The man groaned, and Ariana felt a cold snap of relief. She hadn’t killed him. She’d never wanted to fight the Fyrennians in a way that would leave blood on her hands.
“Who made the wounds in this one?” the King inquired. He was so cavalier he could've been asking who’d whipped up a particularly decadent desert.
“Her,” the Commander answered, yanking Ariana’s hair. She cried out.
The King cocked his head and trained his gaze on her. She clamped her mouth shut. But he continued to stare.
She wanted to turn away, afraid to make eye contact, sensing that somehow if she did she’d end up like the woman at the start of the maze. She squirmed with an overwhelming discomfort until he finally spoke.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” he said, looking back down at the Huntsman. “You let that little girl do this to you?”
The man was clearly unable to respond. She must've hurt him quite badly.
“Which means you fought her, and you let her get away,” he went on, something poisonous seeping into his unaffected tone. He eyed the Commander. “Unacceptable.”
It happened too quickly for Ariana to close her eyes: Falken stamped on the man's face and a crack echoed in the silent air as the man's neck was broken.
“Now. Where is he?” the King demanded.
He breezed to the bridge as the Commander moved himself and Ariana to the side. She caught her friends from the corner of her eye, and bit back a gasp.
Hunter was sitting. The arrow still stuck out of his chest. He leaned all his weight on Tehya and Perry.
As the king approached and his eyes found Hunter, a look spread over his face that stopped Ariana’s heart cold. He halted. A cruel grin seeped into his mouth. Sheer hatred boiled behind his eyes.
“There’s an arrow in his chest.” He sounded pleased by this.
“A slip, Sovereign,” the Commander quickly explained. “But the girl here can take his place.”
Falken turned his eyes to Ariana once more. "Rarer than Tieren twins, I believe is the saying." Her breathing grew erratic as he took another step, putting himself a mere arms-length away. From this distance, she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
For a fraction of a second, she thought she saw the slightest trace of a frown. But then it was gone—replaced by a cruel smirk.
“I’d rather make the boy suffer." Falken turned toward the island—toward Hunter. “The number of ways I dreamed of killing you, and here you are, alive, with an arrow in your chest,” he said. “Get up, boy.”
Hunter didn’t move.
“Get up,” he ordered again. “Or I will tear out that arrow and your heart with it.”
Hunter tried to tilt forward, but fell back, unable to bear his weight.
Ariana could see Perry’s eyes widen with anger. She clenched her teeth, silently begging him not to react. He was of no use to them. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.
“Get. Up.”
Hunter tried again, but this time Perry and Tehya held his shoulders, muttering encouragement to stay still.
“You’re wearing on my patience, boy,” the tyrant said. “Stand and bring me the Onyx Vial.”
“He can’t,” Perry snapped. “Don’t you see that?” He shifted Hunter’s weight into Tehya’s arms and stood.
Giving the archers a clearer shot on a wider target. Ariana cringed.
Falken hardly blinked. “I see a lazy boy and his petulant friend,” he responded. “He can get up and he will. But he won’t be needing your help.” He gestured to the archers.
Ariana knew what was coming.
Twang.
“Perry, no!” she screamed.
Falken’s hand lashed across her face like a whip, the impact exploding against her cheek and lighting her vision with stars. “Keep your mouth shut."
Perry’s howl echoed and died before she regained her vision.
Chapter 36
Hunter jolted from his stupor at the sound of the scream. Perry’s body hit the ground with a heavy, muted thump. His friend writhed in pain beside him. Hunter’s heart hurt for him.
No... It just hurt.
He looked down to find that a stick protruded from his chest. He felt like he’d seen it before, but he couldn’t remember how or why. Then someone spoke. A man. He recognized the voice. Something from a dream.
His… father? Was he dreaming?
“On your feet, boy. Or the next arrow will find your girlfriend’s pretty face.”
An arrow. The stick was an arrow.
