It was true. I wanted to call up everything I owned and destroy him. Except, with the frightening amount of scars I was carrying, I was afraid to wield anymore magic. Yet, I couldn’t let him get away. I was done staying my hand for Malaq. Draken had to die. But I couldn’t fight his army. “I won’t cast on you, Draken. I was thinking of something more personal…like smashing my fist through your smug face and out the back of your skull.”
He stared a moment, loathing blazing in his dark gaze. “And I’m to believe that?”
“Up to you,” I shrugged. “But if you don’t fight, I’ll drink every drop of every aura I can wrap my senses around, use every bit of magic I have left, and wipe all trace of Langorian stink from these swamps. Honestly, though, I’d rather send your troops home.”
Hands on his belt; Draken’s squinted at me. “You would let them go? Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t. Because you didn’t. You murdered King Raynan Arcana in front of his subjects—in front of his daughter. And because I know, that while your men may have been taught to act like monsters, they aren’t. And it’s not their fault they have such a shitty King.”
Angry, ragged breath sped through his lungs. A deep dent formed in Draken’s brow as he came to what looked like a painful decision and tossed the Crown of Stones to the ground. He rid himself of the weight of his sword belt, then his cloak. “No weapons. As long as you’ve plagued me, I deserve to feel the warmth of your blood on my hands.”
“And here I thought we had nothing in common.”
Draken turned from my grin. He dismissed his troops with a few clipped words. The officer in charge echoed the order, and the mass of soldiers began marching into the swirling void. I almost couldn’t watch. Letting them go was harder than I thought. Not all Langorians were vicious marauders. I knew that now. But with the unspeakable violence these particular men had committed here today, my instincts were burning to make them pay.
The last soldier vanished and Draken crossed the square. He passed Neela, still out cold on the ground, and an odd pang of concern affected his militant gaze. He lost the look quickly, but not the emotion. It carried over into swift, angry movements as he stripped off his shirt, revealing considerably more muscle to his form than I expected. Taking up position just over arm’s length away, eyes keenly focused, knees slightly bent, hands clenched into good, solid fists; my opponent had a strong stance. I wondered if he’d inherited it from my father. Being nef’taali to a Shinree soldier must have given him something besides a portion of Jem’s sanity.
What it didn’t give him, was a decent swing.
Cutting too wide an arc with his arm, Draken left me plenty of time to block and plenty of room to land a solid punch to his stomach. Grabbing his shoulders as he doubled over, I thrust a knee up into his face. “You need to get out more.” I shoved him away. “Sitting on your throne has made you lazy.”
Grimacing, he straightened. “And where should I be? Hanging around in piss-ridden taverns with bandits and rogues like you?”
“It might improve your reflexes. Help you avoid things like this.” I threw a fast jab at his face.
“Fuck!” Draken grabbed his nose. “Filthy, son of a witch-whore!” Blood flung off his hand as he swung. The hasty blow barely skimmed my cheek. I showed him how it was done with a hard, swift crack to his jaw.
I was setting up to hit him again when he threw his head into mine.
Pain exploded with the spots in my eyes. By the time I felt Draken’s arms come around me, all I could do was fall. Landing on my back under his weight, breathing in the dust that kicked up, I grappled for the upper hand as we rolled across the square.
Faster and more accurate, I got in some decent hits. I deflected most of his blows, too. But the ones he landed were painfully effective. My ribs were aching. Blood was running down my forehead. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t gain the advantage long enough to throw him off. The problem wasn’t his bulkier frame. I’d tangled with heavier. The problem wasn’t him at all; it was me.
Draken was coming in fresh to the fight. I was coming in after battling my way across the camp and casting multiple spells. Not to mention bouncing from the past to the future to the present, with little rest in between and no sustenance. I needed another shot of energy. But our scuffle had brought us dangerously close to Neela. I couldn’t risk what the hornblende in her blood might do to my spell.
We rolled closer. I struggled not to glance at her, to not let her broken arm and battered face distract me. They were too hard to look at. Except, I have to, I realized, failing once again to push Draken off. If I can’t get the strength I need from magic…
Neela’s vulnerability, her need for protection, was the perfect stimulant.
