Heir to the Throne (The Wardbreaker Book 4)

by Katerina Martinez

  Axel found his life flashing before his eyes in the heartbeats that followed. His father had told him tonight he would have to make the most difficult decision of his life. Stand down, his father had said, but that hadn’t been it.

  Not by a long shot.

  This was it. This was the moment, the decision. His father was falling, helpless, vulnerable. In Axel’s hand was a sword made of pure magic, buzzing, vibrating; a tool with which he could end the life of the monster his father had become.

  He didn’t want this choice. It was too much, too big, but he understood all too well just how capable his father was at evading death. Even if the Magistrate captured him, even if he refused to help them, even if they sentenced him to die, Asmodius would wriggle his way out of it somehow, and then he would be free again to continue defiling all he touched.

  This was the moment, Axel’s moment—the defining choice of his life. It wasn’t right to end a person’s life. He knew, it would haunt him for the rest of his days if he did. But would it be worse if he didn’t? Could he live with himself either way?

  With a breath held in his lungs, he drew his sword into his father’s chest, the glowing tip emerging behind the fallen Psionic’s back.

  Asmodius gargled blood, some of it finding its way onto Axel’s shirt. “See?” he struggled. “We’re… the same.”

  Axel didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. His father went limp on top of him, the shimmering sword fading into red-violet mist as the life left his body.

  And that was it.

  His father was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The dragons were all gone. Every image and statue I’d seen in my dream depicting dragons in flight, or roaring, had been replaced by images of the tentacled God, Kamos. It was everywhere, especially around the temple of five pillars.

  Instead of dragons guarding it, there were octopi with massive mouths filled with teeth. The huge, golden doors were likewise covered in images that, the more I looked at them, the more they started to feel wrong on a level I couldn’t wrap my mind around.

  It was like they were striking the wrong chord against my very soul, as if simply looking at them was some kind of mortal sin. More and more, I was beginning to understand what Oktos meant when he referred to this, all of this, as blasphemy against the Tempest.

  Against our God.

  “I hate this place even more than the Murklings,” Oktos said.

  “Do you think it’ll hurt you to go inside?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but there’s no turning back. Not for you, or for me.”

  I nodded. “Alright.” I looked over at Ifrit. “Are you ready?”

  Ifrit didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at the door his body sending ripples of soft light over its golden surface. The door opened all on its own, the gap grinding just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I entered, my eyes peeled for potential threats, my heart firmly wedged inside of my throat.

  The throne room was dark, and gloomy; not the bright, shimmering place I remembered from my dream, but also not the underwater hellscape from the nightmare that followed. It lay somewhere in between both of those extremes—like it was stuck in limbo. Many of the walls were cracked and broken, many of the columns no longer reached the ceiling, and where once I’d seen a beautiful shifting mural, now there was only fractured darkness overrun by algae.

  The one thing that stood, however, was the throne, only just like everything else, it too was different. I remembered it being a solid, rigid structure of marble, with dragon’s heads for arm rests and a soft cushion to sit on. This throne didn’t seem to have any right angles at all.

  It was a fluid construction, with many curves and smooth, almost shiny surfaces. Instead of dragon’s heads, the arm rests were large, black orbs that looked like they were filled with a thick goop, roiling around a dim light source as if to smother it. Most disturbingly of all were the tentacles.

  Hundreds of them, it felt like, loomed above and behind the throne—not separately from it, but part of it. Several tentacles reached around the top of the throne, curling over it like fingers. Others were positioned around the throne itself, sculpted to look like they were ready to whip out at anyone who got too close.

  Already I could feel its power, pulsing from it in rhythmic waves, not unlike the pounding of a heart. I didn’t like the way those waves made me felt, I didn’t like looking at the throne, and I liked the thought of getting near it even less. But if that was the beating heart of this place, then I had to destroy it.

  Somehow.

  I took a few steps closer to the throne, but Oktos stopped me. “Wait,” he said, “Look.”

  In the open archways along the sides of the throne room, Murklings were starting to emerge. They weren’t rushing into the throne room to eat us all alive, they weren’t growling or snarling. They were simply present, making themselves known, showing us they were there. Waiting to be told what to do, I feared.

  “Find a high spot,” I said. “I don’t want them hurting you.”

  “I admire your optimism,” Oktos said, “But I highly doubt I’ll be safe even up there.”

  Still, he took to the air, soaring until he reached the top of a broken column and perching himself on it. Ifrit came up beside me, his warmth and light giving me something comforting when I needed it the most. Steeling myself against the anxiety welling inside the pit of my stomach, I approached the throne, each step a little surer than the last. In my mind, I saw myself destroying it; I saw myself calling fire down on this whole place and burning it to the ground and letting the Tempest swallow its remains forever.

  But something was telling me the drowned Queen wasn’t going to let her once shining city go down without a fight.

  The throne suddenly started moving, forcing me to stop dead in my tracks. The tentacles slowly writhed and pulsated, shifting independently at first, but then pulling the throne apart as one. It was like a living structure, splitting itself in two and transforming into a dark archway, with the dark orbs resting at its crown.

