top of her game. When they led Alana down the passageway to the arena, she was only vaguely aware of the clamor of the crowd. She’d heard it so often it was part of the landscape, like the surf or wind in the trees.

  Her gaze searched ahead until she found Henry in his customary spot. Although the circle didn’t technically have corners, there was still a place for each fighter to retreat, with gear and people to support them. Despite everything, it felt right to have Henry in hers.

  “You’re here,” she said when they were close enough to speak.

  “Of course I am,” he said gruffly, then eyed the shackles. “Get those off her, fools!”

  She glanced around as the guards fiddled with keys. The cats hadn’t arrived yet, so she squinted to see past the overhead spotlights into the stands.

  There were boxes for the guests of honor, and she wasn’t surprised to see Tyrell Martigen in the left-hand seat. On the far right was Corby, his chair hitched forward so his short, squat form could see over the balcony. He wouldn’t want to miss a moment of her humiliating end. Alana’s skin crept, but she forced herself to keep scanning the crowd. She recognized many of the faces and searched each one, wondering which were involved in the cabal to serve Blacktongue, aka the investor. Her instincts said more than a few, and certainly the ones in the expensive seats.

  Once her limbs were free again, Henry rubbed his hands, clearly nervous. Then he helped her strap on her weapons under the watchful gazes of the guards.

  “Okay, look,” Henry said. “I’ve done some asking around. Toku had a shoulder injury a week ago. Go for the left side if you can. It’s not been healing as fast as it should.”

  He went on, the flood of advice soothing and familiar. It was part of the routine Alana needed to calm down before the bell, and Henry knew it. He kept at it until a change in the crowd’s murmur made him stop.

  The Slash were coming out now, silk robes over their furred bodies. Fear instantly jolted Alana, reminding her how those claws and fangs had ripped at her flesh. Of how she’d been left, bad enough that they’d thought her dead. Her lungs froze, leaving her to sip for air until she grappled her panic and shoved it down. She already knew everything her fear had to tell her. She didn’t need the warning.

  She looked for Toku, who was bigger and had darker stripes than his brother. Sure enough, he was guarding his left side. Then she studied Riki, the small, quick one. He wasn’t as crafty as he liked to think. There might be a chance to trip him up.

  The emcee was in the circle now, doing his spiel. Alana started to fidget, missing what he said that made everyone go quiet. The entire arena turned to the guest of honor’s seat. A figure emerged onto the balcony where Tyrell and Corby sat. Two of the Shades stood with him like ominous shadows. Beside her, Henry sucked in a breath.

  “Who is that?” Alana asked under her breath, but she already knew the answer.

  “Harin Blacktongue. Barleycorn said he would show himself tonight.”

  Ronan had described golden armor to her, but now Blacktongue was more simply dressed—if simply meant a hooded cloak and a creepy, full-face mask. She didn’t blame him for hiding that ugly visage.

  “Why is he here?”

  Henry’s look was hard to read. “You’re a celebrity after giving Corby and Martigen a hard time.”

  Then she understood. Blacktongue intended to be public and present when she went down. That way, the rank and file got the point: disobedient equals dead. Like any good future conqueror, he was laying the groundwork for absolute rule—and the fact that Blacktongue was here surely meant invasion wasn’t far off. How many times had he visited, threatening and bewitching fae like Corby and Hugo Martigen?

  She wasn’t the only one asking questions. The whispering around the room was getting louder. Even those who didn’t seem to know about Blacktongue were looking anxious now. The emcee called for silence, so the fight could begin. As he left the circle, she glanced up to see Corby kneeling before Blacktongue and reluctantly handing over the lamp. It was plain he didn’t want to do it, and equally plain he had no choice. Blacktongue waved a gloved hand, and Corby placed the lamp on the balcony rail. Was that so Alana could gaze on everything she’d lost?

  Do it. Do it. DO IT!

  Ronan stood at the back of the box, so still he might have been made of wax. Even so, his gaze was fixed her way. No doubt he would be forced to watch as she fought for her life. Slowly, a bit at a time, her heart broke in two. Unconsciously, her hand crept to press beside her breastbone and feel each aching beat.

  One wish, and they could both be free to go.

  Do it. DO IT!

  Despair seized her. She turned and threw her arms around Henry, needing someone, anyone, to hold her. “Thank you for everything you’ve been to me.”

  He hugged her back. “Knock ‘em dead. I know you will.”

  17

  The bell rang.

  Alana was out of time. No room to make decisions. No last chance to take the easy road. She was there to fight.

  A sense of rightness stilled the yammering of the wish. She’d probably never know for sure if the cats had been part of the plot against her and Tina, or if that had been all Tyrell. Either way, they’d done far more damage than necessary to win. Now Alana would deliver a lesson: Don’t touch people I love.

