Golden Crown

by M. Lynn

  “This is what you’ve wanted,” La Dame said. “Ever since the day these powers invaded your heart. They are who you are, who you’re supposed to be. My Rapunzel.”

  “Rapunzel,” Etta whispered, the name sounded wrong. She wasn’t Rapunzel. Rapunzel had been courageous. She’d given up everything to escape this life. She’d never ceded control. No, Etta wasn’t her. She was weak. The darkness crumbled everything beneath her until her feet no longer stood on solid ground.

  She thrust her fist against the floor. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves in her skin. She hit it again. The blood trickled between her fingers. On the third time, the ground rumbled as if she called her magic from the depths of the earth. The mountain that housed the palace shook. Pillars of stone fell around them.

  “More,” La Dame yelled. “Release it all.”

  Maiya screamed as she dodged falling stone, her dark curls coated in raining debris. “Etta, you’re going to bury us.”

  She didn’t care. All that mattered was tearing it down. Holes punched into her soul and she screamed as if it was ripping her apart. Her body couldn’t hold it. The magic must be released. She raised up on her hands and knees as someone else ran into the room. “Etta!” Tyson yelled.

  “No.” She shook her head, unable to see anything but darkness. “No!”

  “Etta stop,” Maiya pleaded. “She’s trying to drain your magic. To make the Basile power leave you! If you use too much of it, you won’t get it back.”

  Tyson acted quickly, sending a tunnel of water straight for her, but La Dame blocked it. The force of his halted magic threw Tyson into Maiya and they crumpled to the ground.

  La Dame laughed as Etta’s power built. The dark queen jumped away from falling stone. “Come to me, Rapunzel. Together, we can hold the world.”

  She held out a hand.

  Etta stood slowly and stepped forward. “I am not Rapunzel,” she gritted out, forcing breath into her lungs. Her feet moved as if stuck in quicksand as it pulled her down, trying to take the words before she could say them. “I am not yours. My father was Viktor Basile. I am the rightful Belaen queen. You will not control me.” La Dame brought up her hands to ward off Etta’s magic with her own, but it was no use. The burst of light broke through her shield, striking La Dame in the center of her chest.

  She stumbled back but remained upright. Etta advanced, her power begging to test itself against La Dame’s again.

  The Basile magic and La Dame’s existed to balance each other. To make sure each always had an equal, an opponent. It was never meant to be on the same side.

  The hatred that burned through Etta was strongest when staring into the eyes of her greatest enemy—the woman who’d destroyed her kingdom, her family.

  “No more,” Etta said, mostly to herself. Power twisted in the palms of her hands as she raised them in the air. It writhed and fought for supremacy, matching the darkness in her eyes.

  She didn’t notice Tyson and Maiya dragging Esme out of the way as her eyes were solely focused on her opponent who was now finding it hard to breathe. La Dame clutched at her throat, trying to break the magic.

  But she couldn’t. She knew it the moment Etta lifted her into the air. She’d pushed her too far, past the point of conversation, past the road that led to redemption.

  The ancient Basile power that had seen kingdoms rise and fall and lain dormant for generations gathered within Etta’s heart, pulling in all its strength.

  She threw La Dame back against the wall with so much force, the mountain shook once more. Her lip curled up, and she hardened her eyes as the magic detonated like a bomb inside of her, ripping her soul to shreds before slamming into La Dame. It curled with her own power before light burst from her every orifice.

  La Dame dropped to the ground, her face twisted in pain, and her body charred almost beyond recognition.

  Power blasted from La Dame, latching onto Etta’s. She wouldn’t let it go.

  Etta stared at her, the rage continuing to burn. She wanted to hurt them all. The ones who betrayed her. The ones who fought for La Dame. They would pay.

  “Etta,” Tyson called.

  She turned. Her brother stood next to Maiya and a now upright Esme. Their ending would come with one flick of her hand. The desire to see their pain pierced what was left of her heart and she ran towards them. They didn’t deserve her magic. She picked up her sword on the way and lunged, expecting blade to meet flesh.

