“I can handle this,” Saxony said.
“You can’t hold them off alone.”
“Many Gods damn it, Tavia!” Saxony squeezed her fists so the force field thickened. “Go and make sure your fucking boyfriend doesn’t kill my sister.”
Tavia whirled to see Wesley diving toward Zekia with a knife in hand.
He sliced across her chest and Zekia lurched back. Wesley threw the blade and she lifted a hand to block it. The dagger stuck in her palm.
She pulled it out, slowly, as if she felt nothing, and sent it hurtling back to him.
It lodged in Wesley’s knee.
Tavia cast one last look at Saxony, who was practically breathing fire. Her skin alight, eyes like coal. The more magic the Crafters threw, the higher her flame rose.
Then Tavia ran.
She ran across the throne room and toward Wesley, skidding so that her leg burned across the cracked floor. She reached for a charm, took her time to feel the weight of it. The shape. The way her soul curved around it.
Cutting charm.
Zekia approached Wesley. He pulled the knife from his leg and tried to stand.
Tavia crushed the charm in her hand. The shards scattered across her palm like glass and, with Saxony’s little sister in her sights, Tavia blew on them like a wish.
They shot through the air. Ready to spike across Zekia’s precious little face.
Only to stop inches from her.
The Kingpin stood.
Tavia blanched.
And then she was thrown across the room.
“Let my children fight among themselves,” the Kingpin said.
He stepped down from his throne.
His footsteps were like drums. Pounding toward her.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
Wesley yelled her name and Tavia saw him try to run to her, but Zekia threw him onto his back. He grunted in pain.
Even though she was a child, Zekia’s magic was almighty.
No wonder she had been chosen to lead the Rishiyat Crafters.
One.
Two.
Three.
Tavia was pulled back to standing by the Kingpin’s magic. Grabbed by her hair and pushed from under her feet. Squeezed at the neck, until she slid up the wall and was gasping and tearing at her throat to pry off his invisible hands.
She couldn’t breathe. Many Gods. She couldn’t breathe.
The room blurred and refocused. Wesley’s screams echoed.
The Kingpin’s shadowed outline loomed and Tavia could see it now—the blacks of his eyes against the blacks of his cheeks. The barely there tracing of a face beneath the darkness of a once-man.
“I know you, little busker.”
She wanted to tell him to go to the fire-gates, but all she could do was gag.
The Kingpin was choking her. Not enough to kill her, but enough to keep her on the precipice of death. Relieving the tension every few seconds so Tavia could gulp in air and then pressing again, harder and harder, so he could squeeze it back out of her.
“I remember your mother well.”
Death. His voice was death.
“You remind me so much of her. Poor, beautiful Coralina.”
Tavia stilled.
A tear slipped from her eye.
She couldn’t stand her muma’s name in his awful mouth.
“She was one of my firsts,” the Kingpin said. “Before Zekia became my light, back when I thought all the Crafters in the realms were dead. I tried to forge my own magic. It was addictive, but not much else. It drove people mad with the cravings and then mad with my voice, but I couldn’t control them like I can now. Oh, how I could whisper, though.”
He leaned in closer to Tavia, voice slicking into her ear.
“Coralina hated the whispering.”
The Kingpin loosened his grip on her neck, as though he wanted to bask in the grief of her response.
“You killed her,” Tavia managed to say.
“Oh no,” he said. “She killed herself. The only way to make the whispering stop. Poison, I think, though the details are a little vague. One pitiful human blurs into another.”
“Murderer,” Tavia spat.
And she actually did spit, right in his disgusting face.
The Kingpin didn’t flinch. “You should be pleased, little busker, that Zekia was able to bring my vision of the Loj to life. Your mother was one of the few who helped me perfect my legacy. Her madness was a great lesson.”
Tavia’s chest shook with her sobs and she tried to catch her breath, but the Kingpin’s magic was still so tight around her throat.
Her muma’s face flashed through her mind.
Her muma’s smile.
It’s okay, ciolo. It’ll all be okay.
What had this monster stolen from her?
“My magic crawled through her veins until she couldn’t differentiate between her thoughts and mine. We trialed it on so many in the outskirts,” the Kingpin said with near glee. “Don’t you see, little busker? Magic sickness is a myth. It was always me, my power, experimenting on one worthless street scum at a time, until I finally cracked it.”
Tavia lowered a hand to her side.
He’d taken her childhood.
Her past and her future.
He’d ruined her.
Stolen the one person Tavia had and taken her off the streets under the guise of saving her. Convinced her to sell the very thing that had killed her muma to someone else.
And it wasn’t just her family. He’d torn apart countless others. Even Wesley’s.
Tavia gritted her teeth.
Dante Ashwood was just a man on a power trip and that didn’t make him invincible. She could kill a man. She could kill him like he’d killed her muma.
“Feel that anger inside you and its thirst for darkness,” the Kingpin said. “You have the potential to be just like me, little busker. To be just like my Wesley.”
Tavia clasped a hand around her knife. Felt its hilt strong in her hand.
