It felt like I was being swallowed by an endless sea, sinking into a massive, thundering whirlpool. I sucked in my breath and closed my eyes. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to feel it. I wanted so badly to picture that future, to picture him finally embracing me as a daughter, to going home again. To being a Queen. To living that life, that dream. I wanted to see it.
But I couldn’t.
Because all I could see was Archmagus Rolan, gurgling in the sand as my father’s dagger plunged into his eye. Markos and Tannyn, their corpses turning blue on the floor of their villa. That family murdered in the cottage, bodies strewn around like they were nothing, and that Watchman in Bridgetown, just doing his job before getting a knife to the skull. That Sister in the chair, eyes glassy, streaked with blood.
All I could see was Jax.
Jax, who would never matter. Jax, who my father would never see as family. Jax, who my father would have killed in a heartbeat.
Jax, who lay dead because of my father’s war.
And he wanted me to be Queen of the West.
I looked up at my father and met his eyes. “Sorry, Lord Kent,” I said. “But I’m just a bastard.”
I threw the Ring as hard as I could. Not at my father. Not at Lady Hampstedt. But between us, at the floor of the Great Hall.
Many things happened at once.
“No!” my father screamed.
His men dove and scattered.
Lady Hampstedt fired her crossbow.
The Ring whistled through the air, spinning, spiraling, casting that terrible crimson light in all directions….
And then it hit right where I’d been aiming, dead center on the wide hexagonal tile.
The explosion was deafening, a thunderous boom and a burst of red flame that scorched the walls and sent sizzling shards of ore flying in all directions. I heard screams as they struck my father’s men, but I didn’t even have time to process it, because the floor of the Great Hall shuddered and shattered, collapsing inward in a gaping maw of a sinkhole. We all fell together, in a shower of brick and dirt, down into the darkness of the tunnels.
I hit the ground, but not as hard as my father and his men, who hadn’t expected it. We were in the wide chamber below the Great Hall, the one that connected all the tunnels. I couldn’t see my father or his men through the thick, billowing cloud of dust between us, but I could hear them, shouting, coughing, drawing blades.
I had a moment, just a tiny, tiny moment before they realized what had happened, and I wasn’t going to waste it. I sprang to my feet and reached for the sack that had been lying next to me, the one with all the other tainted Rings.
“Stop her!” my father bellowed, but they couldn’t see me, couldn’t tell where I was going. I sprinted as hard as I could, ignoring the pain in my arm, ignoring the voice in my head that knew I was almost certainly about to die. The tunnels should have been pitch-black, but the sack illuminated my way, cutting through the darkness with a blinding rainbow of pulsing reds and blues and greens.
That wasn’t a good thing. The other Rings must have been jostled in the fall, because the sack rumbled with their energy. I could feel it shuddering, hear the cracking of gems like panes of glass.
I sprinted even harder through the narrow eastern tunnel, and then I was out in the fresh night air, under the stars, on that narrow rocky platform overlooking the sheer cliffs. A cold wind blew over me. The moon overhead was full and bright. Even as the sack in my hands started to burn, even as I heard my father scream behind me, I had a sudden moment of utter calm.
I saw myself and Jax on the platform’s edge, just one night ago, sitting together in loving silence, one last time.
I smiled and wound my arm up and hurled the sack as hard as I could.
It hurtled out of my hand, over the ledge, down into the abyss below. I watched in wonder as it ripped open midair and all the Rings went flying, like a multicolored star-scape, shining out across the night.
And then they blew up.
I heard a boom so loud I felt it in my bones. I heard ice snap and flame roar. I heard voices scream. I heard stone crumble.
I saw an enormous fireball that was every single color at once blast out, tearing through the mountains, lighting up the night sky brighter than the sun. In that fireball, I saw crystal shards and rivulets of lava and dancing bands of emerald light.
I felt myself lift off my feet and fly backward away from the ledge, into the tunnels, and smash incredibly hard into a stone wall. I felt my bones break and blood flood my mouth.
And then I felt nothing.
