by Adalyn Grace
“What makes you think you’re any different than Cato?” I ask Kaven. “You’re destroying lives for the sake of your own beliefs, just as he did.”
Kaven only shakes his head. “I want to fix the damage he’s created, and lead this kingdom on a new path.” Every word he speaks becomes sharper than the last, more forceful. “If a few lives must be sacrificed for that, then so be it. Aridian magic doesn’t have to be a vicious weapon. You’ve seen the reasons it lashes out. But I can help you. We can fix your magic, and restore this kingdom to what it was meant to be.”
Bastian bristles beside me.
“With you as Visidia’s king, I assume?” I keep my eyes firm on Kaven’s, whose words cause my chest to knot. Restoring Visidia is what I’ve wanted all along, but Kaven doesn’t seek restoration, he seeks vengeance. My family may be responsible for originally destroying this kingdom, but that in no way makes him its salvation.
“Yes, if that’s what they want to call me.” He says it so simply. “I will be their leader into a better future. And it starts with the Montara blood—it starts with your father. If you care about the future of Visidia as you claim, you will help me.”
“You’re right that the curse needs to be broken,” I admit. “But I’ll find another way. So long as there’s air in my lungs, Kaven, you will never rule Visidia.”
“You should rethink your position while you still have the chance.” Kaven’s voice rises as he takes a step closer. “The Montaras aren’t meant to rule. Cato was a liar and a cheat who separated the kingdom for his own gain, and your father is a coward who burned our ships and exiled us here. You can be better than them, Princess. Step down, stand by my side, and we can restore soul magic to what it should be.”
I grind my heels into the dirt, fearful my knees may give out with all the turmoil roiling within me. Because on one hand, nothing Kaven says is wrong. The Montaras were never the brave leaders I believed they were. They were never meant to rule.
But that doesn’t mean that I have to be like them. And I’m sure as stars not going to stand by Kaven’s side while he enacts his vengeance.
“How would you do it?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. Making it waver. Because Kaven’s hungry for blood, and if he thinks I can help him get it, then he’ll tell me what I need to know.
“Your curse is in your blood,” he says, and there’s a furor in his eyes. “The knife was coated with it. And when your father visited us eleven years ago, I stabbed him and mixed his blood with our spring water so that Zudians would have traces of that magic within them. They need only to accept and practice it. That’s what I’ve been training them to do. If the curse isn’t contained to only one person—if all of Visidia has it—it’s possible we can break it. The curse would become too big to sustain itself. And once it’s broken, we can restore soul magic to what it should be.”
I think of Sira’s magic—so open and free—and I crave that feeling, again. I never knew magic could be like that.
“But we don’t have enough of the curse within us,” Kaven continues. “We need more of it. If we had more of your father’s blood, we could—”
“No.” I’ve heard enough of his plan. “There’s got to be a way that doesn’t involve hurting my family or spreading the curse to more people.”
Kaven’s face falls, hardening into something monstrous. “There isn’t.” The flat tone of his voice sends shudders down my spine. “What’s one life in exchange for helping your entire kingdom get the magic they deserve?”
The words are a strike to my chest. They’re the words I’ve believed in all my life—one life does not mean more than the safety of my kingdom. That’s what I always told myself when I was deep in Arida’s prisons, taking the lives I thought I had to.
And even now, knowing how wrong I was, I would not claim that Kaven’s statement is untrue. One life is not worth the lives of the kingdom, but there has to be another way.
I think of Bastian, a boy cursed at the age of ten after watching his parents killed. Of Zale, fighting for her people with everything she has. Of the countless others that Kaven has killed in his pursuit of soul magic.
My kingdom does deserve magic, just as I deserve to have mine feel the way it did in Sira’s curse. But Kaven’s methods will not be how we achieve that. I will find my own way.
“The future of Visidia isn’t yours to decide,” I snarl. “No harm will come to Visidia or my family.”
