And then he met her beneath the shadow of the wall, and she attacked. I’d seen that girl best everyone she’d ever faced, including berserker kings and hirðmenn. But she didn’t best Falco now. He didn’t fall to her deadly daggers as everyone else inevitably did. He fought. Like I’d never seen anyone fight. Not even my husband, or this dead slaughterman who’d been awakened for his violence. No one.
His sword cut her dagger from the air and then he was upon her, slashing the second and third blades from her hands before she’d had a chance to use them. He spun and sliced, almost taking her head off, but she managed to duck low and into the swing, coming up inside with a jab of her dagger at his guts. Falco pulled back, slamming her hard with his sword-hilt to avoid the stab and then advancing on top of her as she retreated. He didn’t give her an inch or a second, instead using his incredible bladework to attack and attack, pushing her further back. It was brutal and savage in the morning sunlight, a thing none of us had expected to witness.
‘Sword,’ Ambrose breathed in utter disbelief.
I agreed with a faint nod. ‘He’s … This is … How did he …?’
‘Quiet,’ Thorne, the ass, ordered in a growl, his eyes glued to the fight. I refrained from punching him in the side of the head.
Isadora was bleeding in multiple places, but so too was Falco, I now saw. She had used his heavy attack to draw him into an aggressive stance, and when he was halfway through a forward slash she flicked her dagger down into his foot, causing his balance to shift enough that she could step up off his thigh and swing her boot into his face. His head snapped back and he fell, but he was already curling his spine enough to flip onto his feet. His swords moved at the same time, circling around and slashing through her middle; she leapt above them and sent her knee into his throat. It got a bit unruly then – they both went down and Falco lost hold of his swords, while Isadora punched and scrabbled wildly.
It didn’t see what happened as they scuffled, but suddenly she was thrown free, hitting the ground hard. When Fal followed this up he was only brandishing one sword. Isadora slid out of his way, rolling until she was on her feet, and then she was wielding the second sword.
‘Gods, damn it,’ Thorne cursed. ‘He can’t let her have the other sword.’
‘It’s too big for her,’ Ambrose argued. ‘It’ll weigh her down.’
‘Isn’t that what we want?’ I said, but it fell into a hollow space made of horror. Watching this felt instinctively wrong. Because what was becoming clear was how well matched they were – how perfectly in sync their bodies. Whatever had driven her to betray him was brutal, because they weren’t meant to kill each other. That was blatantly obvious, witnessing this. They were a match, forged as two halves of a whole.
‘I feel sick,’ Finn whispered. ‘This is wrong.’
I hadn’t seen her appear, but as I glanced at Finn now I saw how grey her skin was and how deathly unwell she looked. I put my arm around her and gathered her to my side.
‘Can’t we make them stop?’ she whispered. ‘I could. I could make them.’
‘And then the Mad Ones rain death upon us all,’ Thorne grunted.
‘If he wins we have to face them anyway,’ I said.
‘Better than facing that lot at the same time,’ Ambrose muttered, waving over his shoulder at the hoard of enemies waiting there for Falco to lose.
He couldn’t lose. Wild hope was in my chest at the sight of how he fought. He couldn’t lose. Not now. Only she wasn’t exactly a pushover. They were attacking each other with their single swords, striking and slashing and parrying and dodging. It was so fast I could barely keep up with who did what.
An upwards strike cut straight through Isadora’s cheek, and she was only barely quick enough to tilt her head and stop her ear from being sliced off. A thick lock of her hair fell wispily to the grass and was trampled by Falco’s boot as he lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into her ribs. We all heard her gasp of pain as several of them cracked. Falco didn’t follow through, finishing her as he could have, but paused to give her a moment.
We all moved closer, enthralled by the barbaric scene. ‘Stand up,’ I heard him snarl.
‘Stop holding back!’ she replied, and flicked an invisible knife into his right arm. It sank deep to the hilt and I saw the colour leave his face. She was already running at him as he transferred his sword into his left hand and parried the oncoming slash. Clang went their steel, again and again. I was sure it could have gone on forever had not one of them faltered, surprising us all.
