by Paris Hansch
A strange woman, pointing a silver staff at her. The smell of rotting flesh. A face she could never forget.
Adelia twitched in her sleep, her eyes still closed. Her brother shouldn’t have blamed himself. It wasn’t his fault. She tossed and turned into the pillow. The scar on her leg burned, and the tingling sensation shook her out of her dream.
It was dark, but there was someone standing over her. It wasn’t Scarlet; she had gone back to her own room. As she stared, she realized there were two of them, one aura female, the other male. Strange—the men should have all gone to war. Adelia groggily rubbed her eyes. It seemed like it was harder to wake up than usual, too.
“Step aside,” growled the man.
“What do you want with her?”
“None of your business, old hag.”
Adelia frowned, slowly crawling through the fog of sleep. Her eyes began to adjust. One of the figures was Elaine, standing with her back against her bed. She seemed smaller than usual, but perhaps it was just a trick of the dark.
“What’s wrong?” Adelia murmured.
“Wake up, child,” Elaine hissed, an unmistakable tone of urgency in her voice.
Adelia forced her eyes to open fully, and she peered at the other figure. Was that Councilor Dallan?
“Where’ve you been?” she asked him, focusing on the muscles in her arms to prop herself up on one elbow. She didn’t see him smile, but she could feel it. Her blood instantly ran cold.
“My lady,” he drawled. “How nice of you to join us. I require your person at once.”
“What for? You should be with my brothers.”
He took a step forward, and a sliver of light crossed his face. It was definitely the councilor. “For the sake of Anadrieth, I’m delivering you to Lord Tamar.”
“Traitor,” spat Elaine. “Always knew you were a vile human being—”
Councilor Dallan rolled his eyes and closed the distance between them. There was a sickening sound of steel meeting flesh, and Elaine slumped to the floor, pulling the sheets with her as she fell.
“Good riddance, you decrepit fool.”
Adelia grasped the edge of the bed, staring at Elaine’s writhing form.
“Mama…”
She couldn’t get up, couldn’t go to her, even though she was right there.
Elaine let out a gurgling moan, her hands clasping at the wound in her belly. There was no water nearby to heal herself. Councilor Dallan bent down, pulling the dagger from her stomach in one motion, and Elaine screamed. Adelia screamed with her, clawing at the bed. She could barely drag herself to the edge; her body was entirely uncooperative, immovable.
“Long have I been loyal to Anadrieth, faithfully serving Lord Alexander and Lord Alastair, before him,” said Councilor Dallan. “And long have I watched them continue to make mistakes, especially concerning women.” He kicked Elaine to the side, stepping over her.
Adelia dug her nails into the bed, but she couldn’t even pull herself to the floor.
“You filthy bastard!” she cried, hot tears pooling in her eyes. Elaine stayed home. She didn’t go to the battlefield. She was supposed to be safe.
Councilor Dallan tilted his head, tut-tutting her. “This is why Alexander should have married you off long ago. Frankly, your rebellious and rude attitude has never befitted a proper lady. Or perhaps it just wasn’t beaten out of you enough. I suppose that’s not your fault. Your parents were murdered before they could instill proper manners for your superiors.” He towered over her.
“And what do you possibly get out of this?” she hissed through clenched teeth. His aura looked like it was dripping in poison; it sickened her.
He raised an eyebrow, locking his grip around her chin. “It’s not wrong of me to protect my own neck. I simply chose the winning side. A group of Lanadese is at my disposal, taking over the castle as we speak. Lord Tamar is putting me in charge.”
She jerked her face away from him. “How long have you been planning this?”
Councilor Dallan chuckled. “Alexander sealed his fate when he began listening to that stupid servant princess. I gave him many chances, but it’s far too late now.” He appraised her slowly, lifting a piece of her golden hair with the bloody dagger. He brought her hair to his nose, inhaling deeply.