  Steel flashed in front of her face as Tyson blocked her thrust.

  “Etta,” he said. “Stop.”

  “You don’t give me orders,” she growled as she lunged for Maiya again. Maiya jumped away and metal clanged against metal as Tyson blocked her once again.

  “This isn’t you,” he yelled. “Fight it. Fight the magic.”

  “The magic is me.” Her voice shook with crazed intensity. “I am the Basile heir.”

  “Please.” His eyes flicked between her and what remained of La Dame. “We need you, Etta. We’re losing out there.”

  “Etta,” a voice sounded around her. Ara. “There’s another force moving in from the South. We can’t hold our position here. Get us inside those walls.”

  Some sense of purpose returned to her. Maiya’s fate had to wait. Sword in hand, she took off running. Along the palace halls, tables lay on end, chairs were strewn about, paintings had fallen from walls.

  Everything was a blur as she tried to find her way. The past melted away until all that existed was the power. Where was she? Who was she? The magic took hold of the beat of her heart, her every breath. Pain sliced through her chest, the power tearing her up from the inside.

  She couldn’t stop.

  It wanted to ravage.

  Blackness swam before her eyes but she pushed on.

  Outside those walls were people who deserved its wrath. They’d followed the woman who tried to keep the power from its rightful owner.

  She paused at the entrance to the palace. The onyx pillars that had been so ominous before, now leaned, doing their best to hold up a falling roof. The earth shook again with the tremors of what her magic had done.

  Wood cracked and her eyes snapped to the source. The portrait of Rapunzel had fallen from its place of honor, its cherry red frame broken. The woman in the painting stared at Etta through her own eyes.

  “Rapunzel,” Etta breathed, only slightly aware of Tyson’s approach. Her father thought he was so clever, using a different language to name her for the first woman who defied La Dame—her own daughter.

  Persinette was the last. The final. La Dame was no more. At that thought, Etta’s power leaped inside of her and she turned her back on the girl they all wanted her to be.

  She might have had the golden hair and the defiant eyes, but she was no Rapunzel.

  Outside the palace, chaos reigned. The battle had closed in on them. Madrans faced off against mercenaries from their own kingdom. Belaen sorcerers fought those from Dracon. None of them knew La Dame was gone. She’d disappeared from this land without everything breaking apart and Etta had never felt more powerful because of it.

  Before, her power had only been part of a whole, but the magic she’d taken from La Dame made it complete.

  “Etta,” Tyson said. “We need to get to the gatehouse.” He pointed down the road that would lead to the structure containing the mechanism that opened the large gate. Etta shook her head. How did he expect her to follow him when there were so many enemies to be dealt with here?

  She balled up her fist, letting the magic pool together before throwing it forward. Draconians, Belaens, and Madrans alike flew through the sky, blasted apart, leaving behind a gaping hole in the earth.

  One side of Etta’s mouth curled up, and she held her sword aloft as she charged toward a group of Draconians. They gave her everything they had, sending their magic her way, but she brushed each bit of power away. Nothing could stop her.

  Pulling back her own power, she dove into the fight, only releasing it in pie
ces as she sliced through her enemies. Warm blood splattered onto her face and she laughed. A tall Draconian man with thick tattoos snaking down both arms charged at her. She held up one palm, and he stopped, clutching at his throat as she sucked every bit of air from his lungs.

  His face contorted, and he fell to his knees. Other Draconians tried to help him and she fought them off while maintaining her hold.

  The magic seeped deep into her mind, stealing everything from her except for her need to fight.

  When his body stopped twitching, she raised her eyes to the horror-filled face of a battle-weary Balean soldier. Edmund. His name was Edmund. She tried to recall anything else about him but shook her head when she couldn’t and tried to bull by him. He blocked her path, putting a hand on her arm to hold her back.

  “Etta,” he said.

  She flicked her eyes from his face to the hand on her arm, the magic goading her into doing something about it. One last shred of sanity reminded her Belaens weren’t the enemy, but that was as far as it went. If they weren’t her enemies, what were they? She didn’t know. The confusion locked with the darkness swirling inside of her. Nothing. They were nothing.

