by Adalyn Grace
But she doesn’t.
I glance at Ferrick as the group surrounds us. He and Vataea stand back to back, him with his rapier and her with the dagger.
“We’re here to talk to Kaven,” Vataea says. “Let us through.” Her words are greeted with immediate scorn as those surrounding us laugh. Vataea’s out of her element with a blade as her weapon instead of her voice, and she looks it.
“Let you through?” One of the men laughs. He’s hardly twenty and yet his voice is heavy with a rasp. “After what Visidia’s king did to our island? I don’t think so.”
“We want to help reconnect Zudoh to the kingdom,” I say, never looking away from the girl who clutches her blade before me. “But to do that, you have to work with us.”
The girl before me twitches her hands. I swathe my magic around me and immediately see the vengeance her soul craves with its entire being. Sensing danger, she coils tight and readies herself to spring.
“We don’t want your help,” she growls decidedly. Around her, the others hold their chins high in agreement.
“Drop your weapons and walk. We’ll see if Kaven has time for a chat.” She’s lying. I sense the very moment the girl decides to kill me because her soul turns a deep, muddy red—the color of congealed blood. The corners of it crack, threatening to peel.
In my mind, I see the blood of my first kill sliding down my fingertips. I remember the monster within me thrashing to life for the first time. And for a moment, I hesitate.
Perhaps I was a monster to kill her. Perhaps I was a monster to kill all of them.
But everything I’ve done, I’ve done with the goal of protecting Visidia. And I won’t be sorry for it any longer.
Perhaps a monster is exactly what this kingdom needs.
This girl has made her decision, and I’m not about to wait and let her strike first.
Clutching Rukan tight, I lunge forward and plunge my blade deep into her stomach. Her eyes go wide and she sways, the blood swelling out of her and painting her shirt red. It’s a fatal wound, poison or not. Her green eyes go glassy. Blood dribbles from her lips down to her chin before she staggers and chokes on it. She falls a moment later, spasming on the ground.
The other four watch, stunned. I take her dropped bone dagger and clean it on my pants. This isn’t how I wanted it, but the faces of the Zudians from earlier sit at the forefront of my mind. I made a promise to protect them, and I intend to deliver.
One of the younger boys runs to my victim and falls to his knees. His body caves in, as though his entire spirit has been knocked from him. Blood covers his tan hands as he presses them to her chest, trying to stop the bleeding.
I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but they’ve made it clear they’ll never be on our side. I shove down my sympathy; if defeating them brings me one step closer to restoring balance in Visidia, then they’ve brought on a fight I’ve no intention of losing.
He slams his hands against her, shaking. But it’s pointless; she’s already dead.
“Amora,” Bastian growls under his breath, trying to back away. “We need to leave.”
Impossible. The other two boys and remaining woman ready their blades and charge.
With a weapon in each of my hands and their death in my satchel, I’m ready.
I strike out with Rukan again, finding resistance at the tip of my dagger as it snags and catches on skin. A male voice cries out, gruff and angry. He stumbles in my periphery, clutching his arm. I should focus on the others, yet I’m stuck staring as tiny blue lines crisscross and weave their way across the man’s skin.
The poison’s working.
Years of fencing are serving Ferrick well as he lifts his rapier to parry the incoming blow. Though his opponent’s sword is heavier and more threatening, Ferrick is at an advantage with his speed. He yanks his rapier back and jabs the blade hard into his opponent’s chest. The man falls back, clutching at the blood soiling his shirt. It’s not a deadly wound, but it’s enough to sting.
My own opponent is all lines and angles, sharp with rage. His sword hand quivers as his other bleeds onto the dirt. He doesn’t know any better. My magic practically screams to be used, and I won’t ignore it or tamp it down any longer. One drop of that gushing blood is all I need.
The coals in the nearby fire pit are cooling, but hopefully still hot enough to burn.