  The Slash advanced. The two cats spread out, their bare feet silent on the circle’s sandy floor. Henry gave Alana a final pat on the shoulder. Now that the fight had started, her nerves settled into a steady, alert hum. She strolled into the circle, keeping a casual air but making sure she could see both opponents. When they struck, she would need all the warning she could get.

  Her hands flexed, but she didn’t draw a weapon. No need to commit before it was time, and there was strategy in waiting. She would cho
ose to match the nature of their attack.

  Toku moved first, darting in with a slash of his claws. Alana kicked, knocking him back. Cats tired quickly, but it was game over if they got close enough to force their prey to the ground. Those hind claws could rip open soft tissue in seconds.

  Toku tried again. This time, her heel landed squarely on his bad shoulder. He hissed, showing long eyeteeth.

  A flick of his gaze made Alana give a sudden backward kick, catching Riki in the throat. Toku’s tell had saved her from a sneak attack. She turned, repositioning while Riki coughed and spat.

  The audience cheered, but she paid it no attention. The change of ground put her opposite the balcony where Ronan watched, as still and silent as before. Yet, even at this distance, she could see the sorrow and fury in his eyes.

  Alana paid for her distraction. Toku tackled her from the side, knocking her to the ground. Alana took the brunt of the fall on her hip, then tried to roll away. He grabbed for her, finding the seams in her armor and digging his claws in to find flesh. Alana ripped away, scrambling to her feet with her ribs on fire.

  She was barely upright when Riki pounced, jaws closing over her shoulder. Alana elbowed him before he could get a solid bite, then slammed the side of his jaw so hard he spun in place. Grabbing his arm, she twisted it until the pressure forced the joint the wrong way. She held that in place while she flicked the knife from her wrist sheath. “Start begging,” she murmured in Riki’s tufted ear.

  “Alana!” cried a strangled voice from above.

  Reflexively, she ducked, the knife Toku had thrown sinking into his brother instead. A collective gasp went through the room as Riki collapsed to his knees, the knife sticking from his side. Judging by the angle, it wasn’t a lethal wound, but it must hurt. Toku gave a savage cry, his green eyes blazing, but he was the one to blame. That was the second mistake he’d made.

  She’d been saved by someone’s cry. Surely it had been Ronan’s voice, but that wasn’t possible, was it? Could he defy Blacktongue’s magic to save her life?

  He could, if you used the third wish.

  Toku unwrapped a long chain from his waist. On the end was a flat disc of metal shaped like a starburst of sharpened points. He began spinning it like a lasso, working the chain with his short fingers. The blade sang through the air, sending chills over Alana’s whole frame. She backed away, eyes fixed on the flashing metal. The fighting circle was large with plenty of room to move, but there was never enough space to run from something like this.

  The audience had gone silent, so the only sound was the hum of the blade and Riki’s moans. The smaller cat lay curled on the floor, cradling his wound. By the rules of the game, he couldn’t leave the circle until the fight was done. That wouldn’t happen until someone was dead.

  Toku swung low, sending the blade snaking along the floor. Alana leaped over it, watching and listening for any change in tempo that could trick her into jumping too late. The next spin was higher, so she ducked. Then it looped, and she flipped, barely escaping the razor-sharp edge. She’d fought this weapon before, but never when it was in the hands of someone this good. Toku had been practicing, or else had magic on his side.

  And then it was a running game, with the blade whipping after Alana like a fury. She leaped and scampered and spiraled like a gymnast, frantic to stay a split second ahead. But she soon began to tire. She’d have to end this if she meant to survive.

  Bit by bit, Alana closed the distance between her and Toku until she was inside the reach of the flashing disc. With a sudden lunge, she grabbed the chain and hauled him forward. The disc flailed wildly, narrowly missing Toku’s head. Caught off guard, he stumbled, and she used the momentum to wrap the chain around his neck and pull.

  He fell to his knees, Alana behind him. Her breath was sawing in and out, so she barely heard the swell of the crowd’s cheer. She glanced up to see Ronan right behind Corby, his face shining with perspiration. In his own way, he was fighting just as hard as she was. Then his eyes went wide.

  Something clubbed her on the back of the head. The chain flew out of her hands, and Toku burst forward just as she fell on her face. Pain flared everywhere when that something hit again, and she realized Riki was up and stomping on her spine. And then Toku was on his feet as well, and she heard the scrape of a blade against leather. The fight was all but over, and she’d lost.

  There was one last chance to wish before that blade came down. She gazed up into Ronan’s agonized face. The third wish would break any bond she had with him, but she would lose him anyhow. Alana didn’t want to die—but she sure as hell didn’t want to live as Blacktongue’s slave, either. No, even if her fight was over, the dragons weren’t done. She could still help Ronan, even if it meant her death.

  With a last desperate burst of strength, she pushed herself up. “Ronan, Prince of Bright Wing, I wish you free of the lamp forever!”