  And within that archway, stood the drowned Queen.

  She was resplendent in her white dress, a stunning specimen of a woman—her body perfectly sculpted, her skin flawless and tanned, her eyes smoky and dark, but filled with intelligent light. When she turned her eyes on me, the small, sigil-like tattoos on her body flashed with soft, blue, mesmerizing light.

  It was hard to focus on anything else with her in the room. Nothing else mattered except the Amazonian Goddess standing less than twenty yards from me. But just like her shining city, I could sense the rot underneath the surface. There was something eerily off about her, a kind of wrongness I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it was that unnatural light in her eyes, or maybe it was the way her hair swayed like it was underwater.

  Keep your cool, Izzy.

  “At last,” she said, in a soft, feminine voice. A smile curled across her lips. “We meet.”

  “I can’t say I share your enthusiasm,” I said.

  “You haven’t been waiting eons for this moment. I, however, have been waiting far too long.”

  “Waiting for what, exactly?”

  “For you, my dear Isabella. For the one who could achieve what no other has been able to for as long as I have been here. You summoned the crown… you helped my city rise from its deep, dark prison, and now you have come to take what is rightfully yours.”

  “I think you’ve got that mixed up. I’m not here to take anything. I’m here to destroy this place and everything in it, including you.”

  The Queen stepped through the archway, clearing the way for the tentacles to re-form themselves into a throne once more. “I know you think that,” she said, “I can sense the fire burning within you. But we have much to discuss first, and you’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you. Perhaps then you can make a more informed decision about your place in the cosmos after.”

  She’s reading my mind. Shit.

  “No
, I’m not,” the Queen said, pointing a finger at Ifrit, “But he is.”

  Ifrit was staring at the Queen, his eyes burning, his whole body burning. “Ifrit?” I asked.

  “Oh, dear… he hasn’t told you?” the Queen asked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. The Tempest has such strict rules, doesn’t it? But we worked around those rules, didn’t we Ifrit? And oh, what wonderful things we discovered.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped, my voice filling the cavernous room and bouncing off its walls.

  “Go ahead,” the Queen said, “Tell her. I know you want to. You know you want to.”

  “Ifrit, what is this?”

  “I don’t answer to her anymore,” Ifrit said, his voice low and deep, like the rumble of lava shifting in the mouth of a volcano.

  “Oh, but you did. You remember.”

  I grabbed Ifrit’s arm, my hand merging through his flaming body until it found something solid to hold onto. “Ifrit, talk to me, not to her. I’m here, and I need you.”

  Ifrit finally gave me his attention. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t share information with you about past lives I’ve lived… or past Mages I’ve been bound to. The Tempest forbids it.”

  “Wait… what?”

  “Ifrit was my Guardian well before he was yours,” the Queen said, “And we accomplished many things together. We built this place together.”

  “And you destroyed it with your insatiable greed,” Ifrit said, in a low voice.

  “Yes, we disagreed on some things, but without you, I never would’ve been able to bring Ashelor to life. I never did get a chance to thank you before… well, you decided to leave me in the dark, alone.”

  “You threatened to forever corrupt the very essence of your soul—our soul—I couldn’t allow you to continue, but it wasn’t a decision I took lightly. It almost destroyed us both.”

  “But it didn’t, and I should be thanking you for that, also. Without you, without a soul, I never would have been able to bring Kamos into myself—into the world.”

  I stared at my hands like I could see through them and into my own soul. I was reeling, my heart slamming against the sides of my temples. I remembered being told the story about how a Mage becomes a Mage. It isn’t randomly determined sometime during their lives; it’s written into their destinies well before they’re even born.

  The Tempest itself marks the Mage to be, and when it’s born, the Tempest tears out part of the human’s soul and devours it, filling the void left behind with magic. But that void isn’t enough. The void makes the Mage incomplete, it makes them yearn to find their Guardian who possess another half of a soul—an immortal soul that leapfrogs through time, from Mage, to Mage, to Mage.

  In many ways, I was the reincarnation of all the other Mages Ifrit ever bonded with… and that list now included the drowned Queen.

  “You carry within yourself part of something that was once mine,” she said, “The Tempest may have trapped me here all this time, but I live on in you. It’s why only you can use the crown, and it’s why only you can take your rightful place on this throne.”

  “What the hell makes you think I would ever do that?” I asked.

  “Because it’s your destiny, Isabella. Ashelor yearns to be released from its prison. This place was a utopian paradise, a city where Mages from all over the world could come and share their ideas, their wealth, and their art. We have lost that vision. Mage kind is now splintered and scattered across the world, bickering amongst themselves and hiding from a human race that will destroy itself soon—it’s only a matter of time. We have the power to save humanity from itself.”

  “By walking all over them?”

  “Even enlightened races need their masters. But think of what you could accomplish if you had the kind of power I once wielded. With a thought, this entire city could descend back into the world of humans and take its rightful place as the beacon of civilization it once was. We could bring peace and long life to a war-torn, disease-stricken species.”

  “I’m not buying it. I’ve seen better Miss America speeches than the shit you just spewed.”