Ferrick’s hand is on my shoulder within a second, stilling me. “We know what he wants,” he whispers. “We know he’s still building an army. If we leave now, we have time to tell your parents and devise a plan.”
Kaven doesn’t miss his words. “You really should have taken my offer, Princess.” Each word hits like the strike of a blade. “Because I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not building an army; I have one. And you’re out of time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I look past Ferrick and Vataea, fighting to steady my trembling hands as dozens of figures emerge from the woods. Only when they get closer do I see that some wear vests and worn boots of deep amethyst—Kerost. Others wear magnificent sapphire blazers and the matching capes I’d recognize anywhere. The silver emblems of their capes shine through the rolling fog, winking at me mockingly.
My own royal soldiers.
I step back on trembling legs, not wanting to believe what I’m seeing. “What’s going on?” I ask, though deep down I already know. I don’t recognize any of the Kers, but familiar faces are among my own people.
Like Casem’s.
My guard’s eyes widen when he sees Ferrick and me. He stands at the edge of the woods beside Olin, his father—the man who taught us both how to wield a blade and protect ourselves. The man who stands at Father’s side daily, acting as Arida’s top adviser.
Though Olin’s never been the warmest man, his crystal eyes were never half as frigid, nor a quarter as dangerous as they are now. And never before has he sneered at me with such raw hatred.
“Zudoh isn’t the only island that’s tired of your father’s reign.” Kaven steps through the soldiers to stand before me, his chin proud. “Your father brought only the soldiers he trusted most when he came to destroy this island—his top advisers. But what he miscalculated is that not all of them agreed with him. He didn’t think to consider that some might like the idea of our magic being open for all, especially after they saw the power of our multiple magics in battle, and how the king could take down twenty people at once, just with strands of their hair or drops of their blood. Like myself, they want to be able to practice soul magic.”
He nods to Olin, and my heart drops. “Did you truly think everyone would stay content with the monarchy keeping that magic entirely for themselves? With robbing people of their freedom, and telling them which island they must live on just because of the magic they choose to practice? It’s time for things to change. The day my island burned was the day others realized that, too.”
I try to catch Casem’s stare, remembering the last night we were together on Arida, and how passive the palace guards were during the puppet show. How they let people openly disrespect their king. I’d sensed something was wrong, but Casem waved my concern away. He’s been part of this all along.
Why then, in Ikae, had he protected me?
Sweat beads at my temple as I step back, the bramble of dead roots and leaves crunching beneath my feet. It’s certainly not all Aridian soldiers who have turned on us—only about fifteen or so—but I’ve no doubt that if they’re here, others who feel the same way are waiting back home.
Kaven steps forward. “The Montaras restrict us. Your little runaway was the perfect excuse we needed to get everyone away and consolidate our army. For that, I must thank you. Your High Animancer will never see this coming.” Someone presses a dagger into his palm, and he curls his long fingers around the hilt.
My own daggers feel heavier than normal as I lift them. They weigh my trembling hands.
As
Kaven approaches, I do my best to tighten my grip on them and keep them ready. My palms won’t stop sweating.
Visidia deserves better than what they’ve gotten, and it definitely deserves more than this man. He’s nearly as far gone as Cato, but I won’t make the same mistake Sira did by waiting. I still my shaking wrists, and lunge.
The woods erupt into chaos.
Bastian weaves swiftly around the birch trees, using them as shields to dodge his opponents, and as tools to outmaneuver them. He feints a left around one before banking right, ducking the blow of an opponent. His counterattack sends them face-first into the bramble, bleeding.
I force myself not to look at the face. Not to see if it’s anyone I recognize.
“Don’t let them get your blood!” I yell, wrapping the full force of my magic around me, letting myself sink into its darkness. Its ferocity. “We don’t know which of them might practice Kaven’s magic.”
Ferrick remains close behind me, using his speed to best his attackers and ensure that I only have to deal with Kaven. Vataea’s nowhere in sight; I’ve no idea when she snuck away, but I hope she’s somewhere safe in these woods.