SMOKE WAS STINGING MY EYES and burning my throat.
I coughed and winced, blinking away tears. I was lying on a pile of sharp, jagged stones. I couldn’t tell what the hell I was looking at, at first, and then I realized it was the ceiling of the Great Hall, as seen from the tunnels through the hole where the floor used to be. The blast must have thrown me all the way back into the wide chamber.
That wasn’t the only damage it had done. Big chunks of the Great Hall’s ceiling were missing, having caved in from the blast. Tiny fires smoldered all around. Huge piles of broken stones lay around me, and underneath a few, I could make out the broken forms of crushed men. My father’s men. I tried to crane my head to look at them.
That was when I realized I was in the worst pain of my life.
I sucked in my breath and gritted my teeth. My left leg must have been tucked behind me when I hit the wall, because it was shattered now, broken clean in the middle of the shin, bloodied white bone jutting through. My foot was twisted around completely backward, like a doll a kid had played with too roughly. My chest felt like it was on fire, probably from a couple of broken ribs, and every time I coughed, I spat blood.
I was going to die here, wasn’t I? Yeah. No way I made it out of this.
And even though a tiny part of me screamed in horror, the rest of me was surprisingly calm. Better to die here than back in the tower, at Razz’s hands. Better here than in Bridgetown. Better here than in the skarrling’s mine, better here than on the road, better here than on Whitesand Beach. Better to die here than live a lie.
If I died here, I’d die Tilla of the tunnels. I could live with that.
A whimpering from somewhere in the smoke snapped me out of my calm. I squinted and could make out a hunched, sobbing form. It was Miles, his fancy tunic torn, his face caked with soot. Lady Robin Hampstedt lay next to him on her stomach, not moving. There was something weird about her head, and then I realized it wasn’t there at all, crushed under a huge stone chunk.
I tried to say something, but then another shape stepped in front of me, tall and thin, clad all in black. A hand grabbed my jaw and slammed my head back into the wall, and then a face leaned right into mine.
“You little bitch,” my father snarled. A long cut on his forehead bled into his eyes, and his hair was messy and burned. Any love or pride he’d had was gone. All that was left was hot, raging hate. “You stupid, traitorous little bitch.” He pulled a small, slender knife out of a sheath on his boot and jammed its cold tip against my throat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea what you’ve cost me?” I felt a sting as its trembling blade punctured my skin. “I should kill you right now. I should cut your ungrateful, selfish little throat….”
And now I wasn’t scared at all. Not of him. Not of his knife. I was tired and sore and angry, angry at everything he’d put me through, angry that I’d ever even wanted his worthless love. I looked right into his hateful green eyes, and I forced my cracked lips into a smile. “Then do it,” I said.
He stared at me, nostrils flaring, hand shaking. But he couldn’t do it. Even after everything I’d done to him, he couldn’t hurt me, his first daughter, his true daughter. He turned away with a roar and hurled his knife at the tunnel’s wall, where it bounced with a clatter. And I grinned and laughed.
Voices sounded from a distance, people shouting. More Kent men? Or was it Lyriana and Galen?
My fa
ther collected himself with a deep breath, then walked over and jerked Miles up to his feet by his collar. “Quit your blubbering,” he commanded. “We have to go now.”
“My…mother…” Miles moaned. “She killed my mother. She killed my mother!”
“Yes. She did. Which makes you the Lord of House Hampstedt. You know what that means, don’t you?” My father leaned down into Miles’s face. “It means we have a war to win.”
Miles sniffled but nodded. Without so much as another glance back at me, the two stormed off, leaving me alone, slumped against the wall, mangled, bleeding, choking on smoke, unable to move.
I hoped Zell was okay. I hoped Lyriana was okay. That was all I cared about now.
I smiled and closed my eyes.
The darkness took me.
DAYLIGHT.
A beige canopy, swaying gently.
The smell of herbs, and earth, and freshly cut flowers.
Where…?
