“Out cold.”
“You sure?”
“A jug of wine to warm his belly and a daughter of light to warm his bed. He won’t be waking anytime soon.”
“Yes, but—”
“All the rest of consular staff went north with the army. It’s just us here. No one will stop us. No one will ever find out.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Look, she’s a threat to our operation here. If the council found out, they’d have us strung up and gutted. No way Ulayenos will ever let her go. Do you want to go back to the way things were? When no woman—human or valynkar—would let you even touch her if she hadn’t been convinced it was her sacred duty?”
Tassariel struggled to keep her breathing steady, her muscles still, as the conversation paused. She didn’t know if she was ready. And Elos had grown quiet again of late.
“No. I don’t want to go back to that. Not ever.”
The lock on her door clicked open, and the hinges squealed in protest. Her heart rate began to rise. A pair of sandaled feet shuffled close, stopping next to the bed that had become her prison.
“Do we kill her first? Or . . . ?”
“No. I want to feel her squirm.”
A cold hand fell upon her exposed thigh. It took all of her will not to flinch.
With Elos’s help, she’d been keeping still after the wine began wearing off a little bit longer every time. She knew she could move right now if she wanted but was unsure how much control over her body she would actually have. She feared it wouldn’t be enough.
“Are you ready?” Elos said.
The hand on her leg was joined by another on the opposite side of her. Together, they began sliding up, lifting the hem of her loose robe.
“Yes,” she said.
“Huh? Did she just—”
Energy surged through her, like a bolt of lightning. It felt the same as when Elos first came to inhabit her. The day she had lost her wings.
This time, however, she welcomed it.
Fire raged through her veins, obliterating the lingering effects of the poison. She clenched every muscle. Flexed. Stretched. It felt good to be whole, in control of her own body once more.
“Something is very wr—”
He never finished the statement.
Tassariel grabbed the hair of the man hovering over her and wrenched down as she brought her knee up. It slammed with a satisfying crunch into his nose, and he reeled back, blood spraying from a ruined face.
A knife flashed down from above. She jerked to the side, avoiding impalement by a hair. The blade scraped the edge of her breast and ribs, sinking into the mattress beneath her. The pain and the blood gushing from her wound only served to waken her further.
She rolled, trapping the man’s wrist and forcing them both to the floor. She landed atop him, her legs straddling his neck and chest, his arm hugged close. All she had to do was lean back. She felt his elbow snap against the hard base of her abdomen, and he screamed.
Tassariel caught the knife as it fell from his fingers. Without thinking, she flipped it around, catching the tip of the blade, and flung it across the small room. The other man’s raging advance stopped short as sharp steel punctured his chest. He took one step, one breath, and gave one look of disbelief before crumpling to the floor, dead.
She flipped backwards, springing to her feet. One glance revealed that further vigilance was unnecessary. The man writhed on the floor, whimpering and hissing through clenched teeth as he cradled his shattered arm. Tassariel worked to calm her breath and pulse, which had soared during the struggle.
“P-please,” the man said. “I didn’t want to. He made me do it!”
“Save your pathetic excuse for someone who cares,” Tassariel said. “I assure you, I do not.”
“What will you do with me?”
Tassariel sighed, looking away. He was out of the fight now. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to kill him.
“Look out!” Elos said.
She felt it before seeing it. Energy gathering in the man’s good hand. He roared in fury, punching towards her.
Not out of the fight after all.
She dodged. Not back to full form after weeks in captivity, she couldn’t quite get out of the way. A beam shot out from his hand, scorching across her shoulder. The room filled with the stench of cooked meat. The remainder of the spell careened into the ceiling, erupting in a blast of molten stone.
Blinded by pain, Tassariel fell, stiffening one hand. She chopped across the man’s throat just before hitting the ground. A sound like seashells under a boot accompanied the collapse of flesh beneath the edge of her rigid palm.
She rolled onto her back, panting. The man at her side gasped out his last few moments of life, then went still. When silence fell at last, and the room stopped spinning, the darkness beckoned to her sweetly.
“No! Stay awake!” Elos said, strangely distant.
“Why . . . should I?”
“You’ve got to get out of here. The other one is still around. No doubt he’s heard the commotion and is on his way.”
“Lerathus.” Her fists clenched at the thought of his face. True, he might have taken measures to protect her dignity, but he was the reason she was in this mess in the first place. She shook herself, blinking away the shadows, and slowly clambered to her feet. “I need to make him pay.”
“Not in your condition. Do you honestly think you can handle much more exertion at this point?”
As if to prove his point, a wave of nausea slammed into her as the pain from her injuries combined with the weakness from her imprisonment. She leaned back and took stock of herself. Her burnt shoulder throbbed, and the arm below it was useless. The cut on her breast and rib bled freely. Holding her head up for more than a few beats made her vision go blurry. And to top it all off, she felt hungry enough to strip an entire kitchen bare.