It was already working. I just had to let it. I had to acknowledge how the sight of her injuries breathed life into my sluggish muscles. How her clear helplessness provoked my strength to rise. Outrage ran rampant with my pounding blood at the exploitation she’d suffered at the hands of Draken and my father. I wanted to avenge her.
It was a start. But to defeat Draken, I needed more.
Diving headlong into the memories of my father’s dream spell, I pictured Neela as I knew her then: the nameless Arullan girl who came to me in my sleep. I woke the buried images of our nonexistent life with gusto and shrugged off what I couldn’t use; the brief instances of happiness; the fleeting sound of her laughter; the warmth of her body beneath mine. I absorbed the vile and the disturbing, soaking up the images of her frightened, beaten, and bloody. I flooded my mind with her screams and embraced the dark emotions they inspired. The grief and rage I’d once tried so hard to keep out, I welcomed in. I let it overwhelm me. Enflame me. Seduce me. Then I drew back and delivered a single, brutal strike to the side of Draken’s head that laid him out flat.
I climbed on his chest and folded my hands around his throat.
Draken stirred as I squeezed. I hardly noticed. I was in too deep now. Immersed in a haze of long-awaited vengeance, I cared nothing for his prying fingers. I paid no heed to his battering fists and clawing hands. Swimming in sweet retribution, the repercussions of Draken slipping a knife from the brace on my left wrist were lost on me—right up until he shoved the blade in my arm.
Pain slackened my hold. It broke completely as Draken brought his arms up between mine and forced them apart. Snaking his body out from under me, he paused to jab an elbow back into my throat. It was a mean, vigorous thrust that ripped me straight out of my stupor and left me writhing.
Suffering through each breath, between gasps, I heard Jarryd shouting. I didn’t have the voice to answer him. But if I didn’t, he would rush in half-cocked to save me.
I crawled onto my knees. I held up a firm hand that clearly stated: stay the fuck back. I knew Jarryd had gotten the message by his responding drawn-out growl of frustration. Surprisingly, he stayed put. But his eagerness to act showed in every step as he paced back and forth behind Krillos, who was still on the ground, still cradling Kit. She looked as limp as before. I was sure now the girl was dead. In his arms, her body looked so small and slight. Like Lirih.
I tried to banish the image. I never wanted to see her like that—my daughter—broken and lifeless. Dead. But the picture was in my head now; digging in, nudging aside all the other fears that surrounded her existence. Those anxieties, including my fatherly ineptitude, felt petty now. Immaterial. Mundane. But not this. This, I thought, staring over at Kit, was very real. And the possibility of Lirih ending up the same way—and the responsibility I felt to prevent it—sent my determination soaring to a whole new level.
Resolve pumped the blood faster through my veins. Adrenaline erased the pain. And I realized I’d made a mistake. I didn’t need the dreams for strength. Yes, anger and darkness were a powerful fuel. They were a part of me. But something else was a part of me too, something good and beautiful.
Someone I refused to abandon.
The particulars of fatherhood might be beyond me, b
ut there was one thing I could do. One thing I was good at: I could survive. I could find her and protect her.
Feeling my scrutiny, Krillos looked up. There was no grief in his gaze. It was rock hard; teeming with encouragement and approval, and enough envy to tell me how badly Krillos wanted to be in my position. He gave me a single, slow nod of support.
I returned it and pushed to my feet.
Grinding my jaw, I ripped the knife from my arm. Draken sauntered over and picked up one of my swords. He swiped the air with it a few times, testing it out.
“Tell me, Troy,” he smiled. “Haven’t you grown weary of failing? Your inability to carry through, your shortsightedness and compassion…it gets you every time.”
“You’re wrong, Draken. My compassion is what keeps me from being you.”