I blinked awake. I was lying on a stretcher in some kind of a makeshift tent, wrapped up in a thin white sheet. A pair of iron braziers stood on opposite sides of my bed, and there was obviously something weird burning inside them because the smoke coming out was green and smelled like spices and cinnamon. I had no idea how, but my body didn’t hurt at all; it felt numb and distant, like I was just a floating soul.
“Hey there,” Zell said from somewhere nearby. “Welcome back.”
I craned my head to the side, and there he was, the color back in his face, looking just as strong and healthy as he did when I’d met him. He sat on a stool by my bedside, and his eyes lit up as he smiled. He’d made it. He was alive! And so, apparently, was I.
“Zell,” I choked out, my throat scratchy and raw. “You’re okay!”
“I am. Got a new scar, too.” He lifted up his shirt to show me his stomach. Right where his father has slashed him, just left of his abs, was a wide white strip of scar tissue. It was faded, impossibly so, like something from a wound suffered a decade ago.
“How…?”
“The Sisters of Kaia.” Zell jerked his head to the side, and I noticed a woman sitting behind him. Her face was hidden behind a golden gossamer veil, but I could make out dark skin and green eyes. She held her Ringed hands together and rocked back and forth slightly, humming softly. “They saved both our lives.”
“Well, we saved theirs.” I lifted my head, just a little, to check myself out. My leg was splinted and bandaged up, the bone set with a pair of metal rods. My right forearm was wrapped up just as tightly, but there was some kind of weird flowering vine tied around the outside of the bandage, like a string on a present. The vine pulsed and throbbed, just a little, like someone giving my arm a gentle squeeze. I clenched my hand into a fist, and lifted it up and moved it around. It all worked. “Whoa.”
Zell reached out and took that hand, gently lacing my fingers with his. Somehow, that touch made this all feel real. I’d actually survived. And there was nothing in the world that felt better than Zell’s skin against mine. “My thought as well. What these Sisters can do…it’s beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. I see now why they are so powerful, and so feared.”
“Lyriana,” I asked, suddenly remembering. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Better than fine, really. Would you like to go see her?” Zell glanced back at the Sister in the corner of the tent. “May I take Tilla out for a walk?”
The Sister stopped humming, and the vine around my arm stopped throbbing. “That should be fine. Just make sure to come back before sunset. Her wounds are still healing.” Even through the veil, I could see her smirk. “Don’t do anything too physical.”
“Too physical? Like what?” Zell asked, and then got it. “Oh…I mean…We—we wouldn’t. Not that we couldn’t….I just mean, not now, necessarily, unless, well, unless she wanted to, but…we wouldn’t—”
I laughed and pressed two fingers to Zell’s lips. Him being flustered was maybe the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. “We’ll be fine,” I said, and Zell gave my fingers the tiniest kiss, and I decided maybe I’d push just how physical we could get after all.
Zell helped me out of the bed and slung a strong arm under my shoulders to help me walk. I leaned into him, maybe a little more than I had to, and we made our way toward the tent’s entrance. My legs felt floaty and numb, my feet tingling with each step. “How long was I out?”
“Two days.” Zell pushed open the tent’s flap, and we stepped out, squinting against the daylight. We were in what appeared to be a makeshift army camp, a cluster of tents stretching out in all directions. Mages bustled by, armored warriors with swords floating at their backs, robed scholars carrying heavy tomes, and veiled Sisters drifting wordlessly from tent to tent. At the edge of the camp, I could see the entrance to Pioneer’s Pass. Long black scorch marks ran along the valley’s walls, and huge chunks of stone had been blasted away. It looked as scarred as we were.
A battle had been fought here. Galen had gotten his counterambush after all.
“I take it the mages won,” I said.
Zell nodded. “They did. That blast you caused was visible for miles away. When the mages saw it, they knew something had gone wrong, so they charged into the Pass in battle formation. Your father’s men were still waiting for their orders.” He paused. “The battle lasted less than an hour.”
“My father?” I asked.
“He escaped, along with Miles. They fled back west, along with what was left of his army.”
So he lived. There was that.
