Diadem

by Kate Kelley

  “I’m going to suck the dark magic out now, okay?”

  Lyra hesitated and lowered her head to Persimmon’s face and listened for her response. It was dead silent.

  “Persimmon?” Lyra rolled her over, her full weight flopping over. Persimmon’s eyes were closed, her face peaceful.

  “Persimmon?” A tear escaped Lyra’s eye. She bent her head to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. There was nothing.

  A dark cloud of dark magic rose out of her prone body and attached itself onto Lyra’s center, melting through.

  “Is she gone?” A throaty mumble sounded behind her. She turned, dazed.

  Oriel was lying behind her on the ground, tears streaking down his face as he watched Persimmon’s lifeless body. She vaguely realized she had just stepped over him on her way across. His shirt was soaked in blood.

  “Oriel!” She roamed her hands over his chest.

  “I’ve removed the arrows. Dark magic. Paralyzed...Poppi can’t…” Lyra flicked her eyes to the woman lying next to him, her face covered with her hair. Lyra wiped the hair of her eyes, praying she wouldn’t find the glassy stare that meant death. Poppi’s eyes were closed, her eyelashes fluttering. Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she spotted her chest. It was soaked through with blood, same as Oriel’s.

  Lyra laid her hands on Oriel, wasting no time to draw the magic to her, absorbing it fully inside her. She ripped Oriel’s shirt open and watched the wounds, dozens of them, close one by one. Oriel breathed slowly and sat up. “Lyra, you have to dispel the dark magic..” he groaned.

  Lyra ignored him, performing the same ritual on Poppi. Poppi had less wounds, but still took longer to come to. By the time Poppi was waking up, the wall began to rumble.

  Oriel clutched her arm and hauled her up. “Dispel the magic, Lyra…Lyra?” His voice trailed off as he backed up a pace and stared at her center as if seeing something strange there. His eyes flicked back to hers. Lyra hardened her jaw and turned away from him, peering through the crenel, searching for Terrin.

  Another quake shook the battlements. A large furry mound caught her eyes directly below her.

  No!

  “They have a second giant!” Lyra shouted, “Everyone off!” She pointed to a Knight who was almost to the door. “Stop! Please. Take my friend’s body down with you.” She showed him where Persimmon lay and he nodded grimly and picked her up, disappearing down the crowded stairwell with her.

  The three remaining knights, twelve remaining mages, and ten archers backed up from the parapet as the quake deepened, the rumble matching the brewing storm above that bellowed with thunder. Lyra rushed them toward the stairwell as she stood and kept an eye on the battle. Poppi and Oriel checked the fallen bodies, making sure they were dead. A few were only badly wounded, and they were carried out.

  With each rumble, their bodies vibrated as if struck by lightning and their teeth clacked in their heads. A barrage of water fell on them from the skies at the same time the wall and floor of the battlement rent in half, chunks of the stone crumbling through the treacherous gap.

  Lyra turned to Oriel and Poppi. “We’re on the wrong side of the crevice.” They stood rooted, their gazes glued on hers through the steady curtain of rain.

  “Jump over!” A knight waited at the top of the stairs, the only one who had stayed behind. Lyra eyed the crevice, wiping the rain off her her face and out of her eyes. It was about two feet wide and would be easy to jump over. The problem was movement. If they moved too much, would it widen? Break apart completely?

  For some reason, the giant had stopped his assault on the castle. Perhaps someone had killed him.

  Terrin, maybe?

  She had to believe he was alive.

  “Poppi, you first,” Lyra jerked her head. Poppi tore her gaze from Oriel’s and began slowly creeping forward on the wet stone, her eyes on the black gap in the stone.

  Please don’t collapse. Please don’t collapse.

  The wind picked up, lifting her hair off of her neck, and something caught Lyra’s eye.

  “Good evening, my sweet.” The pleasant voice turned Lyra’s stomach and her heart froze but she refused to turn toward him, refused to give him the satisfaction. She kept her eyes on Poppi. “Keep going, Poppi. Go.”

  Poppi crept forward, panic on her features. When she came to the gap, she leapt and made it to the other side easily.