It all came screaming back. The courtyard. The letter. The Huntsmen. The warning from Tehya.
Tehya.
She was beside him, holding his head while tears streaked her beautiful face and her emerald eyes flitted from him to Perry and back.
The man—his father—threatened to shoot her.
Hunter clenched his abs, pulling his weight off of Tehya’s arms. He wouldn’t let that happen.
Searing pain tore through his chest, slashing a hole of black in his vision. He pitched forward, the hole swallowing him up.
He landed deftly on his feet in the frigid, hedge-lined corridor as Harold approached with the girl.
“Asrea,” he said, waving her over. “Hurry.”
It was so cold. His etâme shielded itself from the frigid air, refusing to work with it or even let it in. Odd, he thought, that the temperature was affecting him so much. He didn't remember that being the case before. But he could do nothing until he warmed up. Asrea, however, was unfazed by the chill.
As he leaned against the withering hedge, his hands cupped in front of him, George rounded the corner with Fenix. The horse kept her wings pressed to her sides, clearly understanding the danger of being noticed.
He gave George a nod. Then Asrea secured a handhold in the hedge and placed her foot in his palms. He gave her a boost and climbed back up beside her.
Asrea inhaled sharply when she peered over the top.
He glared at her.
“Ariana,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “But there. The girl.” He pointed to the center island where Tehya struggled to hold up the weight of an unconscious boy who looked just like himself.
No… Was himself.
“Stop the arrow,” he said, as if he wasn’t concerned with the thoughts in his head.
Asrea frowned and looked at him with whiteish-silver eyes. But she didn’t question him. “Keep me steady,” she answered, taking her hands off the rough, stubby branches. “I’ve got to—”
The creak of a bow and the snap of its string cut her off.
He stuck his arm behind her, keeping her from falling back.
Then Ariana cried out, her anguish so familiar that repressed memories and violent emotions surged forward and slammed into him, rocking him backward.
He gasped for air. His eyes snapped open as the night filled once again with a haunting, painful scream.
He was on the island.
Before he could make sense of it, an arrow whooshed past his left ear and thunk—it stopped—buried in something above his left shoulder.
He turned his head. Too fast. The world spun as Tehya fell to the ground in a heap.
“No,” he croaked, his vision blurring.
He fought it off, turning to reach for her. But the sharp stab of the arrowhead stole his breath.
He clenched his hands. The Onyx Vial hummed with energy against his palm. But the pain was too great. The Vial seemed to be sapping his ability to stay conscious.
He slumped forward.
“They both went down,” Asrea said.
He regained his footing on the hedge, choking back his panic and the rush of emotions, then turned his attention to the island.
An arrow hovered in the air, as though stuck in an invisible wall, between his and Tehya's still forms.
She must have fainted.
Whispers filled the courtyard.
He looked toward Ariana, still bound by the large Huntsman, her eyes roving the hedge
-tops, searching. They came to rest on himself and Asrea, and widened.
He shook his head, trying to discourage her from acknowledging them. Understanding dawned on her face and she quickly turned away.
But her movement caught the wrong attention. His father’s attention.
The King turned on her, fire in his eyes.
“He thinks she did it,” he whispered, as multiple scenarios played out in his head for what was about to happen. All of them ended the same way.
“He’s going to kill her.”
“What?” Asrea hissed.
He dug deep inside himself, searching for the spark of heat to ignite his etâme. But there was only cold.
No. It was fear.
He swung the pendant into his hand and squeezed, tamping the emotion down. “Protect Ariana,” he ordered, dropping to the ground.
He strode to Fenix, took a deep, centering breath, then mounted.
Staring into the coal black sky, he imagined fireworks. His mother’s face. “Not again, Father.” He jammed his heels into Fenix’s sides.
Chapter 37
Ariana saw her death looming in Falken Fyrenn’s vivid yellow-brown eyes. His hand crushed her throat. Her head inflated with pressure. Her lungs constricted, lacking air.