“I can see why they desire you. I’m sure Lord Tamar won’t mind…” He placed his hand on the other side of her, bringing one knee onto the bed. “And when the time comes, I’ll take delight in your agonizing death,” he whispered in her ear.
Adelia froze, the words lodged in her throat. She glanced at the doorway, but there was no knight coming to rescue her. Her brothers were gone. Councilor Dallan reached for her chest.
You’re stronger than you know.
There was no way this piece of filth was getting away with this. A blinding white light radiated from her, and he stopped, shielding his eyes. She was suddenly calm, her path clear. She could see his corrupted spirit before her, the violet light trembling. It was in her grasp, easily manipulated.
The light pulsated and grew brighter as dragon script spilled from her pendant, covering her chest and spreading down her arms. Her hair drifted around her, carried by an invisible wind, and a smile crept across her face as confusion crept across his.
“What in dragon’s name is this?” he shouted.
She felt a flicker of fear, but it wasn’t her own. “Get off me.”
Councilor Dallan obeyed immediately, his eyes darting around wildly. She didn’t want to hear another word from him, so she stole his will to speak. He clutched at his throat, and she reached further, smothering his spirit with hers. She could feel him struggling to breathe as the pain resonated in her own throat. But it didn’t matter. He was all hers now.
Elaine’s blood pooled around his boots. There was only one way this was going to end.
Slowly, his hand was raised in front of him, the dagger pointing toward his body. His fear intensified, and sweat rolled down his temple. She could feel him struggling to cry out, to beg for mercy. But she had none. She was far too strong for him; it was like molding snow in her palm. His arm moved in and out, in and out, sending flecks of blood onto her white sheets.
She knew it was excruciating, but her own pain was a distant memory, as the barrier between their emotions had slammed down like stonewood. His eyes went glassy, and the light of his spirit left him. Adelia let his body collapse to the ground, the stains of his death fouling the floor. The light from her pendant began to fade, but an idea struck her. They hadn’t read that page yet, but somehow, she knew what it contained.
“A forbidden action involving oneself,” Adelia muttered. She turned her focus inward, toward the spark of what little bit of her spirit was left in her body. It was warm and fluttering, like the frail heartbeat of a dying lyrecrane.
Move.
Her limbs were suddenly filled with energy, the heaviness momentarily lifted. Adelia threw off the covers, tentatively stepping onto the floor. She could feel the soles of her feet connecting with the stone. It was working. She could manipulate her own spirit.
Her energy levels were higher than they’d ever been, and she controlled its flow, lowering it to the bare minimum. Her pendant only gave off a slight glow now, the light almost invisible. It was dangerous, and she could feel it. The balance not only had to be perfect—it had to be maintained. She was filled with energy now, but she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.
Adelia knelt next to Elaine, the edges of her dress dipping in the councilor’s remains. Although she was still alive, her breaths came in heaving shudders, her spirit nothing more than a faint light. It was too late for her. Adelia cradled her head on her lap. There were a thousand things she wanted to say.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Elaine shook her head with the slightest of movements. She lifted a trembling hand to Adelia’s face.
“You… look just like your mother.” Her voice was strained, the whisper barely audible. “She
would’ve been so proud…” Her mouth went slack, her chest still.
Adelia watched the last of her spirit leave her, the light fading into the darkness. She gently closed the lifeless eyes, resting her head against Elaine’s.
“You fool… I look nothing like my mother,” she whispered. “It was always you.” The tears had dried on her face, and a great emptiness took their place.
Screams echoed in the distance. It had to be the Lanadese that the bastard had brought in. Adelia stood, clenching her fists. There would be time for grief later. She took a shaky step forward, then another, and another, until she broke into a run. Using her spirit arts like this was taxing, and she wouldn’t be able to maintain it for much longer. But her people were in danger, and this time, she would be the knight.