I surprise my opponent as I drop to a quick crouch and sweep the bone dagger across his growing pool of blood. His movements are slow and off balance; if he wants to survive, he needs to hurry and wrap his arm. Yet, he doesn’t move. His eyes dip to the bone blade, then to the ground where the dead girl it belonged to lies. He lunges at me with a snarl.
I smack hard against the ground. My shoulder digs into a jagged rock and sharp pain seizes me. I hate that I scream, but the pain takes me by surprise.
“Amora! Get up!” Vataea yells, then gasps. Her opponent strikes her across the cheek with the hilt of her weapon. Vataea doesn’t cry out, but snarls. I’m pinned on the ground beneath this man, but she can’t help me. No one can.
“You killed her!” The man’s breath is sour and he reeks of blood. His skin grows more ashen by the second. While he struggles to sit up and keep his eyes open, his grip no longer wavers on his dagger. He lifts it over his head and points its tip to my chest.
He’s twice my size and too heavy to knock down, but losing isn’t an option.
It’s him or me, and I refuse to die on this island.
I jerk my hips up with all the power I have, trying to throw him even more off balance. He tilts to the left and I use the momentum to reach forward and stab both my blades into his thighs.
He doesn’t scream. Instead, he chokes on a sob and the sound flusters me. The blade falls from his hands as I claw my way to a stand.
My magic flutters and festers as the sound of his pain sears itself into my memories. It’ll be there later, I’m sure, waiting for me when I close my eyes tonight. But if there’s one thing I learned from my performance in Arida, it’s that I can’t allow myself to be distracted while using my magic.
The poison and blood loss have rendered my attacker useless, and Ferrick, Bastian, and Vataea are holding the others back. I sprint to Bastian first. His shoulder and chest are cut, but neither wound is deep. He presses something into my palm as I pass—it’s nearly an entire handful of hair. I make a fist around it, welcoming the magic that thrums to life, warming me.
The man Bastian’s fighting watches me cautiously as I make my way to the fire pit. Bastian uses his distraction to knock him to the ground and throw himself on top.
“Last chance to save yourself. Where’s Kaven?” Bastian presses the tip of his blade against the boy’s thick neck.
He spits a wad of blood to the side. “You really think that will scare me?”
Bastian presses his blade deeper. “Probably not, but she should.” He points to me. I stand several feet away, at the edge of the fire pit.
The thick-necked man stares at me, then at the hair in my hands. Realization widens his eyes. “It can’t be. There’s no way.”
“Oh, there’s a way.” I open my satchel and draw several teeth from inside. I wrap the hair around it, and then hold the bundle directly over the still-hot coals. Sweat beads over the boy’s brows.
The others have slowed, probably wanting to figure out what this boy’s outburst is about.
Ferrick seizes the opportunity and stabs his rapier into his opponent’s leg, knocking him to the ground while Vataea rushes the girl and wraps her hands around her opponent’s dark hair. She brings the dagger down, chopping half the hair from one side. Quickly, Vataea draws back toward me and offers it with a wicked sneer. I take the hair, but I won’t use it yet.
“I am Amora Montara,” I tell them as the coals begin to sear the back of my hand. “I hail from Arida. I am the kingdom of Visidia’s princess, the future High Animancer. And whether you choose to stand in my way or not, I will restore this island to the kingdom.�
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I don’t think of the dead girl on the ground or the way the blond boy cried out when I struck the final blow. I don’t think at all. I’m in full control as I open my palm and let the man’s hair and a handful of teeth fall into the flickering embers.
The man beneath Bastian tosses his head back and yowls in pain. He doubles over and grabs at his face, clawing at his mouth in an effort to rip out his scorching teeth. The coals still burn, but since the fire isn’t raging, they sear slowly rather than burn all at once.
“This is soul magic,” I say as the man beneath Bastian shakes and sputters violently. His mouth bleeds from how desperately he claws at it. It’s more than enough blood for me to end his life, but he’s too distracted by the teeth that slowly burn his gums to still be a threat.
Now, there’s only one opponent left—the girl whose hair I hold. She watches the man screaming before her with round, fearful eyes.