  The knight at the top of the stairs had retreated down a few steps, his dark eyes rooted to Edwin and his giant raven in quiet horror.

  Poppi broke into a sprint when a blast struck the middle of her back and she fell into the stone with a cry. The knight jumped up the steps to pick her up when Lyra turned to Edwin and blasted him with a violent flick of her wrist. He flicked his hand back and the blast dispersed like glowing powder, swept up in the rain.

  “Leave her alone.” Lyra growled.

  Oriel faced Edwin, his eyes intent. “Leave,” Oriel said, his voice smooth and low.

  Edwin stared at him for a moment before cracking into a smile that turned into a full-bodied laugh. Oriel’s nostrils flared.

  Edwin wiped his eyes. “That was quite the trick. You see, your mind control powers won’t work on me.” He turned to Lyra, “Tell me, dear. How many more friends will you let die before you come to the Master? Her name was Persimmon, was it not? Smart girl to figure out I was working for the Master.”

  Lyra gut twisted and her breathing stalled.

  “Don’t listen to him, Lyra. Her death is not on you.” Oriel’s voice was pained and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

  But it is my fault. All of this is my fault.

  Edwin smiled sympathetically, and rested his chin on his fist. His raven flapped his wings slowly, keeping them airborne. “Did you love him? That prince with the black hair?”

  Lyra’s mouth went dry.

  “Lyra, he’s lying,” Oriel pressed.

  “Where is he?” Lyra asked Edwin.

  Edwin shifted his mouth to the side as if he was thinking. “Well, not Vanaheimr. He never got that trial. I suppose he’s in the underworld somewhere.”

  Lyra blasted him again, this time catching him off guard and striking his raven in the chest. The giant bird faltered and squawked. She thought of Galdr, dead.

  Not Terrin. He’s lying.

  “So your bird can take damage. I bet you can too.” A deep, black, chasm of roiling anger rose up into her center, spilling into every corner of her body. She let it come, let it feed her power until her head was swirling with the need to kill and conquer.

  Edwin raised his eyebrows and flicked his eyes over her form. “So that’s why he calls you his darkling. Hmm, quite alluring.”

  Lyra raised her palms, black heat glowing within them. “Where. Is. Terrin.”

  Edwin crossed his arms and contemplated her for a moment. The rain fell in a shushing, calming lull. Blood dripped from the raven into a puddle in steady plunks. Lyra vaguely realized she was freezing cold, her skin numb.

  “Oriel, leave.” Her lips were numb too, and her tongue felt swollen as she said the words. She didn’t want Oriel caught in the crossfires. No one else would die because of her.

  Oriel looked at her, desperation in his eyes. “I’m staying with you.”

  She looked at Oriel’s aura, somehow seeing the whole of it, the very essence of it, and not just his emotions. It was orange, bright with fear and determination. Powerful, wise, but less powerful than hers. “Go, Oriel, or I will make you.”

  Oriel’s brow creased and he lifted his chin. Confusion and pain flashed through him in waves, washing away to the domination of fear.

  “Oh, hell, I’ll get rid of him,” Edwin said, and flicked his arm toward Oriel, sweeping his hand to the side as if slapping the air. Oriel rose instantly into the air and dangled, his head rolling back on his neck, his eyes closed.

  “I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt him!” Lyra screamed.

  “Your Prince consort is dead. Most
of your army is dead. Oriel will die. Navi’s sister will die. The Queen will die. Your brother will die.”

  Lyra let out a dry sob. “No, no, no.” She grit her teeth until she was sure they would break.

  Edwin feigned sympathy, sticking out his bottom lip in mock sadness. “We’ll just keep coming back, little girl. Every day. Every night. We’ll visit you in your dreams. We’ll kill every last one of anyone who means anything to you. You cannot stop the Master.”

  “I will kill you!” Lyra blasted outward with black, sharp aura and the raven rose up, along with Oriel.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Edwin wagged his finger at her and lifted Oriel higher into the air. “He’s slowly losing air supply. I’m crushing his windpipe. Now, I can kill him slowly by squeezing the air out of his lungs, or I can drop him and he can break into a million pieces on the battleground. Which do you prefer?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Lyra bellowed, her voice unrecognizable.