Her bare feet hit the floor, each step echoing the pounding of her heart. The screams grew louder, fear practically feasting upon them. Adelia gripped her pendant, blocking the wave of their emotions out. Their terror still shook her to the core, but she managed to stay upright.
A stream of villagers barreled toward her, tripping over each other like a stampede of frightened deerabits. Adelia dove to the side, struggling to push through the crowd. Children wailed, stragglers abandoned in the fray. Her heart tugged toward a little boy lying still on the ground, but she didn’t have time to save him. Hundreds more were rushing through the halls toward her. If she tried to calm them all now, she would risk collapsing before she got to the Lanadese.
“Make way!” she screamed, pushing her will outward. It rippled throughout the crowd, her strong suggestion parting the villagers in waves as she ran through them. She could feel their confusion, but as she passed, they soon resumed fleeing into the castle. Adelia finally emerged into the courtyard, panting for air. Her legs were starting to shake.
Half a dozen Lanadese barbarians were advancing through the castle grounds, toying with her people. Some of the servants stood their ground, gripping their silverlight swords, while others fled. But the swords shattered, one by one, as the Lanadese swung, mere twigs against their mighty axes.
Adelia stared on in horror. Their training had been for naught. An arrow struck a barbarian in his meaty arm, and he roared. He sprinted straight for Vivian as she tried to notch another arrow, but she was too late. He wrapped a large hand around her neck and lifted her off the ground. She spat in his face.
Adelia doubled over, reaching out to the captured girl through blurring vision. “No!”
The barbarian snapped Vivian’s neck in one movement, then threw her to the side. His cruelty wasn’t alone, as none of the small army hesitated to cut down the women before them, cleaving a pathway with their axes.
Adelia collapsed to her knees, gasping for air, unable to stand any longer. She had to act now. The men slowed their pace as they approached, towering over her.
“What do have we here?” The voice was rich with an unexpected accent rolling off the tongue.
Another barbarian grinned. “This one’s pretty.”
“Doesn’t she match the description?” One of them bent down, peering at her face.
“Even if it’s not the Lady of Anadrieth, I’m sure we can find other uses for her.”
“Later. We’re taking over the castle first,” said the biggest one. “But she can come with us.” He reached for her arm.
Adelia threw out her hand, the light exploding from her pendant and the dragon script covering her skin once more. She gave them her rage—filled them with it. She forced out their rationality, letting her rage consume them. The barbarians paused, then took up arms against each other.
Adelia concentrated on maintaining the wall between them, blocking out their agony. It still felt like she was dying, but she could dull the pain enough to stay conscious. One after the other, they hit the ground, until the last one took his own life. A trickle of blood dripped from her nose and rolled over her lip. She could feel it dripping from her ears, too.
The remaining villagers had stopped running, and she turned to meet their terrified eyes. This time, their fear was directed toward her. Summoning the last of her strength, she projected her voice in the most commanding tone she had.
“Citizens of Anadrieth, what you’ve just witnessed is the true might of our people!” Silence fell over them. “I am Lady Adelia, a priestess of the empire, sister to Lord Alexander and friend of Princess Mina. At this moment, our soldiers march to the battlefield to protect your lives!” Some of them gathered closer, and whispers filtered through the crowd. She clutched her chest. It was getting harder to breathe.
“I ask that you have faith in us, and we will show you that it is Lanadrin who should be afraid! Those who were lost today are heroines among us.” She gestured at the fallen figures around her. “Their deeds shall not be forgotten. Comfort each other in this time and trust that our people will return home. We won’t disappoint them by allowing our home to fall!” she cried.
The villagers glanced at each other, the uncertainty plain on their faces.
Adelia leaned on her arms, which collapsed underneath her. The stone floor was cool against her cheek, and her legs had folded in an awkward position, but she had no strength to move them. It was hopeless. Her chest seized up with an uncomfortable pressure that clutched her heart. A cold sweat formed over her brow, her arms felt like stonewood and her jaw was unbearably tight. She lay there, panting, unable to do anything.