“All right,” she said. “You win. I’ll try to avoid any more exercise.”
“Good. Now, through the door. Let’s get out of here.”
Tassariel stumbled out into the passageway and down the deserted corridors of the consulate. It took all her concentration just to keep one foot in front of the other as she followed Elos’s directions. Eventually, she rounded a corner and came in sight of the exit.
And there stood Lerathus, energized and waiting.
She ducked back, unsure if he’d seen her or not. Holding her breath, she strained her ears for any indication of his awareness.
“There’s no use staying here,” Elos said. “You won’t get any stronger, and he won’t give up his post.”
“What do I do, then?”
“Talk to him.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“Can’t you just, I don’t know, give me another burst of energy, like you did back there?”
“I cannot. I’m sorry. It was a risk doing so the first time, and I have been severely diminished. Another attempt will surely kill me.”
Tassariel was once again struck by how faint his voice sounded, like it was far away and drowned out by the noise of breaking waves. Her god, it seemed, had at last sacrificed something for her. The sentiment brought tears to her eyes.
“Go,” he said, firmly yet gently. Sniffing, she obeyed.
Lerathus stiffened at her arrival, raising his energy-soaked hands. A moment later, he narrowed his eyes, studying her appearance with scrutiny.
“What happened to you, Tass?”
“Your friends did. What’s left of them, anyway.”
“They were no friends of mine,” he said, shaking his head. “How did you do it, anyway? How did you break free?”
“Elos gave me strength.”
He grunted derisively. “Save it for those with wool firm
ly tied around their eyes. Elos is a myth.”
Tassariel couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all, a reflex that quickly shifted into hysteria.
“What’s so funny?”
She steadied herself with a few deep breaths. “Your disbelief.”
He shrugged. “Many of us are convinced he’s just a construct of the council, an enigma wrapped in mysticism as a way of controlling our people.”
“Sadly, he’s not far off. I’m more a tool of the council than they are of me.”
“Well,” she said, “you’ve got it half-right, at least.”
“What do you mean?”
“The council no longer enacts his will. Not truly. But that does not mean Elos doesn’t exist. Just that our definition of a god isn’t quite what it should be.”
Lerathus sighed, nearly rolling his eyes at her. She could tell there was nothing she could say to convince him. Whispering, she said, “Why did you think this would work? He’s not budging.”
“Precisely.”
“How does that h—”
Then, she felt it.
Lerathus must have as well, a moment later, for his eyes went wide, and he turned.
But not in time.
Gilshamed plunged out of the sky, a meteor of fury rimmed in light. He smashed feetfirst into Lerathus and sent him sprawling. The green-haired valynkar grunted, in pain this time, curling up into a ball as the energy he’d gathered spun away uselessly. He did not try to collect any more.
The relief at seeing Gilshamed was so great that Tassariel collapsed to her knees.
“Niece!”
Gilshamed was at her side before she could blink. His golden eyes seem to take in her condition at a glance, and he laid hands on her, injecting her body with warm, healing light. She jerked as the energy seared her cut closed, and again as it chilled away her burn. She took a breath—her first in what seemed like ages—that was completely free of pain.
Tassariel smiled.
“I got your message,” Gilshamed said.
“But I didn’t send it to you.”
“I know. Lashriel was able to deliver it for you.”
“Truly?”
Gilshamed nodded. “How was that even possible?”
“I don’t know. But I think our mutual acquaintance had something to do with it.”
“If so,” he paused, a tear dripping down his cheek, and took a breath. “If so, then I must thank him. With all the sincerity that is in me. It was only a few moments, but it was time I thought I’d never get with her. If he is still with you, please, give him my thanks.”
Though Elos did not respond, she felt a warmth blossom inside her that had nothing to do with her uncle’s healing. “He can hear you,” she said. “And he wants you to know that he’s sorry.”
Gilshamed shook his head. “I think, now, I understand him a little better. No apologies are necessary.”
“Enough of this,” Elos told her finally. “We must go north, and fast. There may still be time.”
Tassariel sighed, not bothering to ask ‘for what?’ “Very well.” Fixing her eyes on Gilshamed, she added, “I find myself in need of transportation. Mind if I borrow your wings?”
CHAPTER 22
“Alas,” Ruul said, “we must bring our reminiscing to a close. Time grows short.”
Draevenus stirred, as if waking from a dream. Ruul had been speaking at length—for tolls or days or weeks, he did not know—explaining the history of the world, a time line he could scarcely fathom, and events that made little sense to his small mind. He knew his sister had him soundly beaten in intellect. He doubted any living thing besides her could comprehend a problem so vast as this.
Yet, at the words of his god, the entire conversation flitted away like butterflies. He remembered what they had been discussing but couldn’t, at the moment, recall a single specific detail of what he’d learned. It was as if the account had been committed directly to long-term memory. He knew the information was in there somewhere, but he hadn’t the faintest idea where to look.