A gasp left my mouth.
Thorne took two steps forward and forcibly stopped himself.
Finn wailed.
And we watched as one of the fighters sank to cradle the dying one’s head.
Chapter Thirty-four
Falco
I realised partway through.
Fate’s fools no longer. Meaning this was her choice. And I knew her choice – knew it as intimately as I knew my own. To destroy the Mad Ones. It had been this and always this. So, because she couldn’t lucid dream anymore, she’d drawn them out and presented them to us. And as she changed the world with one move, I realised what the rest of her plan was. I realised why she’d called me Emperor Feckless: it was how she’d gotten them to agree to the fight. Emperor Feckless had finally done his gods-cursed job. And Isadora’s one move was this.
Dropping her wrist instead of raising it.
She was too good not to do that on purpose. Too good not to block my low strike. Too good to allow my sword to impale her body, slicing straight into her stomach and back out again. Her one move was letting me win. It had been her move all along, right from the very beginning.
Shock petrified my body. Everything drained from me, everything.
I sank to my knees. The sword fell from trembling fingers.
I managed to drag her dying body into my lap. Blood from her stomach smeared my hands and then her face as I frantically touched her cheeks and lips. ‘Why did you do that?’ I whispered. ‘Why didn’t you block me? You were meant to block me, Iz.’ I felt numb. Numb all the way into my soul. ‘Why didn’t you block me.’
Her eyes opened, clouded with pain. But she smiled. ‘Wait for Penn. It should have been long enough now.’
I tried to ask what she meant but what came out was, ‘You were meant to block my sword.’
‘Falco,’ she sighed, blood spilling from her mouth. ‘Don’t look so worried. All’s well. We’re not bonded anymore, remember?’
I pressed my trembling lips to hers. ‘Of course we are.’
And I felt Isadora smile against my mouth. ‘Of course we are,’ she agreed.
The last thing I saw before she closed her eyes was the brilliant, blazing gold, not of the bond, but of true love, chosen freely.
Chapter Thirty-five
Falco
I had thought I understood pain. I hadn’t.
There was noise all around. Some were screaming their approval, our victory, others were shouting their rage at her death. Berserkers chanted their battle cry and pounded on their shields. It was hectic and chaotic and no one knew what to do.
I turned my head and looked up at the wall. Dren and Galia were gazing upon me in fury. This was not part of their plan; it was hers. It had been hers all along. To die for us. But I had failed her, because the Mad Ones were honourless and broke our deal by shouting, ‘Attack!’
She must have known they would. So what was the end of her plan? Why go through this? To get them outside? Wait for Penn, she’d said, but I couldn’t see him anywhere and battle was exploding behind me. Armies met with a rush of steel. Warder magic sent bodies flying and the furious roars of berserkers rung out into the morning air. And within it all I could see Dren and Galia fleeing the wall for the safety of their palace.
‘Stop them!’ I roared.
Osric sent waves of power at them, but they were getting away. I had to get up onto that wall. I had to kill them, or Izzy had died for nothing. A sick, t
ormented grief fuelled me as I surged to my feet.
But then.
‘Wait,’ someone said. Finn. ‘Wait wait wait. She’s not … Fal, I don’t think she’s dead.’
My eyes travelled a long way back to her body, dreading what I would see: the evidence not of her monstrousness, but of mine. What kind of creature kills his own mate – for anything? She was paler than death, but then she always was. The red on her face and body matched her eyes, closed now. I shook my head. She was dead.
‘No, really,’ Finn said, fingers pressed at the pulse in her neck. A woozy, urgent hope struck me. ‘Osric!’ she shouted.
King Thorne and Ambrose had moved to block us from attack, fighting back those who got through our ranks, giving us precious time. Osric arrived, the set of his shoulders exhausted.
‘Can you heal her?’ Finn asked.
His mouth tightened and he shook his head. Disbelief and something much uglier surged inside me. I backhanded him hard across the face. ‘Heal her,’ I snarled.
‘Majesty,’ he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood. ‘I’m drained and she’s too far gone. I must focus my last energy on keeping the tracer on the Mad Ones, or they will be lost to us.’