I spotted Neela’s weapon at my feet. I bent down to claim it and quickly hid my surprise: she was conscious. More startling, her eyes were free of rage. They held instead a baffled, fearful expression that had me wondering how much she remembered. Why the spell abated, and when it might return were other important questions. But I couldn’t consider them now. Lingering would tip Draken off that she was awake. And if he couldn’t use her to kill me, he would most certainly use her against me.
I shifted my gaze to see him still playing with my sword. I looked back at Neela. With a subtle shake of my head I warned her not to move. Then I got up and went to work forcing Draken across the clearing away from her. I hit him quick and mercilessly. I pounded my sword into his, turning and maneuvering him. He was unaware I was steering him by design. I was keeping him too busy. Yet, the quick kill I’d been hoping for wasn’t happening. While Draken’s offensive skill with a blade was mediocre, his instinct for self-preservation gave birth to some decent defensive moves.
Luring Draken further away; with a quick parry, I spun past him. I wanted his back to Neela. But my concern was on her and not my footwork, and as Draken hooked a leg behind mine, I was slow. He held me up long enough to rotate behind me and rip the edge of his blade across my bare back. Pain accompanied the diagonal slice as I lurched forward into an awkward roll. Coming up onto one knee, I pivoted, two hands on my sword, and raised it in time to block his blade inches from my head.
Pushing Draken’s strike away with a grunt, I had no time to get up before he came back again. I shoved him off a second time. I stopped his third try, but it wasn’t pretty. My arms were trembling. His steel was near to grazing my face. Pain was stretching deep and hot across my back. He had the height advantage. I had little leverage.
Draken bore down harder. The blade crept closer. I couldn’t reverse it.
But I could move it.
I coaxed his sword arm a few inches to the left. Knowing it was all I could manage, I took one hand off my weapon—and his promptly bit into my shoulder. It hurt like hell, but it was better than my face. Jaw clenched as I struggled to keep the blade from going deeper, I retrieved the knife from my other brace and slammed it into his thigh. Draken withdrew with a scream. I yanked his sword out of my shoulder and collapsed.
I’d barely hit the ground when Neela ran to my side. If I wasn’t bleeding profusely I would have yelled at her for not listening. “Help me up.”
“Lie still,” she argued. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
I suffered through a chuckle. “I already have.”
“I’m serious. Stay down, Ian. He’ll back off if I—”
“No way. You’ve sacrificed enough to that man. Your marriage is done.”
Cradling her broken arm to her chest, sadness affected the small, quick shake of her head. “I made vows, Ian. The only way out of a Langorian marriage is death.”
“Then so be it.” I leaned over and grabbed the sword with the tips of my fingers. Dragging it closer, I used it as a crutch to help me stand.
Watching me, Draken clapped in praise. “Gods, Troy, you really are the ideal soldier. That inane push you have to keep going, that inner need to fight right up to the bloody, brutal end. You possess all the qualities I look for in a front-line grunt. You’re strong, persistent, and dependably dumb.”
“Insult me all you like, Draken. But this particular, dumb soldier is going to persist just long enough to fucking split you in half.” With effort, I hoisted my sword.
“Don’t,” Neela pleaded. “You can’t last with these wounds. And it will take much more than your death to bring change. Rella’s become a memory, a specter of what she once was. We both have.” Facing Draken, Neela lowered her head. “I beg you, My Lord. Spare him.”
“No, My Lord,” I said strongly. “Please don’t. One taste of your mercy was more than enough.” I looked at Neela. “Rella is not gone for good. When I get her back she’s going to need her Queen.”
“She’ll need her champion more.”
“That’s not who I am anymore, Neela. It never was. Champion was a mold your family tried to stuff me down inside. But it never quite fit.”
“You’re wrong.” Her round eyes on mine were sincere. “It fit perfectly.”
I gave her a grateful smile. A warning for her to get back was on the tip of my tongue when I heard Draken running for me. I turned, sword ready. We lunged at each other. The angles were good. It might have been the end of us both. But Fate couldn’t leave well enough alone. I could almost hear the old god laughing as, with a leap and a cry of protest, Neela jumped in between.
