And then he could see, clearer than ever before. His heart and breath no longer sounded in his own ears, his memories no longer assailed him but supported him, his entire body animated by a deep, scorching fire. The need to stop the wild ether from killing others ignited him beyond death. He could feel it tingle and come alight around him as the heir charmed it safely back to her planet.
But it wasn’t fully reborn yet, and he still had time.
He would stop her.
44
Layela!”
Layela smiled and turned at the familiar voice, tearing her eyes away from her changed reflection.
“Ardin!” she screamed back. He emerged into the altar room, his steps faltering by Dunkat’s body for an instant. He looked at her eyes, a question in his, as though unsure who she truly was.
She was about to reassure him when a movement caught his eyes and he jumped sideways. Layela felt her blood freeze in her veins.
Dunkat’s body shifted and twitched and then, without effort, he stood. Blood clung to him like a second layer of clothing. His face was grey and ashen, his eyes deep pools of twilight.
His mouth moved for an instant, as though he wished to say something but his tongue no longer remembered how to form words. Beside him, Ardin hesitated barely a moment before throwing himself towards Zortan’s discarded blade. Even from where she stood, Layela could see that Ardin’s movements were slower than they should have been. A bad wound on his right arm forced him to favour his left, which slowed him further.
Ardin screamed and sliced down with the blade. Dunkat kept his place, intent on Layela who stood frozen by the ghastly sight of him. The sword struck the dead man’s shoulder but barely pierced him. Black mists escaped his wounds and Ardin quickly backed away.
“It’s like the black tar!” he called to her.
Dark ether. Tainted ether that needed to be cleansed by Mirial. She could do it. She had to. But as she stared into his black eyes, watched his peeling skin turning dark purple, her limbs refused to move.
Ardin! She wanted to scream, but fear crushed the words in her throat. As though hearing her anyway, Ardin struck again. The sword failed to break skin this time. Ardin threw himself back out of range and Dunkat’s flailing arm missed him by a hair. Ardin fell hard on his wounded right arm. He was already weakening, Layela knew, and adrenaline was draining from him.
Dunkat moved now, not towards Ardin who struggled to rise again, but towards Layela. His mouth twisted into a repugnant smile and two rotted teeth fell to the ground.
Layela entire body seemed to ache with the desire to move, but her breath was short and her mind blank. She closed her eyes to force the sight of him out of her mind, calling to Mirial instead. Mirial would save her.
“Layela!” Ardin screamed and her eyes snapped open. Dunkat was barely two metres from her. How had he moved so fast? She took a step back and raised her arms defensively, all thoughts of ether forgotten. Dunkat was intent on her, ignoring Ardin as he neared him, screaming.
“Ardin,” Layela whispered. She took another step back, wondering if she had a gun. She did, she remembered, and her right hand slowly lowered towards the holster. So slowly…
Dunkat reached out and Ardin was on him, a howl breaking free of his throat as he sliced down. The ancient sword of the Royal Guards heeded his plea for help and came to life, ether dancing wildly on the blade as Ardin struck, hard. Layela felt the warmth of the ether radiating from the sword, as though it tried to soothe her.
The sword cut deep into Dunkat’s torso. Ardin fell forward with the unexpected strength of his own blow. He tried to catch his footing and swerve back in front of Layela, but Dunkat moved too fast for him.
Dunkat’s right arm came up, knocked the blade out of Ardin’s hand with a sickening snap of shattering bone. Dark ether rippled into Ardin’s chest.
“Ardin!” Layela screamed. She took a step toward him, but Dunkat tossed him to the side as though he were nothing more than bag of feathers. Ardin rolled a few times, a trail of blood glistening in the sunlight filtering through the roof. When he came to a stop, he did not move, his left arm jutting from under his body at an unnatural angle.
Layela fought the urge to run to him, and planted her feet firmly on the ground instead. Dunkat stared at her, his advance starting again as though nothing had happened. Black mists flowed from his severed shoulder and the wounds in his torso.
