Bright Wicked 2: Radiant Fierce (A Twilight Fae Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  Hagan glowers at me before he releases me and strides back along the path.

  Left unexpectedly free and alone, I quickly assess my surroundings and the chances of escape. Neatly-spaced trees fill the space around me. They would be easy to run through, but their trunks aren’t wide enough to provide cover. If Nathaniel could break free of the hunters, he could run with me, but Christiana is still bound by Cyrian’s dark magic and we can’t leave her behind. Maybe if he grabbed her and were able to carry her with us, I could break the spell once my magic was stronger—but Cyrian currently controls her every movement. There’s no doubt in my mind that he is able to make her fight her brother against her will.

  The only way to free her is for me to use my power in a sustained way—to burst through the dark magic and maintain a shield around us—which is impossible right now. Which means… I’m back to my state of powerlessness.

  Above me, the sun is a hazy outline. The fact that I can see a silhouette at all tells me that the sun is at its highest. Even if I hadn’t used up my power, I’m now at my weakest.

  Tears of frustration burn unexpectedly at the back of my eyes. The only way I can help Nathaniel and Christiana right now is to use my body in any way possible.

  Even if it gets me killed.

  I watch Hagan stride back along the road toward Christiana, his boots kicking up the dirt as he leaves the quartz path.

  Nathaniel grabs his shoulder before he can walk past, forcing Hagan to grind to a stop. Nathaniel says something I can’t hear, but his gaze is narrow and his whole body is tense. Hagan glowers something in return that looks equally aggressive before he wrenches free of Nathaniel’s hold. It’s like watching two dragons threaten each other.

  No other human I’ve met so far meets Nathaniel’s stature and strength—not even Cyrian—but Hagan does, and it unsettles me. There’s definitely a lot of history between Nathaniel and Hagan, and I’m not sure where Hagan’s true loyalties lie. From what I’ve seen, his sole purpose may simply be survival.

  Hagan continues toward Christiana, bows to the King, and then scoops her unceremoniously into his arms. Cyrian scowls but gives a dismissive wave that releases Christiana’s stiff body. She relaxes within Hagan’s hold, her head turning in to his chest and her legs folding across his arm. He slows his pace then, remaining beside the King.

  It dawns on me that her feet are bare.

  If she walked along the pebbles, she’d cut her soles to shreds.

  Hagan closed off when I tried to pry open his thoughts about Christiana, but if he didn’t care about her, he would let her walk through the courtyard as she was.

  A pretty voice behind me makes me spin back to the White Walls. “Look who’s unchained.”

  Ethel’s eyes glitter like cruel, blue gems. She stands in the center of the archway, dressed in a pair of pure white pants with a wraparound-style white top that is cut low at her neckline to reveal a substantial amount of cleavage.

  “Only the truly powerless walk to their execution unchained,” she says, leaning toward me as if she were my conspirator. “That’s Cyrian’s gift. He picks away at your defenses until he finds your true weakness. Then he slowly dissects you, slice by bloody slice, until you don’t know he’s killing you.”

  “What’s your weakness?” I demand to know.

  “Oh.” She smiles. “My weakness is that I enjoy seeing others in pain. It’s symbiotic with Cyrian’s goals. That’s how we coexist so harmoniously.”

  She stands aside as the hunters reach us and shove Nathaniel toward the opening in the wall beside her.

  She clicks her tongue at him. “What a waste to do away with you so quickly.”

  She wafts past him, briskly striding all the way back toward Cyrian, calling out to the King as she goes. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider your decision, my darling Cyrian? I’m sure I could stretch out Nathaniel’s torture to your satisfaction.”

  Cyrian pauses as she approaches—along with Hagan, who stops in the middle of the road still holding Christiana—but they’re far enough away that I don’t hear Cyrian’s snide response.

  Nathaniel avoids another spear shoved at his back as he grabs me and pulls me toward him. There’s a storm in his eyes. “If I die, you’ll be released from the Law. Kill whomever you have to so that you can escape. Promise me.”

  The nearest hunter wrenches him away from me. “Stop talking!”