  Edwin lowered his raven again and the bird twitched, its black eyes like mirrors staring into her. “The Master always gets what he wants. Even if you kill me, he’ll come for you. He’ll always come for you.”

  Lyra stared at Oriel, his face turning purple, the features peaceful as if he were sleeping. She watched him sleep once, the night he stayed in bed with her. Pain lanced her insides as she thought of him, if he died...

  Terrin. They killed Terrin.

  Edwin clenched his fist and Oriel jerked, his face turning dangerously blue.

  “OKAY! I’LL GO!” Lyra screamed. “I’LL GO! Just put him down.”

  Edwin smiled and released Oriel slowly onto the battlement, his body crumpling onto the stone. Hot tears swam and mingled with the freezing raindrops on Lyra’s face.

  “Come now, halfling, jump, and I’ll call all the monsters back.” Edwin patted the space in front of him on the raven’s back. He lowered the raven until it landed on the edge of the wall, it’s talons clutching the stone in a vice-like grip. Lyra looked at the empty space on the raven and a coldness seeped its way deep into her bones until nothing mattered anymore. Her life became utterly meaningless.

  All she could think about was Terrin. The last thing she’d seen was a troll stabbing him, taking his life.

  He’s dead. And so am I.

  She jumped to it and landed on the bird. Edwin carefully reached around her so as not to touch her and clutched the reins as Lyra held onto the feathers.

  “Lyra! No! Lyra!” Oriel was awake, his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted up at them. Lyra watched him with dead eyes. She’d never see him again, but he was safe. He was alive.

  Edwin chuckled and the raven beat it’s oily black wings, rising higher into the darkened, flashing sky.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  They flew into black, wispy clouds, so high in the sky that Lyra had the sense they were transporting through a portal, how weightless she felt. The air was so cold it burned her face, and yet she felt nothing. She looked at the empty dark space below her and suddenly felt the urge to go to it, to fall into it and meet Terrin on the other side.

  “Don’t think of it,” Edwin said boredly. “The raven’s fast and will catch you.”

  Lyra closed her eyes and willed tears to come, to give her some sort of relief from the tight ball of grief and shock in her center, but they wouldn’t come.

  Edwin slammed something bitter into her mouth, and covered her mouth with his hand. She gagged at the slimy substance, but it slid down her throat anyway. Her eyes watered and she shook violently against his hand, gloved in satin cloth.

  Edwin’s dark chuckle was the last thing she remembered.

  ✽✽✽

  A shape, fuzzy and dark, coalesced into being in her mind. It grew clearer and brighter until it was sharp and clear as day.

  A key. Dark green in the middle of a blue sphere.

  Her eyes shot open, and a sharp pain stabbed the center of her brain. She cringed against the pain, turning to her side and balling up, her knees to her chest. It was a long time before the pain subsided.

  When it did, she slowly unfurled herself and lay on her back. Pieces of thought and memory drifted to her, fitting together slowly like a puzzle.

  Navi.

  Persimmon.

  Oriel.

  Edwin.

  Terrin.

  She sat up straight as a different kind of pain lanced her heart, and the world tilted on its axis. Slinging her arms out to the sides, she steadied herself until her vision straightened. Her eyes landed on a white vanity, large, fitted with crystal knobs. Her gaze traveled down to a black marble floor, reflecting the orange light of candelabras on white stone walls. A white desk stood to the left, fitted with a white chair. She looked down at her lap. She was sitting on a large bed, overlaid with fluffy white blankets.

  Standing, she crossed to the door as soon as she spotted it to the right. The door was a slab of thin marble, the likes of which she had never seen. The doorknob was crystal like the knobs of the vanity and she turned and pulled at it desperately, surprised when it flung open for her.

  She entered a deadly silent hallway, the floor black and the walls white and bare. The way the black floor glimmered in the candlelight created an eery mirage, as if she were walking across a black sea. The hallway curved to the right and there a marble staircase lead down to a foyer, not unlike the Gem castle’s. Except there were no windows, no people, and the scent of dark magic singed the air in acrid and decadent notes, like a field of deadly flowers.