She couldn’t run. She knew she had nowhere to go, and running now meant abandoning Ardin. She could heal him, as she had healed Avienne with ether.
Ether.
To soothe. To heal. To purify.
To fight.
She could use the ether. She knew she could, and she needed to. Yoma, Josmere, Ardin, Zortan, even Mirial herself had all protected and supported her. But now it was her turn to stand alone and protect them.
She felt the weight of her own destiny clothe her shoulders like a mantle, and did not try to shrug it off.
Mirial’s breath was all around her. She captured it with her mind, feeling its power penetrate her body.
Dunkat was close, his dark mists licking her exposed skin. She did not back away, but looked up again and focused on his eyes; eyes of twilight.
This time, fear did not clutch her soul or paralyze her. He took another step, reached out with his arm and grabbed her throat. His grasp constricted her airway and his fingernails extended, growing long and piercing the side of her neck.
She wanted to cough, but no breath could escape her or enter her. The reek of his flesh was trapped inside her, and she could taste her own blood at the back of her throat. She could feel tears running down her cheeks and her arms came up, but instead of trying to pull his hand free, she reached for his head.
The time has come to let go, Dunkat Groosh. Warmth invaded her body. Layela let the ether flow through her and take hold of her, and then slammed it into the dead man, purifying him. The colonel’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment.
His eyes were definitely softer as he looked past her. Layela felt the presence without turning, and she let Dunkat’s parents claim his soul to bring him back to Mirial. His body, now an empty shell, hissed and bubbled. When the arm let go of her throat, she collapsed beside it, inhaling a deep, panicked breath that smelled like the stench of death.
She could feel the warmth leaving her, but forced it to stay, forced Mirial to remain with her for a moment longer. She stumbled to her feet. Her body felt heavy, as though lead had cooled at her core and now weighed her down.
Ardin. She reached out with her ether as she walked toward him. She didn’t need to touch him to heal him, she knew, but she wanted to. She needed to.
His breath was weak, but he didn’t want to die. He clung fiercely to every heartbeat. Layela knelt by him and ran her tired hand over his cold skin. He was so pale, his features drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. His chest was seared and still bleeding; the flesh, where it was exposed by the blackened shirt, was burnt and cracked.
“Make him warm,” she asked of the ether, her mind too clouded to simply think the words.
She blinked and looked up. The world around her was full of light. Sun poured into the temple, and ether blanketed every tree, every stone, every drop of water. Mirial was alive. Mirial was life.
“Please,” she whispered, lowering her head onto Ardin’s chest. She was desperate to hear his heart. “Please, allow him to live.”
Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she could not tear them from the light swirling around them both. His heartbeat grew stronger and stronger and she felt the taste of blood lessen from her own throat.
She closed her eyes and listened to his breath steadying, his heart pumping, his stomach even gurgling. She smiled.
Yoma. Her sister had given up her life to save her. Layela imagined Ardin’s heartbeat as her sister’s, and called to her soul. Come back to me, sister.
Like a petal floating in the winds, Layela felt the gentle reply. Her sister loved her a
nd always would. But she couldn’t return.
A life for a life. Yoma had offered her soul to Mirial in exchange for Layela’s, and none of Layela’s newfound powers or connection with Mirial could reverse the pact.
That was it. She had reached the height of her powers, the limits of life and death Mirial would allow her to cross.
In her mind’s eye she saw her sister winking at her, felt her huddling close through so many years of childhood, her warmth the only hope in the dark, frightening nights. She saw the flowers Yoma brought her to do with as she wished, whether to sell for food or to keep and nurture.
A sob escaped with her breath as she smelled the blooms again, mixed with her sister’s sweat when she would return from her dangerous escapades. Yoma would laugh the pain and tears away as Layela tended to her wounds. Before mine were too deep for any of us to know how to heal.
The familiar ache of the Kilita’s touch did not manage to replace the warm memories of her sister’s loyalty.