  The Queen’s eyes darkened. “Very well. Then in that case, consider this—” She whipped one of her hands out towards Ifrit, sending a blast of magic into his chest that threw him into a marble column. The marble came down hard on my Guardian’s body, collapsing around him and drowning his fire to little more than embers and smoke.

  “Ifrit!” I yelled. I was about to move toward him, when the Queen’s magic slammed me hard in the chest too, sending me crashing to the floor.

  Winded, coughing, I fought to get back on my feet, not once taking my eyes off her. “Let me guess,” I panted, “This is the part where you threaten all the people I love with torture and death, because I have to tell you, that’s already happened once today and it’s getting old."

  “No,” she said, grinning widely and pointing a single finger at me. “This is the part where I find out if you’re worthy after all.”

  It wasn’t a bolt of magic that shot out of her fingertip, but more like a dart. I barely saw it leave her finger, and I didn’t feel it tear through my ribcage and into my chest. All I felt was the sudden, warm release of blood, and a sharp pain when I tried to breathe.

  I fell hard on my knees, then onto my side, my ears ringing, my heart beating wildly at first, but rapidly slowing.

  Shit.

  I wasn’t expecting that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Get up, Elemancer.

  Becket’s voice. I remembered him saying that to me. It felt like a lifetime ago, but then again, I’d run through many lifetimes in a manner of a few months, hadn’t I? Who the hell even was I anymore? I wasn’t Kandi, the stripper. I also wasn’t Izzy, the finder—or the thief. I wasn’t even the Wardbreaker anymore.

  Now I was the bringer of death, probably.

  The drowned Queen’s ride out of the Tempest.

  No. Screw that.

  Breathing hurt; holy crap if it hurt, but I wasn’t dead. Not yet. I slowly opened one eye, trying not to give myself away. My vision was a little blurry, but I was still in the Tempest—still in the throne room, still in the presence of the Queen. I saw her walking toward me, sauntering, more like; a victory walk. That bitch was smug, but as long as I still had life in me, I was going to wipe the smug off her stupid, perfect face.

  When I thought she was close enough, I rolled onto my side and fired a stunning spell at her. Her eyes widened, she took a step back, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting hit in the forearm just as she tried to block the spell. She staggered back a few paces, and I shot to my feet, staring at her from where I stood.

  I was bleeding from my left side. How bad, I didn’t know, but breathing was painful, and I was starting to feel woozy. Ifrit would’ve been able to tell me just how much I’d been hurt, but he was still down. With the Queen still reeling from the spell I’d just hit her with, I took the chance to charge a lightning bolt.

  “It’s gonna take more than that to keep me down,” I snarled, and when the magic was ready, I sent the lightning streaking from my fingertips and racing toward her.

  But the Queen’s eyes flickered up. She raised her hand, and the lightning struck an invisible wall she’d brought up with little more than a thought, leaving the air singed and smoking. Her hair swayed as if it was underwater, and her mad, wild eyes were on me—fixed on me, like a hungry lioness staring down her prey.

  “You’re not dead yet,” she said, “Impressive.”

  “I’d thought about dying, but,” I shrugged, “It’s not for me.”

  “Strong words indeed. But how long can you hold onto your mortality before your body gives way?”

  I frowned at her. “Long enough to kick your ass,” I growled, and I went on the attack.

  She was lithe, gracefully able to block my attacks, but I was crafty, and nimble. I made a running dash toward her, leapt toward a marble column, and springing off it,
snapped a stunning spell at her that broke past her defenses and clipped her in the shoulder. The spells weren’t enough to take her down on their own, but if I could just hit her enough times…

  I landed on my feet and spun around to face the Queen who, with a little grin, shot a spell at me from where she stood. I blocked it, but the force of the impact almost took my arm off. I stared at her, my shoulder throbbing with pain.

  “This would all be a lot easier if you only gave in,” she said. “Think of all the things I could show you, all the wonderful secrets I’ve learned could be yours if you would only sit on the throne and claim it as your own.”

  “And let you possess me? Not thanks.”

  She lowered her eyes, frowning. “Then I’d suggest you don’t try blocking my attacks. You won’t find that pleasant.”

  Qyhena Ophine roared and fired another blast of magic at me. I twirled away from the green bolt of light, then spun out of the path of the one that followed, and flipped over the third. I was really stretching the limits of my acrobatic skills, but each of her magic blasts bit into pieces of marble with enough force to make them explode on contact. She wasn’t kidding about the kind of power she had.

  I had to avoid them, but I was getting tired, and the bleeding was starting to really make me feel faint. I was running on adrenaline.

  Instead of using what was left of my energy trying to avoid her magic by dodging it, I used the terrain to my advantage, sprinting behind and around marble columns. Blast after magic blast turned the cover I was using to rubble, but I needed to buy some time—I had to think.

  The drowned Queen struck the column Oktos had been perched on, and he yelled in protest before taking to the air on his massive wings. That, at least, caught her attention enough that she took her eyes off me—even if only for a moment. I peeked out from around a marble column, and I was about to attack her, when a thought hit me.