She looked up at Ashwood, her eyes darker than his could ever be.
“Wesley is nothing like you,” she said.
And then she threw the knife into the Kingpin’s heart.
THE CRYPT SMELLED OF death and decay.
The walls were damp with rotting flesh and it was dark enough that even Arjun’s conjured light only illuminated a few steps ahead. The shadows seemed to recoil and then follow them.
Karam and Arjun walked slowly, their footsteps silent. They winced under the weight of the barrel, which was as heavy as all spirits, even with the both of them clutching it.
The charms rattled inside, eager to ignite.
Karam looked down to adjust her grip on the barrel and was once again surprised to see that her hands weren’t there.
She sucked in a breath.
She was never going to get used to this invisibility field. She thought the Crafters would make them unseen to those on the outside, but she didn’t realize they would slowly dissolve her skin and bone until she became air.
Karam hoped Wesley could stall for a little longer.
This was the last barrel left and Karam didn’t want to be halfway through setting it down when the signal came. Even if her blood was coating the charms, she didn’t like to take chances.
Especially on magic.
Especially on explosive magic.
Just a few more minutes, she thought.
“This place is endless,” Arjun said in Wrenyi.
Karam nearly jumped at the sound of his voice so close.
She was really never going to get used to invisibility.
Arjun was right, though. The crypt seemed to go on forever. They’d spotted the hidden chamber behind a throng of skeleton trees and bushes with swords for thorns. Heavy chains secured the large steel gates and behind them was another door that even the lock picking she had learned from Wesley couldn’t bypass.
It took a lot of Arjun’s magic to burst through
.
The crypt looked like it ran directly under the castle as an emergency escape. If they planted the last barrel here, then when the Kingpin or any of his people tried to run, they would be frozen in time, unable to use their magic to fight. Primed for the killing.
They kept walking and after a couple more minutes Karam breathed a sigh of gratitude when her hands reappeared at her sides. They were out of the parameters of the invisibility field.
Thank the spirits, she thought.
Karam watched her steps. There were nail marks in the floor. Blood dried into the cobbles like paint. She listened out for Wesley’s signal. Or rather, Saxony’s signal. The sound of her fire puncturing the air and hurtling toward the moon.
Nothing came.
Karam wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Arjun hoisted the barrel up and Karam was relieved to be able to make out his face.
“How much farther do you think?” he asked.
Karam didn’t know. For all she knew, they could walk for hours and not be where they needed to be. Or they could have gone past the best point already.
“I don’t have blueprints,” she said.
Arjun swiped the sweat from his brow and the light charm in his hand flickered, coating them in darkness for a moment.
The shadows lurched. A howl sounded.
Arjun brought his hand down.
The darkness shrunk back.
“What was that?” he asked.
Karam swallowed. Something shuffled in the shadows and a hungry growl caught her ear.
She placed the barrel down, slowly, and Arjun followed.
“Don’t move,” she said. “And don’t let that light go out.”
She pulled her knives from their hold, the steel shrieking as it was let free.
Arjun reached for his own blade and the light blinked.
The shadows wailed.
“I told you not to move!” Karam said again.
She knew that noise.
Spirits damn, she knew it all too well.
Arjun’s eyes searched the darkness, the light charm steady in his hand. “What is it?”
“Conjure another light,” Karam said.
Arjun opened his hand and a small orb appeared in his palm, dim, but enough to chase away the shadows.
Karam smiled in relief, but then a gust of wind blew through the cavern, carrying with it the stench of death.
The charm sputtered and blinked.
There were breaths in the darkness, each pant laden with magic, and in the dim glow where light melted to shadow, a clawed hand reached out.
The creature rose to stand, hunched back, talons as long as arms scraping over the floor. Its spine jutted out, body half-dispersed in smoke so the claws of its webbed feet were detached from the rest of its form. Spit stretched between the jaws that made up its face.
No eyes, for it lived in the darkness. Just a mouth. Just teeth.
Shadow demon.
A monster Karam had once seen rip apart nine fighters in a matter of seconds.
This wasn’t an escape tunnel.
It was a cage.
And they had just opened the lock.
“Run!” Karam yelled.
But it was too late.
The shadows were everywhere, closing in on them.
Killing the light one blink at a time.
KARAM’S HEAD CRUNCHED AGAINST the cavern floor. The shadow demon hurled itself at her. It bit and clawed, drawing a long line from her temple down to her collarbone.
She yelled out to Arjun and he fumbled with the light charms in his hands, whispering spells Karam could barely hear over the creature’s growls. And then, after it was about to kill her, Arjun finally thrust out his arm and a blast of light swept over the demon.
It burned through what little flesh the creature had and it flung onto its hind legs, letting out an ungodly screech.
“How do we kill it?” Arjun yelled.
Karam arched her blades above her head. “You don’t kill a shadow demon. You just make it regret being alive in the first place.”
“How do we—”
Karam charged toward the creature, knives cutting and swiping through smoke and bone. Its blood sprayed across the walls, and it roared before clamping down its jaw and baring its teeth.