Zell led me toward the center of the camp. Obviously, this was where the important people were. The tents were bigger, and the mages looked older, more weathered, more serious. We passed a group of men gathered around a long table, talking in hushed tones. Galen was among them, his face healed. He met my gaze as we passed, and he gave me a quick, knowing nod. I’m pretty sure he was saying thanks.
The biggest tent was right in the middle, nearly five times bigger than the others, with a high ceiling and an ornate gold trim. Two hulking mages stood outside, their faces hidden behind mirrored helms, their hands encased in clawed silver gauntlets. They seemed to recognize Zell, though. One nodded, and the other pulled open the tent’s flap.
We stepped inside. This was obviously some kind of war room, lit up by a half-dozen floating balls of Light. Stacks of books and maps lined the tent’s walls, and a massive darkwood table took up most of the room. A map rested on top of it, not a flat drawing like I’d always seen, but an actual tiny version of the West, like the world’s most detailed dollhouse, complete with snow-tipped mountains and little green forests and even running rivers that flowed impossibly up to the edge of the table. Dozens of little ivory figurines had been set up all over it, toy soldiers with House banners hoisted over them, all the armies of the West laid out.
At any other point in my life, I would have been totally fascinated and probably spent hours just staring at it. But now I was mostly interested in the person standing behind the table. Lyriana had cleaned up and looked amazing. She wore a shimmering black dress and a beaded golden circlet, and her hair was braided in a handful of intricate circling bands. She was talking to a tall man in an ornate robe, but she spun toward me the moment I walked in. “Tilla!” She sprinted toward me, almost knocking the table over. “You’re awake!”
She grabbed me in a ferocious hug, and I stumbled backward. Zell had to catch us. “Easy there,” he said. “Tilla is still a little weak.”
“Sorry,” Lyriana said, but she kept hugging me just as tightly. “I’m just so happy to see you again!”
I grinned and hugged her back. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“So this is the famous Tillandra,” the man in the ornate robe said, his voice low and silky. He stepped toward us, and now I could see him clearly in the tent’s soft light. He was young, maybe twenty, tall and thin, with skin as dark as Lyriana’s and a face that looked uncannily like hers as well. His hair was neatly curled around his head, an
d a thin, stubbly beard lined his elegant jaw. His eyes burned a furious red, like the brightest roses in Lady Evelyn’s garden. He strode across the room, his crimson robe billowing out behind him like a cape, and bowed his head ever so slightly. “It’s my honor to meet you.”
“My cousin, Ellarion,” Lyriana introduced.
I didn’t know if I was supposed to bow or offer my hand or what, so I just kind of stood there. Ellarion didn’t seem put out. “Lyriana told me everything you did for her. My family owes you a debt beyond words. When you arrive at Lightspire, I shall ensure that you want for nothing.”
“All I want now is a hot bath and a cold drink,” I replied.
Ellarion smirked. “A girl after my own heart,” he said as Lyriana rolled her eyes.
Was he hitting on me? That would be weird, right? I glanced to Zell for help, but he was standing by the war table, head cocked to the side as he studied the pieces. “Kent’s men flee to Castle Waverly,” he said. “Will you ride after them?”
Ellarion scowled. “As badly as I want to, we must hold and wait for reinforcements, for orders from King Leopold. We came out here prepared for an incursion into Zitochi lands, not a damned Second Great War.” He turned to me. “A special caravan will take you three back to Lightspire. I’ll ride with you the whole way, just in case. My cousin is heir to the throne. Her safety is paramount.” I swear his red eyes actually flickered, like a candle’s flame. “But I will return here. Lord Kent will be brought to justice. He’ll pay for what he did to my father. I promise you that.”
I tried to think of a suitable response to that but came up empty. The truth is, I just didn’t care anymore. They could lock my father away in the darkest dungeon or mount his head on the walls of Castle Waverly. It didn’t matter. That part of my life was done. I was alive, Lyriana and Zell were alive, and we’d escaped. That was all I cared about.
Royal Bastards Page 28