  A blast sounded behind them and Etta turned, ready to meet whoever sent rock raining down on them. She froze when her eyes met those of the woman she’d come to destroy.

  La Dame’s charred body healed itself, pink skin slowly smoothing over the burned surface. Soon, only her eyes spoke of fire.

  Fear tried to intrude on Etta’s mind but she pushed it away. There was no time to be afraid.

  Edmund stepped up to her side as if he would be any help against the sorceress. The battle swirled around them. Grunts of pain. Clashes of steel. Bodies dropping to the ground. But none of it would make any difference. It didn’t matter how many Draconians were killed if their sorcerer lived; how much blood was spilled if Etta lost.

  “You have something that belongs to me,” La Dame said, not a hint of emotion in her voice. She narrowed her eyes.

  Etta breathed heavily, control unraveling in her chest.

  “You feel it.” La Dame cocked her head. “My magic fights with yours.”

  Pain sliced through Etta’s chest and she doubled over.

  “Etta,” Edmund yelled.

  La Dame took a step forward. “It’s going to destroy you. That much power. You must release it all.”

  Etta sucked air through her teeth and shook her head. “I can’t let it return to you.”

  “Shame. We could have done great things together.”

  Etta’s ribs cracked as if being broken apart from the inside. She screamed and fell to her knees.

  La Dame advanced with the eyes of a predator. She circled Etta but Edmund drew his sword, blocking her way. Etta’s cry ripped through the air as the magic pulsed through her limbs, hitting every nerve along her bones. A soldier fell beside her, hitting the ground with a thud and going still.

  La Dame flicked her eyes from Edmund’s sword to Etta who struggled to rise. “You can’t protect her, boy. Not when the thing she needs protection from is herself.” She advanced.

  Etta lifted her eyes as her stomach cramped and sweat beaded across her brow. A growl ripped from her throat. “No!”

  Sympathy entered La Dame’s gaze but Etta thought she imagined it. Why would the woman feel sorry for her? She wanted to destroy her. To recover the power squeezing around Etta’s heart.

  “You feel it.” La Dame’s lip curled. “The darkness. You want to give in to it. Your magic pulled mine in like two of the same kind, but they aren’t the same at all, are they? Soon, what you took from me will overcome everything inside of you. Every light will be extinguished and you will finally understand.”

  A tear tracked down Etta’s soot-covered face as she gave in to the agony breaking her. “Understand what?”

  La Dame leaned down, her black eyes dangerous. “What it truly means to be me. I am not the villain in your story, Persinette, dear. You are.”

  The words sank into Etta, ringing truer than any before them. Was La Dame right? Etta shook her head, trying to let the buzzing of her magic drown out the battle cries around them. Soldiers died because of her. She’d brought them here. She’d been determined to break the curse and to destroy the woman who’d taken everything from her. But at what cost? She’d been right. La Dame knew they’d come. She knew Etta would surrender herself to the power, to the darkness.

  She’d planned for it.

  A smile tilted La Dame’s lips. Whichever army defeated the other this day, the ancient sorceress thought she’d won.

  But she was just a woman now. Only a Draconian with an ability to heal. Unless Etta released it, she no longer had the power to do as she wished; to finally take the last curse-bearer under her power.

  Etta gritted her teeth, pushing a stab of pain away from her mind. “You,” she breathed, her voice growing louder with each word. “Will. Not. Destroy.” She rose to her feet, her magic curling in her palms. “Me.”

  She did as La Dame wished. She released it, but it wasn’t La Dame’s own power that struck the space between them. Basile magic, once trapped by La Dame’s curse, struck her in the chest, burning through her. Light exploded from every orifice and a scream fractured everything the world knew to be true.

  La Dame had been the most powerful woman there was. She’d terrorized people for centuries, trapping three entire kingdoms in the palm of her hand.

  No longer.

  Now there was Persinette.