Kaven fights with only one dagger, but he’s skilled and quick as he rushes me. He weaves around my movements and strikes at my waist. I barely dodge in time.
Kaven uses the same technique as Sira used to curse all of Arida; I can’t let him steal even a drop of my blood.
I slice my bone dagger through the air. Kaven ducks to avoid it, countering with a swift kick to my stomach that sends me flying into Ferrick’s back. He tumbles, but is the first to right himself and pull me up by my arms.
“Let me help,” he says urgently. But without fire, there’s nothing I can do with his offered limbs.
I push off Ferrick and swing at Kaven again, just as he’s about to bring his dagger down. He moves like a soldier, every motion precise and calculated. He dodges my blow, ducks around me, and grabs hold of my hair as Ferrick lunges at him. I try to yank myself free, hardly noticing the yells and the stench of smoke and fire plaguing the air.
Kaven curses and tosses me to the ground. He swats at his tunic; the fabric has caught fire.
Vataea stands behind him, holding several blazing branches like torches. She feeds the flames into the dehydrated bramble beneath us, which hungrily sponges them in and ignites the woods.
I look at her through the veil of smoke beginning to form, and she smiles.
I force myself from the ground and Ferrick is ready. He barely flinches as I toss the bone dagger and scramble to grab a fallen sword from the ground, using it to make a clean cut through his left arm, at his elbow.
Kaven’s struck by surprise and shifts his focus onto Ferrick. Wrong move. I take hold of the severed arm in one hand and thrust my blade deep into Kaven’s stomach with the other.
My world grows cold the instant blood soaks his shirt and stains my hands. The farther his blood trails down my skin, the further the cool burn spreads, like a monster devouring my flesh.
“Aridian magic isn’t the strongest, little princess,” Kaven seethes through his teeth. “Mine is. Let me show you.”
Pain freezes me. Kaven’s cursed his own blood as a means of protection, and I’m lost to the magic he’s formed around me. It’s one full of vicious shadows that plague the corners of my vision and snarl at me, snapping dagger-like teeth. I can’t do anything but scream as the cool steel of his blade slips beneath my skin. It’s like a thousand stingrays stab their barbs through me one by one as Kaven tears through my arm. I scream, my grip on the dagger slackening.
It’s just a curse, I remind myself as the shadows tangle around my ankles, dragging me into the earth.
I make my mind blank, letting the shadows do whatever they’d like. Because no matter how much they snarl or constrict around me, they’re not real—Kaven is.
I will my body to focus on what it’s doing outside this curse. To wrap my fingers around the dagger, and push.
Though I don’t see my weapon, I feel the invisible weight of it in my palms. The shadows rise, stretching as if forming a gaping mouth, preparing to devour me. But I look through them.
Bastian said it surprised him how quickly I could escape a curse, and now I know why—I’ve spent my entire life fighting Sira’s curse on the Montara bloodline. Compared to her magic, this is nothing.
I drive Rukan forward with everything in me.
There’s a scream. This time, it’s not my own.
As the shadows of the curse fade, a world that smells of smoke and iron takes its place. My fingers twist around Rukan’s woven hilt, and I rip my weapon from Kaven’s stomach.
My shoulder’s numb, hot with my own blood from where Kaven cut me. High on adrenaline, the pain hasn’t fully set in.
Kaven clutches his stomach as blood soaks through his shirt. “How?” is all he can ask.
“You’re not as strong as you think.” My body trembles as I slide the edge of my blade over Ferrick’s severed arm, coating it with Kaven’s blood. Then I feed it to the fire as the smoke rises, shrouding us.
Kaven digs his hands deep into the bramble and screams. Blood leaks from an invisible line on his skin as it begins to tear around the elbow. The skin beneath it bubbles up, sizzling to match what’s happening with Ferrick’s in the flames.
His arm begins to melt away from him, bones and all, and the leather bracelets on his wrist burn with it.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Bastian’s quiet gasp as the bloodied bracelets burn, but I don’t stop. I strike, fully intent on delivering the final blow, when something slices through the air beside me.