She dug her fingernails into her own wrists—still trapped behind her back. Warm blood seeped around her fingertips, but the sting of the cuts was welcome. She wanted to fight, but her will was broken. There was nothing for her now but pain.
Tehya… Perry...
A wrenching heat spread through her core—as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. She knew, instinctively, what was happening.
He was burning her alive.
As darkness drew a tight vignette on her vision, she could do nothing more than stare at her killer.
He was younger than she’d imagined. There were lines around his eyes, but they were small—not yet worn into the deep etches of years hard-earned.
He flexed his strong jaw. His eyes narrowed to slits as Ariana’s skin flushed with heat.
She closed her eyes, wishing for the sound of the rain to return.
Instead, it was her mother’s voice—when the rain had thrummed on the window of the study and she'd fought to keep the memory of her father.
Falken Fyrenn has taken too much from me already. You’re all I have left.
Ariana couldn't help the bitter thought that entered her mind: And now you'll have nothing.
Her legs crumpled beneath her. She heard Killian’s voice.
“Father.”
A wary hope took root inside her. And the Vial’s stormy roar returned—as though a tornado had touched down around them.
Falken released her throat and whirled.
The heat and pressure left her. But the cacophony inside her head disoriented her.
She sputtered and gagged, sucking in what little air she could before coughing it out—the icy chill stinging her ragged throat.
“No one touch him. He’s mine.” The King must've bellowed, though to Ariana it was hardly a whisper caught between currents on the wind.
Whatever Killian replied, it was lost to her.
She squinted toward the hedge where she’d seen him last. A shape slipped over it into the darkness of the trees. It wasn’t distinct, but it looked like Harold. She’d never wanted to see that man so badly.
A moment later another shape, and another, slipped over the walls.
The wind sighed. And for a moment she thought it spoke her name. “Run,” it said. But there was no way to run. Not with the Commander cutting off the circulation—and the channels of etâme—in her wrists.
A breeze blew past her. “Get ready,” it said. And this time she recognized the voice.
Asrea.
Behind her the Commander struggled with something she couldn’t hear or see. She tried to sense the air around her to determine what Asrea was doing, but she didn’t have her wits about her. And it didn’t matter. If Asrea succeeded, Ariana needed to run.
She scrabbled to get her footing, the effort nearly stealing her breath. But once she was on her feet, the pressure lifted from her shoulders. The strength returned to her legs.
Then her hands freed. The Commander violently shoved her forward. She staggered, but managed not to fall, catching hold of the bridge’s railing. She blinked rapidly, surveying the scene she could no longer hear over the roaring of the Vial.
Her breath caught.
Hunter, Perry, and Tehya lay unmoving in the center of the grassy island.
The soft, blue-white glow of the Onyx Vial—still untouched beside Hunter’s hand—pulsed like a heartbeat. It was calling her.
She staggered forward, afraid to see death in her friends' once-vibrant eyes, but yearning to go to them. And where was Dilyn? She couldn't see him anywhere.
In the deep shadows of the tree-lined islands, Huntsmen materialized, their dark forms peeling away from the foliage like black slime. On their heels were figures in navy blue cloaks.
Reinforcements from Bolengard.
The air thickened with etâme. She could hear nothing but the incessant sounds of the Vial, but she knew the battle had begun.
“Hurry, Ariana!” Asrea’s voice slipped through the wind. “Save them.”
A spark of hope ignited in her heart. Save them? Could they all still be alive?
Without regard to her shaky legs, she sprinted down the bridge.
With each step she was stronger. The life returned to her limbs, her veins. She forced herself not to look at her friends. Kept her eyes on the Vial. If she was going to save them, she had to keep that thing away from Falken Fyrenn.
She dropped to her knees beside Hunter, grabbed his hand, and reached for the Vial. Her fingers stopped, hovering a breath away from its surface.