Tears streaked down her face as she remembered Josmere’s laughter and smile, remembering her plea to be allowed to die so that others could live. And she remembered the feel of the earth, the smell of it, still clinging to her despite the change of clothes and Layela’s fresh blood. But still Josmere’s death could not block the sound of her laughter, ringing so clear and true it would always resonate within Layela.
She felt a hand touch her cheek, the rough skin gently removing each tear without a word; without question.
Her eyes opened slowly. Ardin’s face was misty through her tears, his eyes deep pools of concern. A smile broke free of her lips, and she let him hold her, covering the smells of her memories — the blooms of Yoma and the earth of Josmere — with his smell. Sweat, blood. Life.
She held him for a long time. Mirial’s ether bloomed all around them, her mind singing a song she had forgotten so long ago, as she remembered who and what she was.
Layela Delamores. She was all that was left.
And she was enough.
Epilogue
Layela walked by the great lake of Mirial, her skirts trailing after her on the lush grass. Berganda children played among the Booknots, laughing and screaming.
“You did say she would leave us an army of brats.” Ardin picked up one of the younger ones and twirled her around, to be rewarded by whoops of laughter.
“I can’t believe five years have already passed,” Layela whispered as she looked upon the sparkling waters where she had laid Josmere to rest. As soon as she could, she had decorated her grave with Booknots, and cared for the children of the Berganda as though they were her own.
Ardin laced his fingers into hers. “Avienne will be arriving later with supplies, and she won’t be here long. We should head back soon.”
Layela nodded and looked at the waters one more time. As Queen of Mirial, she had taken the liberty of renaming it Lake Feathers, after her sister.
It made her smile to think of Josmere and Yoma being together again.
“Lady, Captain Malavant has arrived and urgently requests you.”
“Probably has a prank to play,” Ardin mumbled, and Layela laughed. “Thank you, Loren,” the woman nodded and walked off on her braces; one of her legs had been lost in the final battle of Mirial.
“You judge your sister so,” Layela said, walking towards the palace as she smelled the pure air. “She was, after all, so excited to learn she would be an aunt.”
“I thought Mirialers weren’t supposed to know who the father of the heir was?” Ardin said, picking up a flower and giving it to her. She held it tenderly and smiled at him. He gave a low chuckle.
“I refuse to let the past dictate our future, Ardin Malavant,” she teased him, with a kiss. The future is not written, she told herself. No matter how insistent her visions sometimes were.
She took his hand and walked back towards their home, ignoring the sound of bells tolling in the distant reaches of her mind.
Keep reading for a preview of Destiny’s Fall, book 2 of The First Star series
1
The child’s first cries pierced the night and Mirial, First Star and mother of all ether, quivered in response.
Layela Delamores leaned back, exhausted, fighting the nausea of hours of labour and biting back the tears. The ether around her danced with joy, responding to her first daughter’s screams in ways it never had for Layela herself. Ardin leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips energizing her weary body, wisps of his auburn hair escaping his ponytail and brushing her face.
The child screamed again, and Layela tried to shift, to see her more clearly. She already knew, without seeing her, that one of her eyes would be sea green and the other twilight blue. Just like hers, except that Layela had lost a sister to gain that mark.
Her daughter came into this world already courted by a strong Mirial, a strength cultivated by Layela’s care over the last few years. Years of hard work, of mastering what little she understood of the ether, years of sacrificing her own dreams and trying to see Mirial as her home, regardless of how she felt. But her daughter was already reaping more with her pure cries than Layela ever could in a lifetime.
A whole being.
Layela stifled a sob and shifted, trying to get more comfortable in the dirty bedding, her gown clinging to her. She needed to change and go announce the birth of a daughter to the awaiting court. She needed to tell them of a secured succession—that Mirial would be tended to. That they were safe.