  Where is the main door? This was a mistake. I have to get out. Have to find Oriel.

  She ran through rooms with lofty ceilings, so pristine and white except for the floors, all interior doors fitted with the same sparkling crystal knobs. She couldn’t find any door to the outside.

  She stopped in an upstairs sitting room and spun in circles, desperately searching for some way out. Her head started to pound and she scrubbed her eyes with her fists.

  Have I been in this room already?

  “You won’t find one.”

  Lyra froze at the voice. It was deep, like Terrin’s, but there was a coolness, a calculation about the tone that unnerved her. She turned and faced him.

  A tall man, broad of shoulder, and dressed in black finery, cravat and all, stood before her. His hair was dark and cropped short, the top slightly longer and swooped to the side neatly. His jaw was square, strong. His nose straight, his cheekbones sharp, his eyes dark--black, she realized. They sparkled in the ferocity of their gaze.

  He smiled, revealing a gleaming white smile, and opened his arms. “Hello, Darkling. Welcome home.”

  Ganymede.

  He took a step toward her across the smooth floor, but Lyra stumbled back, holding her hands up in warning.

  Ganymede stopped and held his hands up, his smile still in place. “I don’t wish to hurt you.”

  Lyra huffed out a breath in disbelief. She found her voice. “You don’t wish to hurt me. And the army of thousands of mages, trolls, giants, that attacked us? What was that? A greeting of peace?”

  Ganymede clasped his hands in front of him patiently. “Your friends are a different matter. A means to an end. I haven’t allowed a single person to hurt you, have I?”

  Lyra nodded her head as rage burned her insides. “No, just my friends. My parents. My grandmother, great grandmother, great, great grandmother--!”

  Ganymede averted his eyes to the floor in a surprising act of submission. “I can only ask your forgiveness, though I expect none--”

  “The rockslides? The wolves? Nymphs? Trolls?”

  “Those were all under Edwin’s direction, not mine. He has been punished. He’s not to touch you.” A spark of something rose to the surface of his gaze, but it was gone a second later.

  Lyra’s chest heaved as she continued to stare at him. This was him. This was Ganymede.

  “In time, you’ll come to understand why most of it was necessary.”

  “Why was it necessary? Te
ll me now.” Lyra glared, raising her palms toward the man in warning. She called to her aura and siphoned it out.

  Barrenness greeted her. Not a single flicker of aura ignited, not even a warmth, not even a faint stirring.

  Ganymede smiled sympathetically.

  “What did you do to me?” Lyra whispered, pressing her palm into her center.

  “I can’t have you attacking me, Lyra. It wouldn’t do. I mean to do this peacefully.”

  Lyra stood stiff an instant in shock before lunging, her hands out as if to grab his neck. Her body went through air where Ganymede had previously stood.

  “You can’t hurt me, I’m afraid.”

  She whipped around and Ganymede stood where she had been a moment before. “You can jump? What are you?” she spat.

  Ganymede sighed and crossed to a white sofa covered in white, lush furs. He sat and crossed his right ankle over his left knee, and clasped his hands over top. Each movement he made was meticulous, precise, as if each movement was important, as if he had all the time in the world. His black eyes centered on Lyra. “I’m many things. I hardly know what one would call me now.”

  “Dark, loathsome, evil bastard?” Lyra asked dryly.

  Ganymede smiled and rubbed his clean shaven jaw. “Yes, that’s certainly part of it, though the dark, evil part I would leave out.”

  Lyra scrunched her face in derision. “You deal exclusively in dark magic.”

  Ganymede sighed. “Yes, of course I do. It’s a means to an end, as I said before.” He pinned her with his eyes, and Lyra tried to distinguish his pupil from the iris. She couldn’t. “I’m not an evil man, Lyra.”

  Lyra growled. “You murdered my parents.”

  “That was an accident. I didn’t mean to...I was a slave to the magic. I was blinded. You’ve felt the dark magic’s pull. Surely you understand how one can be swept under by the power. But I’ve reformed and my sights have been reset.”