“This is a very, very small taste of the things I can do,” I warn her. “I can melt your bones, destroy your fingers—one by one—rot your teeth, your eyes, your tongue. I am a monster, and if you stand in my way, I will destroy you.” I mean every word that passes through my lips, and this girl knows it.
“I’m only going to ask you this once,” I say. “Where is Kaven?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but never has the chance to give an answer. There’s a rustle in the trees, and the quiet snapping of twigs beneath boots.
Bastian’s grip tightens on his sword. His shoulders stiffen as the figure emerges, and breath flees my lungs. Somewhere off to the side, both Vataea and Ferrick inhale a sharp, surprised breath.
It’s clear to all of us who this man is, because he looks just like an older version of his brother. But where Bastian carries the kiss of the sun on his skin, Kaven has been raised and fed by moonlight.
He’s exactly what I expected, and yet somehow entirely different. While he looks similar to Bastian in the face, he’s taller, and lithe where Bastian is broad. He doesn’t look like an adventurer, or have the same coiled muscles that give Bastian his strength in a sword fight. His chin is lifted high and proud; if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks like a noble. Everything about him feels intimidating.
Strands of gray travel from his roots and dust his inky black hair, and his cheekbones are striking on his gaunt face, sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s not until his eyes find mine that I buckle, the intimidation settling into my bones from the coolness of his gaze. I can practically see the calculation behind his steel-gray eyes, and I understand at once that Kaven doesn’t rely on blades to win his battles. His mind is his weapon.
He combs long, bony fingers through his hair, and on his wrist are dozens of thick leather bracelets, smeared with maroon stains. I remember Bastian’s story—this is where he keeps the blood of those he’s cursed, like a trophy. It’s where he holds not only his power, but also Bastian’s curse.
The chance to break Bastian’s connection with Keel Haul and restore his magic is right there within reach. Taunting us.
My fingertips numb as a rush of coolness floods through me.
“Four intruders,” Kaven says, voice surprisingly calm, “and you couldn’t take care of them?”
Kaven’s frigid presence is enough for the man beneath Bastian to stop screaming, and for the dark-haired girl to drop to her knees in a bow despite the imminent danger. In her distraction, Bastian takes his chance to shove the pommel of his sword into the back of her head. The girl chokes on a gasp as she stumbles forward onto her face, eyes rolling back as she passes out.
Bastian wastes no time. He ducks around me, chest heaving as he arcs his blade and brings it to the skin of Kaven’s throat. Rage is in his jaw. His shoulders. His breaths. Bastian reaches to Kaven’s belt and disarms the dagger sheathed there, tossing it to the dirt.
If he’s bothered at all by the blade at his throat, Kaven doesn’t show it. His smile is slow and mocking. “Welcome home, brother. I never suspected you’d show your face here again, especially with the princess in tow.” Kaven’s voice is predatory, but Bastian doesn’t waver.
“Brother?” Ferrick echoes quietly, anger in his eyes. “You never told me Kaven was his—”
“I just found out,” I whisper to him. “And now’s not the time. It wasn’t my secret to share.”
Bastian nicks Kaven’s throat in warning. None of us move to strike, giving Bastian this moment with his brother to see what might happen.
“Zudoh hasn’t been my home for a long time. You made sure of that.” There’s a quiver in Bastian’s voice. “Look what you’ve done to our island. To our people. This needs to stop; break my curse and step down, or I’ll end you here.”
Kaven lifts his chin higher, and Bastian’s blade cuts deeper. Every movement he makes feels precise and calculated, as though his mind is constantly working three steps ahead of his words. “You want your magic back? After all these years, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it. It would eat you alive.”
“Maybe so,” Bastian says as he eyes the dozens of thick leather bands woven around Kaven’s wrists with hunger. “But it’s time I take back what belongs to me.”
The right corner of Kaven’s lips twitches upward ever so slightly. I’ve seen Bastian make the same expression, and while it’s charming on him, it makes Kaven look dangerous. “And how do you intend to do that?”