  “No! Nathaniel!” I reach for him, but a hunter rears up behind me, his grimy hand snapping around my neck and yanking me toward the left-hand side of the courtyard, away from Nathaniel.

  Fear strikes through me as the hunters drag Nathaniel into the center of the courtyard. A crystal-white whipping post sits in the middle. Every splash of blood will be visible on these white pebbles.

  About five paces opposite the whipping post is another tall post, but it’s not as wide in diameter and I’m not sure what it’s for. Elevated seats surround the yard. It’s like the Coliseum in Bright except on a much smaller scale.

  Until this moment, I was sure Nathaniel had a plan, that there would be a way to escape, but now my heart is cracking. Has he thought through every option and come up with nothing? Was Hagan trying to warn me that there is no escape when he asked me how far I’d go to save Nathaniel?

  I refuse to accept it.

  My belief that I’m afraid for Nathaniel simply because I want to be the one to kill him is no longer true. He’s a part of my heart and I won’t let him be ripped away from me.

  Just like the room in the castle, two thrones sit on the right-hand side of the courtyard, directly opposite where I stand. They’re positioned so that they have a clear view of both posts. The thrones are white—pristine like everything else—and made of stone.

  Hagan carries Christiana to the throne on the right and sits her in it, guiding her sleeping head to the armrest. He waits for Cyrian to take a seat on the other throne before he leaves Christiana. Then he strides toward me, wrenching me away from the hunter, whose grimy hands were sliding around places on my body where they don’t belong.

  “What are you doing?” I snarl. “Nathaniel’s about to die and you’re tying me up?”

  “Like I said: Nobody escapes Cyrian.” Hagan drags me to the second post, wrapping rope around my wrists and tying the other end of it around the post. I’m now tied on a kind of leash, standing only five paces away from Nathaniel and the whipping post. The hunters are trying to force Nathaniel’s arms behind his back so they can tie them around the post, but he isn’t making it easy for them.

  This is not an ordinary whipping, where his back will be cut open. Cyrian intends to rip Nathaniel apart, starting with his stomach.

  I wrench at the rope around my hands while Hagan grips me.

  “Wives get to watch their husbands die,” he says. “It’s Cyrian’s way.”

  His expression is closed off now and I know I’m not going to get anything from him.

  He spins toward Nathaniel, who has fought his way free.

  One of the hunters falls to the ground, his neck broken. Another doubles over as Nathaniel’s boot meets his stomach. Blood sprays when Nathaniel’s next kick shatters the man’s jaw.

  Nathaniel is two steps off the plate, charging toward me, when Hagan slams into him, evading a crushing blow to his head and ramming Nathaniel up against the whipping post hard enough to make it shudder. Four hunters run up behind Nathaniel to pull his arms back and tie his wrists before he can free himself from Hagan’s grip.

  On the throne, Cyrian appears completely unfrazzled. He orders one of the other hunters to retrieve the dead hunter’s body and drag it off to the side. Then he hands Tanner the whip.

  “You,” Cyrian says to Tanner. “Gut Nathaniel on my command.”

  Tanner grins as he strides toward the whipping post, measuring out the distance to determine where he needs to stand—halfway between Nathaniel and me, but off to my left to account for the arc of the whip’s tails.

  Once he’s ha
ppy with his position, he allows the whip to uncurl, its metal barbs rasping against the stones on the ground.

  Nathaniel’s chest is rising and falling rapidly. He pulls hard enough against the ropes around his wrists to make the post shudder again. He broke his chains earlier today, but if the hunters have tied the knots properly, there will be no slipping them.

  “Nathaniel!” Cyrian calls. “Consider what’s at stake if you continue to struggle.” He grabs Christiana’s sleeping head, lifting it above the stone armrest as if he’s going to bash her skull against the rock while she’s under his spell.

  Nathaniel exhales and inhales. He stops struggling, his focus firmly fixed to the ground.

  Ethel saunters into the arena as a commotion grows outside, heralding the arrival of the remaining hunters and the villagers they brought with them. They enter directly into the viewing stalls and I can only guess that the other two arched entryways contain stairs leading directly into the seating areas.