  Startled, Toku hesitated, his blade in the air. Alana punched him, and he went down. Riki backed away, one hand gripping his side and the other pointing to the balcony. The real show was up there now.

  Ronan had snatched up the lamp, which glowed as if it were molten. Corby was desperately reaching for it, but Ronan held it high above his head. Blacktongue sprang from his seat, the black cape billowing with the motion. With the mask, it was impossible to read his expression, but the Shades had stepped closer to him like cowering dogs. Blacktongue gestured with his hands, presumably to summon the Shimmer, but nothing happened. Maybe there was already too much magic at work.

  Alana began laughing out loud as one of the Shades began beating the wall with its fists. Something was about to happen, and it wasn’t going to be pretty. The dragons that decorated the side of the lamp were lifting off and floating in the air, swirling and merging and binding themselves into one huge beast. It was a spectacular dance of light and form that stretched up and up like taffy, then folded down to wrap around Ronan in a blaze of light. The lamp exploded, showering minuscule shreds of metal over the audience below.

  Alana watched open-mouthed, getting to her feet without knowing she was doing it. A wild glee filled her and she thrust her fists in the air, letting out a mighty whoop. That lamp was over.

  And then the railing of the balcony burst, scattering chairs and plaster and chunks of wood. People ran screaming, or else hung on where they could. Wings the color of clouds unfurled, filling the ceiling and muting the light. A howl rose from the crowd, triumph and terror in one unholy mix. Flames licked through the air, casting everything in shades of red.

  Dragons might normally take hours to shift, but not when they were reverting from genie form.

  The wings snapped closed, and Alana could see Ronan’s dragon. Like his father, he was enormous, but he was a lighter shade, more mist than storm, the scales iridescent as pearl. She stared, awestruck and aghast. It was strange to see this other side of him, but it also felt exactly right. Her wish had done this—she had set him free—and he was beautiful and powerful and true. This was the prince destined to save his world. Tears spilled from her eyes, washing away the sweat and blood of the fight.

  Corby was clinging to the remains of the balcony rail, screaming curses as he struggled not to fall. Steam huffed from the dragon’s nostrils as his head swiveled toward Corby, the long neck graceful as a cobra. Then the huge jaws opened, displaying a double row of dagger teeth. Alana had just enough time to wonder what would happen next—and then Corby was no more.

  Ronan swerved toward Tyrell next, but he leaped, choosing the thirty-foot drop from the balcony instead of the dragon’s jaws. Alana squeezed her eyes shut.

  But then she had to keep looking, because Blacktongue finally had the Shimmer open. His servants burst through, desperate for safety, leaving only Ronan and his nemesis. Alana knew, through the haze of her astonishment, that time and fate had circled back to where everything had begun. Now it was time for the Prince of Bright Wing’s revenge.

  But Ronan did the one thing she didn’
t expect. He turned his back on Blacktongue and dropped from the balcony with one lazy flap of wings—aiming directly for her.

  Alana had forgotten the Slash or anyone else standing nearby, but now she was aware of them running for their lives. The entire arena was in chaos, with chairs crashing as panicked audience members climbed over each other in a rush for the doors. But she stood her ground, alone in the fighting circle and gazing up.

  Her heart pounded, expectation crackling in her veins. The fact he’d chosen to find her first could only mean one thing. The lamp no longer bound them, but they still belonged together. She was no longer his keeper, but his partner, and they would fight side by side.

  The place was too small for the dragon to land. All she could see was his underbelly, the palest gray edged with those pearlescent scales. But then he hovered, wings fanning the air, and she saw the thick forelegs ending in talons as long as scythes. He picked her up as delicately as a kitten. She was glad of her armor, but she had nothing to fear—although the sudden upward swoosh nearly left her stomach behind. He tucked her close and turned, launching back toward the Shimmer.

  Blacktongue waited on what was left of the balcony. As they drew near, Alana got a closer look at him. He was tall and stooped, his wasted frame hidden by the cloak. The hood had slipped back to reveal long wisps of greenish hair and a lot of putrid scalp. All the same, he quickly moved to stand in front of the Shimmer. Clearly, he meant to block Ronan’s path.

  “Do you think to escape me, Prince of Bright Wing?” Blacktongue demanded, his deep, clear voice as sonorous as music. “Do you think our dance is done?”

  Alana felt Ronan’s sides heave as he inhaled, then he released a torrent of flame right at Blacktongue. The blast was precise and intense. Alana turned her face away, the scorching air washing over her. The smell of charcoal filled the underground arena.

  She had to get away from that heat. Her fingers closed around the edges of Ronan’s scales and she pulled herself up, finding plenty of footholds to scramble her way to the base of his expansive serpentine neck. It took only seconds. Wedging herself between two of the bony plates that ridged his spine, she held on. Finally, she had a clear view of what was going on.