But her daughter’s screams crashed and echoed in her mind, triggering the ether within her, visions gripping the edges of her sight. Mists danced around the room, half-formed visions wisped to life as the mists caressed and coated individuals in the room, allowing Layela a glimpse of their final moments, or at least an impression. In her vision, her captain of the royal guards, Loran, screamed, collapsing on the ground. Her court advisor first turned white, then coarse black. She dared not look at Ardin, having long ago heard the bells tolling, announcing his final moments…
“Are you all right?” Ardin asked, leaning in, concern in his brown eyes.
She tried to smile, but closed her eyes for a moment instead, concentrating on pushing back the ether that had triggered her visions. She opened her eyes, the ether seeming to dance around her before settling. Layela smiled. Ardice would court the ether much more strongly than she ever had. But Layela would need to be vigilant until her daughter proved strong enough to control her own connection with Mirial.
Ardin smiled back at her. “She has good lungs!”
The tolling of the bells resonated in the far edges of her mind. It is a faraway future, she repeated over and over again as she looked into Ardin’s eyes.
Please don’t leave me.
“You’re right,” she said, forcing a small laugh. “She does have good lungs.”
Gresko Listan, Court Advisor, stepped up, clearing his throat. Ardin rolled his eyes for only Layela to see, and she fought back a laugh. Ardin stood. Gresko was as tall as Ardin, but was a stick, his dark royal robes barely held up by his thin, bony shoulders. His face was gaunt and pale. When Layela had first met him, she had assumed his features were due to lack of sunlight and good food, as most Mirialers had suffered during the Great Darkness, but five years had passed and still he remained the same. Beside him, Ardin’s shoulders seemed broader. If he stepped up and flicked a finger at Gresko, he would probably break him. Layela had to look down to stop from laughing. The laughter vanished in an aching desire to be alone, with only Ardin and their daughter at her side.
“The daughter should be presented to the court, as per tradition.”
Ardin rolled his eyes again and Layela steeled herself. She looked at Gresko imploringly. “It has been a long, a long … ” she turned to one of the midwives.
“Thirty-six hours,” she quickly said. She looked just as exhausted as Layela.
“Thirty-six hours,” Layela repeated. “Is it necessary to put on a show now for the court? Can they not be sa
tisfied to know that it is a girl and their lineage is safe?”
He shook his head, raising an eyebrow. “Surely my lady understands the necessity of the court’s demands. After all, my lady did refuse to reveal the gender of the child beforehand.”
Layela sighed. Of course, she hadn’t wanted the gender of the child to be known. She herself only knew because of the ether, and hadn’t allowed any scanners or imaging devices to be used on her child. Had it been a boy, they would have callously shipped him off, as per the generations of women before her. But she had refused to give them that power. Just as she refused to pretend Ardin didn’t exist, that he wasn’t the father of her child.
“How long will this ‘show’ take, Gresko?” She spoke harsher than intended. She looked down at the baby, her beautiful face still red and wrinkled, her eyes closed. She was perfection. Fragile, helpless perfection.
“Just a few moments. You simply need to introduce her to the court. Quite a few have gathered, waiting.”
Ardin raised an eyebrow. “They’ve been here for the entire labour?”
The Court Advisor managed to look down at Ardin, despite their similar height.
“The birth of Layela’s daughter ensures the safety of Mirial. It is the single most important event that will occur until her daughter’s daughter is born. Mirialers understand this,” he added with disdain.
Layela’s daughter. She could see Ardin’s muscles stiffen, and she spoke quickly to avoid any altercations.
“Then let’s do it.” She struggled to sit up, Ardin stepping in to help. “I’ll change and we’ll go introduce her, quickly.” She stood and held the advisor’s eyes with hers. “Both Ardin and I will introduce our child.”
He looked about to protest but, seeing the steel in her eyes, quickly backed down.
“Can you take her, please?” Layela whispered to Ardin. His look of annoyance melted away as he took his daughter, holding her as though she were made of the finest glass. Layela smiled and told everyone else to leave so she could clean and change.
Destiny's Blood (The First Star Book 1) Page 35