‘I can!’ a high voice panted. I turned to see an orange-haired girl. ‘I can do it!’
‘She can,’ Ambrose agreed. ‘Good girl. Quickly.’
The girl sank beside Izzy and we watched her eyes go white. After a few seconds she was sweating. ‘I can’t. She’s too wounded … I can’t get her far enough back.’
It occurred to me. An idea. Probably a foolish one. I dropped to my knees and took Isadora’s hand. ‘Then don’t. Leave some of the wound, enough to cause her pain.’
‘What in gods names are you on about?’ Finn demanded.
‘Do it,’ I told the warder.
Isadora
The void was filled with screaming.
But there was a voice within it, his voice, and through the madness it said, ‘Don’t wake up.’
Pain exploded through my stomach and my eyes flew open.
The sky was filled with thousands of burning, falling stars. There were enormous black wings flapping above and around, cocooning me, buffeting the heart of the world. And there was Falco. His eyes were crystal, his hair shaved off, his nose crooked. ‘Don’t wake up,’ he told me, and I looked down to realise he’d jammed his fingers inside the wound his sword had made.
Pain tethered me. Slowly I realised what he’d done, what was happening, and I smiled.
I rose, a thrill of dark power rising with me. Over my eyes was a film of blood; through it I gazed at the dream realm. They were all here, staring at me in shock, their edges blurred and flickering. Ambrose and King Thorne and Finn and Jonah and Osric. But not –
‘Where’s Penn?’ I demanded as air rushed my lungs, filled them, buoyed them up off the ground. My hand reached for Falco’s, using it to keep my feet on the earth.
‘We don’t know –’
‘Has he done it yet?’ Though the answer was obvious. If he’d done it, they would know, which meant something had gone wrong and my plan was in ruins. Battle raged around me. The battle I had meant to stop. But in the dream realm was where my power waited for me, and so stop it I would.
‘Finn,’ I said. She wasn’t as strong as Penn, and she was already holding the veil open. It didn’t matter. We all had to find a way to ask more of ourselves before the end found us. ‘Manipulate the warders – fill them with fear.’ Her eyes widened nervously. I held them. ‘It was meant to be Penn, but it’s up to you now. It comes down to you. Find your strength.’
Finn drew a long, shaky breath, and then she turned her faded eyes to the battle behind us. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘They’re getting away,’ Falco grunted, nodding up to the wall.
‘Deal with this,’ I told him, gesturing to the battle. ‘I’ll get Dren and Galia.’
He hesitated, squeezing my hand tightly. ‘Izzy – they’re not the bars of your cage.’
But they were, and I couldn’t wait for him to understand that. I had burning Marks cut into the length of my arm and they told the truth of what I was capable of. I took off, gathering my fallen knives from the ground. I heard Falco shout, ‘Warders, with her!’ and several sets of feet kept pace with me as I sprinted to the huge berserker ladders. Jonah ensured ours remained upright as we climbed and Osric shouted directions, following some kind of trail left by the Mad Ones.
Up the ladder, along the wall. I smashed through the warders guarding it, carving a path for the others to follow. They couldn’t touch me, and I would kill them all if I had to. Down the winding staircase, into the city streets. I ordered Jonah to unlock the gates and then he caught up to Osric and me as we stormed the winding path to the palace. If Dren and Galia got back inside the grounds they’d be too hard to follow. Blood pounded through my ears and my guts ached and throbbed.
‘Up ahead,’ Osric panted.
I could see them running for the gates, nearly there. ‘Stop them,’ I ordered.
Osric sent a burst of power into the cobblestones directly before them, gouging a hole in the earth and sending the Mad Ones off their feet. They rose and turned to face us.
‘No harm done, pet,’ Galia said coldly. ‘You’ll all die.’
I threw four of my blades and watched as they stopped mid-air then clattered to the ground. Galia lifted her hand and squeezed, and I heard Jonah cough. He couldn’t breathe. I froze, holding my empty hands out for them to see.
‘I can’t kill you, but I can certainly kill your friends. I’d advise you not to move, Sparrow.’