Our swords slid in. There was no way to tell whose blade pierced her body first; his from the back or mine from the front. It didn’t matter, really. We drew our swords out, red spread across both sides of her dress, and she fell.
I dropped down alongside her. The blood was coming out so fast. I put my hands over the holes, desperately trying to stop it. “Gods, Neela… Why?”
“My choice,” she shuddered softly. “It’s been so long since I’ve made one. I’d forgotten how good it felt.”
“You don’t understand. There’s hornblende in your blood. I can’t heal you.”
“It’s all right,” she soothed.
“No,” I shook my head. “It’s not all right. It’s not fucking all right!”
Draken knelt on the other side of her. He ran a comforting hand back over her head. I wanted to cut it off and shove it down his throat. But Neela’s life mattered more than his death. So I put my hatred aside and did what I never thought I would. I asked Draken of Langor for help.
“Take her with you,” I said. “Take Neela back through the door to Darkhorne. You have physicians that can help her.” He didn’t respond. He just kept smoothing her hair down. “Draken.” I grabbed his arm. “She’s running out of time.”
“Then let her.” His voice was distant.
Resigned, I thought angrily. “Neela is your wife. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Draken threw off my grip as he stood. “You heard her. Neela put herself in the way of our blades, Troy. She did this,” he said, slamming his bloody weapon down, blade first into the ground. “She wanted this. She chose this.”
“Then she chose wrong. I don’t want her to die for me. For us.”
“Do you think I do? Do you think it pleases me to know that Neela would rather kill herself than live as my wife?” Draken glared down at her, breathless and angry. Then he glared at me. “If she wants to go, let her. And quit being so damn selfish,” he retorted as he limped off. “Tell her goodbye before it’s too late.”
I stared after him, confused. Draken’s display made no sense. He put her in the fight. Yet his words, his tone, were hurt and tainted with regret. It was the single most honest exchange I’d ever had with the man, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
Neela’s shaky hand found my face and my thoughts scattered. “Ian…”
“I’m here.” I lifted Neela onto my lap and pressed my lips to her forehead.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
My voice caught. “For what?”
“For making me see. What I couldn’t. What I didn’t wan
t to.”
“No, the things I’ve said… I was cruel.”
“No more than I.”
“Then we were a fine pair.”
Neela’s lips trembled in a smile. She drew a stilted breath. “You are a good man, Ian. Your name, your blood, the power you wield…use it. But don’t let it own you. Don’t...”
Her voice failing, Neela shuddered against my chest. Tears ran from her half closed eyes, and I struggled to hold it together, to not shake as much as her. To pretend I hadn’t killed mother as well as daughter. I tried instead to think of what to say that might bring Neela some small comfort. There was only one thing. “I meant it. Rella isn’t gone. I’ll set her free. Roona, intae’a,” I vowed in Shinree. “I promise.”
“I believe you,” she breathed.
“Neela, I wish…” I couldn’t finish, so I bent down and kissed her. Briefly, she kissed me back. Then Neela’s body seized. Her mouth went slack. The rest of her followed. She couldn’t hear me anymore. Maybe that was why I suddenly had the courage to say it. “I wish I could have loved you.”
I pulled her in tight. Her limbs sagged in my grip like an old, floppy doll. The steady stream of blood wetting her dress was warm and sticky on my skin. I couldn’t bring her back this time. Neela was dead. But I suffered my grief in silence. I shed no tears; she was never mine to mourn. The unsatisfying, tumultuous relationship we’d engaged in, the strained affection we’d shared, had brought more pain than pleasure. It wasn’t even sorrow that I was left with at her passing. It was a shattered, worn feeling. Like the ground had eroded out from under me, and I had no way to stand. So I didn’t try.
I closed my eyes and buried my head in her tangled curls. I was so profoundly tired. I wanted to let go, to drift off with her. If only Jarryd would let me.
“Ian, stop him!” he called out. “Stop him!”
I lifted my head. Prying my eyes open, I saw Draken crossing the clearing. Without breaking stride, he reached down, snatched up the Crown of Stones, and headed toward the open door.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 47