  There are hundreds of villagers, more than I expected, a mix of women, men, and children. All of them are pushed and shoved along by the hunters. Like the women tending to the hunter’s wounds earlier, they are clean but visibly malnourished, their clothing varying shades of beige. Many of them have scarred arms or legs, even the children. But one thing they have in common is that they all look to Nathaniel and many of them are crying, even the men.

  Whatever he says about his people loving his mother, they love him more.

  When they finally settle into their seats, Cyrian rises.

  “My people,” he says, smiling up at them. “I make the rules clear. As long as you obey me, I will provide you with work and food. For those who break the rules, punishment is swift and just.”

  He turns to Nathaniel, rage filling his voice. “Nobody breaks their promises to me. Not even Nathaniel, who was once mighty among you. Now he is nothing. Today, you will watch him die!”

  Chapter 21

  Nathaniel meets my eyes across the distance and his burning gaze compels me to look at him. Despite the threat to his sister, he strains at his bindings again, one last effort to break free. The way he’s looking at me… it’s as if he wants to race across the distance and throw his hands over my eyes and cover them. To cover my ears and protect me from everything that’s about to happen.

  Pointing at Nathaniel, the King’s silver wristbands gleam and his dark eyes flash. “Nathaniel was once your hope for the future. But his father betrayed you. All of you! He led our army to slaughter and for what?” Cyrian peers at the crowd. “Empty claims of glory.”

  He strides across to Nathaniel, pauses, and then lashes out with a fist to Nathaniel’s stomach. Nathaniel takes the beating, groaning and spitting blood onto the stones, breaking eye contact with me.

  Cyrian glides back to his throne. “It’s time to clean the stain from our history. But first… Nathaniel, I will give you one mercy. I will release your name.”

  He raises his hands, dark light swirling across his fingertips. He snaps his fingers and I sense something release—some sort of magical lock. Opposite me, Nathaniel drags a breath into his lungs, his knees buckling before he rights himself.

  “My name,” he breathes.

  He meets my eyes again across the distance and his expression changes. The hard, determined angles disappear, replaced by the intensity he showed me this morning. A faint smile lifts his lips that heats me all the way to my toes. He danced with me, told me he wanted me to trust him, drew his name on my face, defended me, promised to help me whenever I ask, treated me like an equal, respected my feelings and my strength…

  Whatever Nathaniel’s real name is—whoever he is—he is more important to me than anyone has ever been.

  Cyrian smiles. “Once Nathaniel is dead, Christiana will be my wife. Now that I’ve released her name, she can join me on the throne.” His grin broadens. “True power will then be mine.”

  He points at Tanner, giving him a firm nod. “Gut Nathaniel.”

  Tanner is already stepping into position.

  “Prepare for death, Nathaniel Displaced,” Tanner says, grinning back at me across his shoulder. “Your whore will join you soon.”

  Up in the stalls, villagers press their hands over their children’s eyes. A woman in the bottom row is openly sobbing, but a hunter hits her in the face with the butt of his dagger. She whimpers and covers her mouth with her hand.

  Nathaniel hasn’t dropped his gaze, focused on me. Only me. Not the King. Not his sister. Since dawn yesterday, I connected with him in ways I never expected. It doesn’t matter that he’s human or that we are destined to be the end of the other. He has done everything to keep me safe—to keep my identity hidden.

  Now… I’m the one who can save him.

  Tanner raises his arm, preparing to swing.

  I spin so that my back is to the throne and snatch the liquid dagger off my left hip. Twirling back, I pull the rope taut and slice through it. In the same movement, I slap the dagger back onto my hip so fast that all anyone will see is the flash of a blade—and that I’m free.

  My hands are still tied at the wrists, but I can move the way I need to. I time my leap. Envisage the distance in my mind and exactly where I need to be.

  Shouts rise up from the hunters as I dive toward the ground, somersaulting twice and flipping back to my feet.