When it slammed into her a second time, Karam was ready. She grabbed the shadow demon, hands slipping through its smoky torso and fumbling until she latched onto the mounds of its spine.
She flipped the creature over her shoulder, bringing them both to their backs. Karam’s hands wrapped around its neck and it gnawed at her arms, thrashing its claws to try to cut ribbons across her stomach.
Karam didn’t loosen her hold.
“Now!” she screamed.
Arjun summoned another ball of light. Larger than the last and as scorching as Saxony’s flame.
The creature cried out, writhing and thrashing as it tried to escape. But Karam’s grip held firm and the smell of burning ripened the air. Within minutes the creature’s cries ceased and its mangled body singed into the cavern floor.
Karam let go and the creature whimpered.
Arjun pulled her to her feet and she felt that familiar rush of adrenaline that came with being alive. Of knowing she’d won.
“Hei reb,” Arjun said, slinging Karam’s arm over his shoulder. “That was something.”
“First time seeing a demon?”
“First time seeing you.”
Karam leaned against him for balance and her breath slowly returned, but the joy was short-lived.
Out of the shadows, a slow growl echoed.
Karam and Arjun stumbled back, his grip tightening on her waist.
Then another rumble.
And another.
The light blinked in Arjun’s hand as the demons’ breath carried over to them.
Karam could just about make out their forms in the darkness. Could see teeth glimmer in the reflection of what little light they had left.
There must have been a dozen of them.
A dozen demons.
“Now what?” Arjun whispered.
“Try not to die,” Karam said.
“That’s your plan?”
He squeezed his hand and the light protruded a little farther, keeping the snarling demons at a distance.
“That’s Plan B,” Karam said.
“What’s Plan A?”
“Run.”
Karam pulled herself from Arjun’s arms and sprinted for the cavern door with him hot on her trail. The creatures scurried after them. Arjun threw light charms as though they were knives, scattering the creatures that crawled along the walls and ceiling.
Their howls were hungry.
“Run faster!” Karam screamed over her shoulder.
“You try keeping these things off our backs and running at the same time!” Arjun yelled.
But his pace quickened and Karam smiled.
Karam spotted the door ahead and steeled herself, pressing her feet that much harder into the ground before throwing herself forward that much quicker.
Her shoulder rammed against the door and it lurched open, sending her careening out onto the other side.
Arjun followed, slamming the door shut behind him.
Karam forced herself to her feet and threw her weight against it alongside Arjun, keeping the creatures at bay.
Arjun screamed out a slew of words that sounded equal parts spell and swearing. Karam hoped it was magic to seal doors and make sure they could never be opened again. This seemed like a good enough guess, because the banging soon ceased and Arjun stepped away from the door and collapsed onto his knees. He sighed in relief.
Karam slid down the barricade and caught her breath.
In the distance, there were screams and thunderous rumblings.
The war was waging and they had missed its start.
“Nice moves,” Karam said. “For a Crafter.”
Arjun laughed into his hands before dragging t
hem over his head and taking in another long exhale. “You too,” he said. “For a runaway.”
Karam got to her feet, shakier than she would have liked.
Arjun offered his arm, but Karam shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to let herself give in to the pain of her injuries. It was the time to make sure their enemies were the ones who suffered.
The war was only a few feet away.
As soon as they rounded the corner, out of the burned trees that hid the doorway and past the crumbling stone that shielded them, there was death.
Their army was bloodied and broken.
Screaming and lunging and dying, while the Kingpin’s soldiers advanced endlessly. His armies tumbled from the drawbridge and seemed to spurt from the air itself. And magic. Magic hurtled through the wind.
They were wrong. Spirits damn, they were wrong. The Kingpin didn’t have a few Crafters locked away; he had an entire legion, fighting like they would lay down their lives for his cause.
And they were winning.
“Arjun,” Karam said. “Say the spell.”
Her knives were primed.
“We haven’t been given the signal,” Arjun said.
Though he was gripping his fists, squeezing hard enough to draw blood.
Above, the skies roared with his anger and rain fell down on them all.
“Do it now,” Karam said.
She ran forward, not waiting for his reply. Launching herself into battle.
Her wounds seared, but she tried her hardest not to stop. People were relying on her. Karam cut and sliced and threw herself at the Kingpin’s soldiers. Knocking them down like pins.
She didn’t know how long it took—seconds, or maybe minutes—but when Arjun said the words, Karam heard. Even from the other side of the battlefield, where she somehow found herself. She heard Arjun’s voice through the wind and felt the ripple as time braced itself.
The barrels exploded.
Karam ducked, knees hard against the shore, fingers plugged into her ears as the island screamed. The ground shook. The wind hardened to rock.
Around them, the realms stopped.
Karam stood.
Their army was breathless and half-dead, but they were smiling.
She looked at the battlefield.
At their enemies, frozen in time.
THE LAST OF THE CRAFTERS fell to ashes.
Saxony lowered her protection field.
Into The Crooked Place Page 32