Shivering, he stood, cramped muscles protesting every twitch. “I’ve only just gotten here. Haven’t I? And . . .” Draevenus paused, confused by his own thoughts. Somehow, the desire to kill his god seemed the most ludicrous thing imaginable, yet he couldn’t recall when exactly he’d changed his mind.
He cleared his throat, then reached for the waterskin at his belt.
It was empty.
“Where has all the time gone?”
“You’ll find out eventually. But for now, events move more quickly than I can account for. You must make haste.”
“To what?”
“Has your sister not been keeping you informed?”
“Last I heard from her, she was working to settle the border of our people’s new colony. Why?”
Ruul chuckled. A strange effect, especially as it was mirrored by the hovering swarm of darkwisps. “Only Vashodia could take on the responsibility of saving the world yet still leave this one burden to me.”
“What burden?” Then, he realized what it was. “You mean . . . me.”
“Yes. But do not think it such a disparaging term. The duty to family often weighs heaviest of all. We can, I think, forgive her such a weakness.”
“Not like she’d give us much choice in the matter.”
“Indeed.”
Draevenus allowed himself a secret smile. Of all the things he imagined doing upon his arrival here, complaining about his sister to Ruul had never even crossed his mind.
“Well, what is it, then? What’s the big rush about?”
“War,” Ruul said. “War that must be avoided at all cost. She knows the right of this, I’m sure, but her efforts may very well fall short. And beyond this one task, she can foresee nothing.”
Draevenus closed his eyes, surprised—though, perhaps he shouldn’t be—that he was prepared to accept whatever Ruul might ask of him. “What must I do?”
“I have a gift for you. For all of your people. I need you to deliver it for me.”
“Seems simple enough.”
“I hope so, my son. I truly hope so.”
“May I ask what it is?”
“I began a work in your tribe, long ago, but I was constricted at the time and could not finish it. This . . .”
The wall opened up, and a box floated towards Draevenus. It seemed plain, made of some dark metal, its lid held closed by a single sturdy clasp.
“This is my gift. The completion of a promise. Please, take it. Take it with my words of apology for making you wait this long. Take it that I may be absolved before the end.”
Draevenus clutched the box. Though it seemed to weigh nothing at all, he felt its burden all the same. Like the weight of a soul held in his hands. Like destiny.
“If it’s forgiveness you’re looking for,” Draevenus said, “know that I give it freely.”
Ruul took a long time in answering. “Perhaps that is all I need.”
“Perhaps. But something tells me it won’t be all you get.”
“I can only pray you are right.”
The cavern began shaking. Draevenus turned and witnessed the floor parting to admit a strange platform. A few short steps led up to a hollow metal circle, standing upright. Indecipherable glyphs adorned the circumference.
As he watched, the circle began spinning. Faster and faster it spun, until the edges blurred, and sparks of black energy shot out towards the center. They met, forming a sheet of pure darkness. It hummed with virulence. Draevenus felt sweat squeeze out between his scales.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The way,” Ruul replied, “to make up for lost time.”
Draevenus swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Yes, but what does it do?”
“It is
an artifact designed with one purpose: to aid in teleportation.”
“Tele-what?”
“Ah, yes. I believe your people colloquially refer to it as ‘shadow-dashing.’ ”
“I see. How do I make it work?”
“I have set the location, which will likely be accurate enough for our purposes.”
“Likely?”
“Be gracious. It is rather old.”
“That doesn’t inspire much confidence.”
“Then perhaps the result will. When you’re ready, simply step into the centrifuge and . . . dash.”
With a great sigh, Draevenus placed his foot on the first step, then followed onto the second. He energized, cringing. “Here goes noth—”
Jasside knew before they’d even reached the front lines that she’d failed. That they’d been too late.
The Panisian war engines were firing. For effect.
Explosions of energy, both magical and mundane, crashed into her ears every beat, but she knew she was in little danger herself. The enemy was too smart for that. Instead of targeting the front of the Sceptrine formation, the massive projectiles landed right across the center.
Her allies were effectively cut in two.
The rear half retreated. The front had nowhere else to go but forward.
“Hurry,” Vashodia called. “Once the lines converge, there will be no stopping the bloodshed.” She pointed a clawed finger at Chase. “And most of it will belong to your soldiers.”
“There’s still a chance to save Daye,” he said. “Please, can’t you—”
“I’ve more important things to worry about than one man. Like saving your entire army.”
“But he might still be alive. His sneak attack failed, but that hardly means he’s dead. He’s too good a soldier, and makes too good a hostage, to fall so easily as that.”
“He’s right,” Jasside added. “Let me go and find him. I’ll be quick. Invisible. In and out before they know what hit them.”
“Neither of you are seeing things clearly. Am I the only one around here who still thinks with her head?”
“Maybe,” Jasside said. “But if we don’t listen to our hearts, at least once in a while, what’s the point of even living?”
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