Osric lifted his hands and something began, some invisible struggle I couldn’t perceive. Magic passed between them and Jonah managed to draw breath, now free of Galia’s clutches. But there were two of the Mad Ones and only one Osric, and he had done so much already. I could see his strength fading with every second that passed.
I ran at them, taking advantage of Osric’s attack. Dren’s hand flicked but he couldn’t touch me and as I reached the warder I managed to slash my knife through his neck. To my dismay, the wound gushed red and then simply closed over. Dren smiled. ‘No wound I can’t heal, pet. So do your worst.’
Shit. Alright, no wounds. But if I could cut Dren’s heart out, then surely he couldn’t heal that. Except as I attacked him my knives glanced off something very un-flesh like – it was as though he’d covered the two of them in a fine sheen of what seemed like iron. I couldn’t get at him, and he turned his power back to fighting Osric.
I backed away, thinking quickly. Osric was clever, forcing them to use all of their power and drain themselves dry. It was the only thing that might kill them. Jonah and Inga, plus a couple of the warders from the prison and the red-haired girl who’d been trying to heal me added their magic to Osric’s, hammering Dren and Galia with pressure.
Galia’s eyes darted up and a bolt of lightning struck one of our warders, killing her instantly. Another split the cobblestones beneath their feet, disrupting their magic long enough for Dren to flick the head from a man’s body with nothing more than his wrist.
I circled around behind them. It didn’t matter that I was invulnerable if they were too. As I struggled to think I saw Inga go down hard, eyes open and glassy. She’d been sapped of all life, by the look of her.
Despair filled me. This wasn’t meant to happen. I’d had a plan: people weren’t meant to be dying. But Penn wasn’t here, and so pieces of me were disintegrating, turning to ash. Buildings were burning and I couldn’t tell if the flames were real or not. It was all over, and falling, and the blood from my stomach was spreading from my center out and out and out and as I watched, utterly powerless to stop it, Jonah fell to his knees, and his eyes found mine, and he said through the blood in his mouth, ‘Tell my sister I love her best of all,’ on a whisper, on a breath, and then he was dead. I could see the life go from him, the buzzing lights of fireflies rising and coiling out of his chest with unbearable
loveliness.
A guttural moan left me, turned to a scream of rage. I ran at Dren and Galia, stabbing ferociously at anything I could reach but I couldn’t get through this fucking shield, this twisted magic, not even when I dropped my blades and went at them with my hands and my teeth, so savage I couldn’t breathe, compelled entirely by a dark loathing, an endless endless fury. I wanted only blood, nothing else, but I couldn’t get at it.
‘Izzy!’ a voice called.
Relief eclipsed all. I stumbled back from them, was caught and dragged even further by Osric. My neck twisted wildly until I spotted him, running down the palace steps, his red hair turning to flames in my mind’s eyes. Why was he coming from the palace? Behind him was the Viper, but she wasn’t attacking him or stopping him. She was running with him.
‘Penn,’ I sighed.
‘It’s alright, I’m here now,’ he said. And then he turned his eyes to his parents.
Falco
I allowed myself ten seconds to watch Isadora sprint for the wall – a moment to marvel as she stormed those ladders and carved her way alone through every single warder as not one of us had been able to do all night long. Then I turned to the fight raging around me. My horse was rearing in fear and I rushed to his side, gentling him with a hand and then swinging onto his saddle.
‘Easy, boy,’ I murmured, wishing for Radha and then shutting that thought away. I turned him and drew my left sword – someone had managed to remove Isadora’s knife from my right arm, but the limb was now useless. My eyes scanned and took in the situation.
Both Ava’s left flank and Ambrose’s right was being thrown about by the attacking warders, their huge bursts of physical power cutting paths through our defense. The berserkers exploded into the fray, each of them aiming directly for a warder and trying to endure the pressure bolts that slammed into their big bodies. I watched as King Thorne smashed his axe through a warder’s skull, and the resulting burst of power sent everyone within a radius of a hundred meters careening into the air. That was one though. One warder out of dozens.
Isadora Page 45