It hurts.
No one was going to listen to her in this state. The weight of what she’d done began to creep up on her, and she didn’t have the energy to resist. She’d protected her people, but at what cost? She just killed half a dozen men. She gritted her teeth. There had to be at least a hundred more dead, littered around the grounds. She hadn’t come soon enough, but if she hadn’t come at all, the entire kingdom would have died.
Scarlet pushed her way through the crowd, heading straight for her.
“Adelia! What happened?”
Several servants began to surround her, and Jane scooped her head off the ground, leaning her body against hers.
“Milady, are you hurt?”
“What do we do now?” asked another.
Adelia wiped the blood from her face as they looked at her expectantly. There wasn’t time to feel sorry for herself. Her job wasn’t over yet. She took a shuddering breath and mustered her strength.
“Round up all the able-bodied women and barricade the gates with anything you can find. Gather the injured and the children in the great hall and treat any wounds as best we can. Then, set up the hall as an infirmary for when the others return home. Leave the dead, for now.”
The women nodded.
“Yes, Milady.”
Adelia clenched her fist as much as she could. She might need help to do the simplest things from now on, but that wasn’t going to stop her from doing nothing—not anymore.
“No one is going to get past us again,” she said to them.
No matter what, she was Lady Adelia, the last priestess of Anadrieth, and she had a job to do.
26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anton
Anton squeezed his thighs around his horse, his muscles tensing. General Ban and his father would be leading the main charge any second. The archers had run out of flame arrows, and when the volleys of regular arrows ceased, they would all be joining the battlefield. From a distance, it looked as though they’d won the first exchange, but there were more enemies pouring through the fire that raged across the battlefield. They’d certainly done their job, but it wasn’t going to win them the war.
The men beside him were cheering. The first little glimmer of hope seemed to have boosted their morale, but he was anything but excited. He couldn’t stop trembling. He forced himself to take deep breaths. The battlefield was a wreck, and they weren’t going to be able to pull out any more tricks. They’d have to fight head-on. And it was terrifying.
General Ban rode out in front of them, calling out his final orders. Th
ere was no more time to prepare himself.
Their army rushed forward.
Anton spurred his horse as fast as it would go; the last thing he wanted was to get trampled by his own men. His heart was practically in his ears, but he kept his eyes open. He couldn’t afford to flinch, couldn’t afford to hesitate. He drew his sword. There was no backing out now. They quickly regrouped with the remaining men, and he spotted his brother at the front. Good. At least he was still alive.
And here they come.
The next wave of Lanadese was already upon them. Anton swung his sword at the first barbarian, dragging a deep slice across his chest, and a soldier behind him finished him off. He gritted his teeth and kept going. It was all the same.
Don’t think.
There were bodies all around them. Mangled. Bloodstained.
Don’t think.
A comrade’s terrified scream rang out as he flailed in the tar.
Don’t think.
His sword connected with flesh and blackscale again and again, but he didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the consequences. His survival instinct had taken over. Faces became blurred. He could only see gray and red. He couldn’t remember the faces of those he fought, nor those beside whom he fought. It was all the same.
A tar pit exploded off to his right, flinging the burning tar high in the air.
“Shield formation!”
The nearby soldiers rushed together, creating a barrier with their shields above them. The Lanadese howled, covering their faces, but they were unable to escape the tar that clung to their skin. Their soldiers lowered their shields, and they seemed mostly unscathed. They took advantage of the opportunity to take down the injured Lanadese.
Anton continued on, remaining wary of anything that might come from above. He didn’t know how long it had been since they rushed in. It felt like hours. The fires were still burning, and parts of the plains continued to collapse. Their enemies seemed endless. He blocked an axe swing, and a crowcodile swooped in, its claws tearing into the man’s face. He screamed, clutching the strips of skin that had peeled off. Anton ended his life with another swing. It was all the same.