  Beside her, Edmund gasped as La Dame’s body withered until only a cloud of ash remained. No more healing. No more magic.

  Etta’s magic snapped back into her chest, sending her stumbling back in shock. Was La Dame really gone.

  “Etta, watch out!”

  Seconds after Edmund’s warning, the sun glinted off an oncoming blade. Etta ducked, rolling to the ground and retrieved a knife laying abandoned nearby. Her attacker swung his sword down and she lunged for his legs, slicing the blade across the armor gaps behind each knee.

  The large man dropped his sword, pitching forward with a roar leaving his mouth. Etta scrambled out of the way as he fell where she’d been only moments before.

  He wasn’t dead, but Etta no longer cared. Her eyes returned to the place La Dame had disappeared from as her lungs struggled for breath. Her magic and La Dame’s continued to battle within her, making her head feel as if it had cracked open.

  “Get us through that gate!” The cry surrounded them, spreading through the air, blanketing them in the desperation of the small force they’d left outside Dracon. Ara’s voice grew frantic, but Etta felt the girl’s magic weakening.

  Bela was being overwhelmed.

  A horn blared from a distance.

  Landon ran toward them, blood and grit dripping down his face. “That’s a Madran horn,” he panted, putting his hands on his knees and shaking his head.

  “She kept a part of her mercenary army from the fight and now…” Edmund’s mouth dropped open in horror.

  Tyson joined them and finished the thought. “They’re outside the gates.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Ara.”

  A low hum rumbled through Etta’s chest and she gave one short shake of her head. “We aren’t losing this fight.”

  They tried to follow her as she walked directly through the center of the battle, but she threw a magical barrier behind her to make them stay. In this, she must be alone.

  The Belaen’s were outmatched. These people barely had any training and had spent most of their lives trying to hide the fact their magic existed inside of them.

  Hers no longer only existed. It lived. It grew. It pushed her to new limits.

  It became her.

  No one could touch her when she left the Belaen defenses to move directly among the Draconians. Every slash of a sword or blast of magic was met with bone-crushing resistance. She barely had to make a move. The magic flowed out of her effortlessly.

  “Enough,” she said to no o
ne but herself.

  A battle is loud. It’s dirty and chaotic and everything Etta never wanted to see in her life. But once she’d seen it, it called to her.

  Etta blocked out the call. She pushed away every crash of a weapon and the screams of the injured. The only thing that existed to her was the song of the magic in her veins; the pain of the war within her. She funneled the power down her arms and into her hands, her golden hair once again picking up the ethereal glow.

  Her lips tilted up, but the concentration in her face was unmistakable. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness consume her. Inhaling deeply, she pushed the magic out of her, tunneling it down directly into the earth.

  Her body vibrated with the energy and it felt good. When the earth began to shake and crack open, she didn’t move. A deafening sound came from deep in the ground as her magic tore it apart.

  She didn’t open her eyes until something hard slammed into her from the side and she fell. Her eyes snapped open to find Edmund on top of her.

  “Get off,” she yelled.

  He rolled sideways, a flash of pain crossing his weary face. It was only then that she saw the gash in his stomach.

  “You’re hurt,” she accused. Was she supposed to care? She remembered time spent with the man, but the magic blocked her from feeling anything at all, yet something told her to pause and make sure he wasn’t going to die.

  “You trying to get yourself killed?” He pressed a hand to the open wound to stop the bleeding.

  He stared behind her and she turned to find a rip in the earth separating the two armies. Some tried to cross it, but it was too wide. The fighting inside Dracon was paused for now.

  As she decided on her next move, something didn’t let her leave him. “Dammit,” she growled, lunging for the blond man’s arm. Jerking him to her roughly, she put a hand against his wound and it began to close.

  “You are still in there.” His stare hurt as if he tried to see something that was no longer there. She turned away.

  “Etta,” Ara’s voice sounded again. Another horn blasted through the confusion, different from the one before.

  “That’s not a Madran horn.” Edmund’s eyes widened. “It’s…”