“Zudoh will be returned to Visidia.” I hold my jaw high, fiercer than I feel. “Give Bastian his magic, break his curse, and step down from your position as Zudoh’s leader. This island is dying. If you don’t let us step in now, it’s going to be too late.”
Kaven scoffs. It’s a soft sound, but it sends dangerous chills up my spine. “I’m more of an animancer than you’ll ever be. You Montaras claim to be masters of souls, and yet you don’t even understand your own magic. Don’t you wonder why it challenges you, constantly? Why it tries to consume you?”
“I know why,” I snort. “I know all about the beast that King Cato bested.”
Kaven’s next words are spoken casually. So confident and self-assured that they freeze me. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he searches my face. Slowly, as to not scare Bastian into using his blade, Kaven points behind him and toward a towering waterfall I can barely see in the distance. “Everything you need to know about your family—the truth behind your magic, the knowledge of what they’ve done to this island and to Visidia—is there.”
Bastian shakes his head in warning, but the magic within me pulses with hunger as Kaven gestures.
“That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” he presses. “Answers? Let me show you the truth; there’s no need to make me your villain. Bring your weapons if you’d like; only the five of us will go. The rest of you…” He peers at the others, most of them bleeding on the ground or already dead, and huffs a tired breath. Blood trails from his throat where Bastian’s blade still quivers. “You’re no use to me.”
His soul is a swirling mass of shadows and deep, peeling purples. Parts have begun chipping and fading, and I know not to trust him even remotely. But he’s right about one thing: I’m tired of scraping for answers. I set out on this journey to prove to my people that I’m the future ruler they need. But if I don’t know the truth of Visidia and its magic, then that will never be possible.
I approach Bastian and take hold of his forearm. “Drop your weapon,” I tell him. “I need to see this for myself.”
When he hesitates, I pull his arm back again until he lowers his weapon to his side. “Don’t do this, Amora,” he grits out as Kaven wipes his neck and draws back a safe distance. “You’re walking straight into the belly of the beast.”
“That’s fine,” I tell him, thinking of the shadowy one coiled within me, waiting to strike. “I know how to handle beasts.”
Kaven smiles at his brother. “Follow me, then.”
With so much of the land burned away, it doesn’t take long for us to cross the flat, wooded terra
in. Cool air bites at my skin, and Bastian shivers. Though his sickness is getting worse, he stays at my side as we approach the waterfall, movements rigid and stiff. His hand never strays from the pommel of his sword.
There’s a small cavern tucked behind the roaring water, hidden to anyone not specifically looking for it.
Ferrick hesitates as he squints at it. The rocks barely gap open; there’s no telling how small the space may be, or what might await us inside.
“We may have opposing views, but I’m not an uncompromising man,” Kaven says. “If it’s answers you want, you need only to enter. And maybe when you emerge, you’ll understand what it is that I want for this kingdom. But there’s room only for one, Princess. You’ll have to trust that the others will be safe out here.”
I practically snort. Safe is not something I’d ever associate with this man.
“How do we know it’s not a trap?” Bastian asks. “That no one’s waiting for her, inside?”
Kaven waves a hand at me, arching a knowing brow.
“I don’t sense any other souls,” I answer his wordless question with a shake of my head. “It’s only us.”
But is it, truly? The magic within me is fully awake, writhing and anxious, goading me toward the cave with a force I’ve never before known it to possess. Within it is something my magic wants more than anything else.
“Be careful,” Vataea says. “There’s something dark inside that cave.” She strokes the hilt of her dagger and glares at Kaven all the while. He arches a thin brow, but she refuses to look away. Kaven’s alone; against the four of us, taking him out should be easy. Yet he doesn’t appear worried. He stands with his arms crossed and his stance leisurely.
“Will you be okay?” I ask Bastian, reading the anxiety creased into the wrinkles on his forehead.
“I’ll be fine,” he says fiercely. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’ll be okay.” I draw a breath and lift my chin. Though the others don’t look convinced, I pull my attention away from them and move forward. “If anything happens, yell for me.”