  The whip’s deadly tails fly through the air toward Nathaniel’s stomach, but I rise up right where I want to be—directly between the whip and Nathaniel.

  Tanner shouts, but it’s too late for him to adjust. The lower tail strikes across my armor, dragging across my upper ribs. The upper tail strikes high across my shoulders, the final barb flicking out and catching my chin.

  The claws tear through my armor, but the resistance is just enough—the material just strong enough—that the whip doesn’t gouge my body, leaving bloody scratches beneath the torn material instead.

  Nathaniel roars behind me. I hear the fear and pain in his voice. He can’t see my face, won’t know if I’m okay, will picture me gutted instead of him, but I can’t turn around while Tanner is still standing.

  Ten paces away, the King shoots to his feet. Hagan is also poised to act—although his focus is on Christiana.

  All I’ve done so far is to take the first strike. I’m not enough of a threat for the King to attack me. Yet.

  Tanner recoils, sweat dripping down the side of his face.

  “Bitch!” he spits, dragging the whip through the stones. “Your armor may protect your body, but I’ll rip off your face.”

  I press the first two fingers of my left hand against my chin.

  They come away coated red.

  “A drop of blood,” I whisper, holding my hand out toward him.

  His eyes are blank.

  The whip drops from his hand and his legs buckle before he collapses onto the stones. He falls so hard that he smacks his head on the jagged stones and blood quickly pools beneath him.

  “No…” Nathaniel wrenches at the whipping post as I spin, snatch my dagger from my hip again, and slice through the ropes binding his wrists. I slap my dagger back to my hip, but the movement was more obvious that time and I’m bound to have been seen doing it.

  Cyrian screams from the side, staring at Tanner’s body. “What dark magic is this?”

  Ethel has turned pale, her hand clutched to her heart, frozen as she also stares at Tanner. Up in the stands, many of the onlookers have jumped to their feet while the hunters reach for their weapons to subdue them.

  I only have moments before chaos breaks out.

  I grab Nathaniel’s arm, pulling him close. “I’m sorry I can’t help your sister. But I won’t let you die. We have to run. Now.”

  Nathaniel glances back at his sister. “Christiana—”

  “I can’t help her, Nathaniel! We have to come back when I’m stronger.”

  He grips my arm, refusing to budge. “She might not be alive later!”

  My grip tightens, my heart
wrenching for him. He’s telling me that Cyrian could kill her before we return, but I have to make him understand that it’s a chance we have to take. “If we stay, we all die.”

  Blood is smeared across his face. His clothing is torn and bruises and welts have formed across his chest and thighs.

  The fight drains out of his eyes as I continue to grip his arm, unwavering in my determination to save him.

  He gives me a single nod.

  I don’t let him rethink, pulling him into a run. He’s injured, but I’m relying on his adrenaline to keep him moving.

  The doorway is only a few steps away when a wash of dark magic fills the air in front of us, rushing around us like a storm and blocking our path.

  Cyrian’s voice roars. “Stop! You will not leave.”

  The dark light thickens across the doorway, a barrier that appears impossible to get through. We skid to a stop, but I’m not afraid to test the magic, reaching my hand toward it.

  I jolt away from it. It’s pure malice. The heat burning off its surface tells me it will burn me alive if I touch it.

  “There’s no way out,” Cyrian calls, prowling toward us. “Nobody gets away from me without paying whatever price I ask. You know that already, Nathaniel.”

  Nathaniel’s grip tightens around my hand as we swing back to Cyrian. Up in the stands, hunters stand with arrows pointed at our hearts, but Cyrian shouts, “Do not kill them until I tell you to!”

  He stops beside Tanner’s body, bending to study the younger man’s vacant eyes.

  “Death by blood,” Cyrian murmurs, a curious frown descending across his forehead. He rubs his chin as he mumbles to himself. “Death without a weapon or even physical contact. Death by drawing blood… What magic is this?”

  His sharp gaze pins me to the spot as he rises and stalks me, his boots crunching loudly in the silence. “The answer lies in you. Or rather…”

  His fist darts out, snatching at my hip.