It could kill her.
But no. She could feel a ripple of its power, like vibrations in water, and could sense that it wouldn't harm her.
She took a deep breath, then clamped her hand around it and stood.
Something was wrong.
The pain was so sudden, she'd missed it coming on.
Fire and sparks lit the sky in bursts. Arrows flew across the courtyard like frightened bats. But Ariana’s heart had stopped beating, so her senses stopped sensing. And all of this seemed to hang in the air, suspended like the sparks of the trees in Bolengard.
She stood, still and frozen, the Onyx Vial locked in her unresponsive fist. Her arm was as cold as if she’d shoved it in a barrel of ice. The cold spread across her chest, up her neck, over her shoulders and down her back. She couldn't cry out as her body shuddered, the muscles in her back seizing.
And then a most horrifying and exhilarating surge of energy pulsed through her body, forcing ice-cold tears into her eyes. Her skin hummed. The sounds of the Vial shifted. Haunting, howling wind erupted within her. A deep, endless moan rocketed through her, and the cruel torrent of rain drummed against her bones.
A cramp erupted deep in her stomach. The storm grew louder, more violent, the feeling within her more euphoric and terrifying. She fell to her knees, sweating and shivering at once. A drain had been opened.
Her soul poured out.
Chapter 38
Killian met his father’s malicious gaze.
“Is this disloyalty the repayment you give me?” he said.
Killian almost laughed. He tore his eyes from the man, surveying, quickly, what he could of the fight beneath him.
The archers on the steps had surrounded the king in a protective circle. They pulled arrow after arrow from their quivers, their fingers igniting the shafts as they drew back and fired. A few faced the arch in the hedge. Those Shadows who braved it were quickly taken out. The rest of the archers delivered their arrows into the swirling masses of men battling on the side islands.
Those archers who were not Fyydor or Fvudor had abandoned their bows and turned to the elements to fight. Two of them worked the stone steps into a fortress-like wall as a Shadow t
raversed the water, bringing a tidal surge with him.
On the right, Killian spotted Harold taking down a Huntsman at the edge of the fray with one hand, coaxing a tree limb around the neck of a second Huntsman with the other. He worked quickly, efficiently, his sights set on the center island—which was too far behind Killian to see.
Directly below him, Ariana’s thick-necked captor lay struggling against an unseen foe, pawing at his neck as though strangled.
It seemed Asrea was as capable a killer as Harold.
“I know what you did,” Falken called.
Killian's attention drew back to his father. Every muscle in his body tightened as the memories resurfaced. He squeezed the pendant tight, no longer feeling the bite of the metal in his skin. He wouldn't take the bait. “And I, you,” he replied, not fighting to hide the acid in his words.
Falken lifted a brow. He was intrigued, though only Killian could detect it.
“What?” His father’s tone was smooth—condescending. “That I didn’t tell you about the brother you were never going to have? That I used you to track him down, so that I could wipe him from existence?”
Killian narrowed his eyes, forcing away the images of Xalen Dae, the tip of Killian’s blade at his neck. “More than that.”
His father’s laugh was full of derision. “Oh, yes. There’s much, much more than that.”
The look in his father’s eyes told him the King knew something he didn’t. Something important.
He’s trying to distract me.
“Stop this foolishness,” his father said. “Come down.”
Killian shook his head.
Falken was unaffected. He cast his gaze about the scene, then looked up at Killian again. “Your band of rebels are losing this fight.” He spread his arms to gesture around. “You can’t honestly tell me theirs is the side you’ve chosen?”
Killian took stock of the situation. His father was right. The Huntsmen had gathered their wits and broken the advantage of the Shadows’ ambush. Killian could help. He was smarter, more powerful, better trained than half the Huntsmen fighting. It would be easy to take them down. But if he did, he would open himself as a target to the biggest threat in the courtyard.
The Onyx Vial (Shadows of The Nine Book 1) Page 34