I whirl with just enough time to avoid the blow of an Aridian soldier, and his sword clatters into the earth. Behind him, at least five others are approaching, their weapons raised.
There are too many of them for us to win. And not just them, but Kaven, too. Though injured, he still fights.
There’s something in his hand I can’t quite see, and with a dawning horror, I watch as he slides it over his blade.
His blade that drips with my blood.
My insides twist as his curse on me takes hold. My body singes like a fresh wound doused with alcohol, every breath full of fire.
I go to lunge for the dagger in Kaven’s hand, to stop him, but Bastian grabs hold of my wrist.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. His eyes flash sharp and silver as he pulls me into him. “It’s too late. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t let them leave!” Kaven’s yell sounds like an echo somewhere in the distance. I clutch my chest as a vicious cold blossoms within me, hazing my vision.
Bastian grabs hold of my hand and forces me to run. White-hot pain shoots through my arm, nearly bringing me to the ground. Ferrick bounces on his feet behind Vataea, who uses her makeshift torch to ignite the bramble beneath us. Several soldiers stumble back as the flames roar to life, quickly moving to find a different path. But a few of the Kers manage to speed themselves up in time to make it through the flames.
A man in amethyst lunges for us, movements so fast they blur. He slams his blade into Ferrick’s shoulder, and the healer falls back with a grunt. The man arcs his weapon in preparation for another attack, but something sharp and silver gleams from the trees and hits him square in the eyes before he can manage to swing. The man falls back, and my head whirls.
Casem pants, a bow in his shaking hands. I stare at him and his lip quivers, face dripping with sweat.
“Amora,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry. I only wanted to find you. I thought this was … I mean, my father insisted I come, but I had no idea that … By the gods, I’m so sorry, I—”
“There’s no time!” Ferrick grabs Casem by the collar of his blazer, his shoulder already knitting itself back together. He pushes him toward us, and Casem stumbles, trying to keep up.
“Talk later,” Bastian says, “run now.”
I can barely follow that command. Bastian’s the only reason I’m still standing, bearing the majori
ty of my weight as he hauls me through the forest. Every step jars my shoulder, causing the pain to build into something so exponential I can no longer tolerate it. My vision blurs and I try to decipher what’s happening around us; all I’m able to make out is a hundred distorted colors, and blurred outlines. There’s screaming, and I think it’s Vataea who whirls around with a snarl.
At some point my vision fades entirely. I’ve no idea how much time has passed before I see Vataea again. This time, she’s covered in blood and our surrounding landscape has shifted. Footsteps are harder.
Sand.
More blood. How long have we been running?
I think I fall at some point because I taste sand and salt, but I’m lost to whatever’s happening inside my body. My gaze flickers between real life to blinding white, and when I try to summon my legs, I can’t even feel that they’re there. They buckle as someone continues to haul me forward, dragging my limp body through the sand.
“Vataea!” I don’t know who yells her name. “Now would be a really great time to show off more of that sea magic of yours!”
I hear the quiet snap of a bow. Wet sand sloshes around my boots, but I don’t see or feel it as much as I hear it. It mixes with the garbled sounds of voices and clanking steel as everyone fights. Everyone except for me.
But my eyes won’t focus enough for me to be able to help. My body’s hot and paralyzed, dead weight to whoever carries me.
It’s not Vataea. I catch her face in a passing blur; she’s bleeding from the nose as she raises the tides over her head, chanting a vicious song. It looks like the ocean stretches around us, the water parting. But I can’t focus. I can’t watch. All I see are flashes of blood. Sand. A wall of dead fish around us.
“It’s going to be okay.” I only know the voice belongs to Bastian when his calloused hand cups the side of my face. It cools my feverish skin instantly.
“Kaven’s down,” he whispers. “Vataea’s taking care of us. Stars, I wish you could see her out there, Amora. She was incredible. But we’re getting out of here, okay? You’re going to be fine.”
