by S. M. Boyce
Braeden grinned. He didn’t like parts of himself—namely, the desire to inflict pain and fear. Since he wasn’t running from what he was, though, he might as well inflict pain on those who deserved it.
Braeden could barely sleep the night before the ambush. He ended up on a couch by his fireplace and watched the sun rise through his open balcony doors.
The morning went by in a blur—a command called him to the study; he walked to the throne room with Carden; the entire army listened to a speech from their king; Braeden called Iyra and met the army at the front gates.
Carden grinned and made a comment about his audacity to tame such a feral creature, but Braeden just forced a nod in response. Iyra couldn’t be tamed.
Their journey to the gorge would take four hours. Braeden rode beside his father for most of the trip, lost in thought as the army rode in silence.
The day sped by until the tingling sensation of being watched rippled down Braeden’s back. He tensed. The entrance to the gorge blipped into view on the horizon. Time slowed once more, and he didn’t know if he was ready.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Carden asked.
Braeden nodded, but kept silent to avoid saying anything stupid. He gripped his sword hilt, but left it sheathed.
The army split at a wordless command from Carden. The other generals led half the soldiers up a path along the far edge, while Braeden followed the Stelian Blood up the left side.
Braeden could only guess at how many corpses would line these trails in just an hour.
The silence continued after they reached the top of the gorge’s cliff. Even the trees kept still. No birds sang. No animals ran through the branches. The only sounds came from the clip, clop of a few mounts’ feet as they caught stones in the dirt.
Braeden drew his sword, unable to take the tension any longer. The movement saved his life.
A blade swung for his head. Iyra reared in time for him to duck. He blocked the attack with his sword and shot a bolt of gray flame into the brush. It caught fire. Someone screamed. A Hillsidian guard rolled onto the path, smoke drifting from his green uniform.
All hell broke loose after that.
Hillsidians dropped from the trees. Kirelms dove from above and shot arrows into the Stelian troops. Water soaked the dirt as Lossians appeared and disappeared, popping in and out of the ground just like they had in their performance at the gala. But instead of graceful dancing, they swung their deadly blades and disappeared into the mud before anyone could trample them.
Carden bolted ahead, and Braeden followed. He would not let that man out of his sight for even a moment.
“You’re mine!” Carden shouted at someone. He shot a bolt of lightning into the sky.
A second later, a Kirelm fell to the ground with a thud. Braeden sucked in a breath. Carden dismounted, but frowned as Braeden caught up.
“Not the one I was aiming for,” the Blood said. He hopped back on his mount and took off.
Braeden took one glance at the Kirelm, who glared up at him through half-closed eyes. Braeden bowed his head and whispered a silent prayer for the soldier before tearing off after his father.
He rounded a corner as Carden shot a ball of fire into the sky. A Kirelm leaned back to avoid the attack and hovered just out of reach—General Gurien. The general stretched his wings and dove at the Stelian king, sword first. He yelled, as if giving the attack everything he had.
Carden blocked it with his Sartori. A clang reverberated through the forest. He countered, and Gurien only ducked out of the way. They inched apart, each eyeing the other as they waited for the other to attack.
Movement along the edge of the clearing caught Braeden’s eye. Gavin crept toward the duel, spinning his sword in his hand. The Hillsidian glared at Carden, never shifting his gaze even as he stalked over logs and tree roots.
That idiot would get himself killed. In the heat of battle, Carden might disobey his own order not to kill Gavin if the Hillsidian got in the way.
Braeden dismounted and set a hand on Iyra’s neck so that he could speak to her privately.
Find a safe place nearby, Iyra. If anyone attacks you, don’t kill them unless you have to. When I kill Carden, I’ll be weak. Becoming the Blood is painful. I’ll need you to grab me and run for Stone’s cave as fast as you can. Can you do that?
Yes, my friend. She ran off into the brush and disappeared.
Braeden ran to the duel, but only paid mind to Gavin’s movements. The Hillsidian watched Carden, now only a dozen feet away from the fight. He leaned his weight onto the balls of his feet, and Braeden could already guess what would happen next. Gavin would feint for Carden’s side and aim for his head—since Gavin didn’t have a Sartori, only something drastic like decapitation would work. Carden would expect that.
Gavin leaned forward, ready to lunge.
Braeden dove at the last second, blocking Gavin’s blow with a kick that sent them both into the forest. It was a doubly important move—he’d just saved Gavin’s life, and Carden would think he was loyal for a few minutes longer.
Gavin stood and spat into the brush. “I knew you couldn’t resist what you are. Kara should have listened to me.”
Braeden’s grip on his sword tightened. “You never gave me much of a chance, did you? What are you even doing here? You have no Heir! If you die, your kingdom dies!”
“He killed Mother and—”
“You’re an idiot!”
Gavin swung at the insult. Braeden ducked the slice to his face. Sweat dripped down his temple. He pooled the air around him and focused it into an arrow. He shot it into Gavin’s arm. The blow would be good enough to make Carden think it had been a real attempt if the man was watching.
Braeden looked over his shoulder. Gurien dipped in the sky, his left wing smoldering. He couldn’t quite hold his sword anymore. Three of his left fingers bent the wrong way.
Gurien fell to his knees. Carden laughed and set the tip of his blade on Gurien’s neck.
A sword sliced the air by Braeden’s ear. He ducked out of instinct, and the blow missed him by inches. He backed away and ran toward Gurien. He couldn’t let the man die. The Bloods with Heirs should fight Carden, not their generals.
Carden grinned, no doubt pleased with the promise of killing an important player in the war. He said something to the general. The Kirelm looked up and narrowed his eyes, as if ready to die.
Braeden leaped onto a rock and jumped off to give himself added momentum as he dove for Carden’s neck. The added force would be enough to make it happen with one blow. As long as Carden didn’t look up, he’d—
Gurien’s eyes darted to Braeden’s sword.
No.
Carden turned, eyes wide. He rolled out of the way. Braeden’s sword hit the ground at Gurien’s feet. A boot landed hard in Braeden’s gut, shooting him backward into the forest.
“I command you to kill yourself, traitor!” Carden shouted.
The order pulled on Braeden’s gut. It shot through him with all the force of Carden’s anger, but Braeden suppressed the urge to slit his own throat.
He forced a laugh. “I’m not yours to command, Father.”
Braeden summoned a horde of arrows from the air. They pulled on his tired mind as he aimed and shot them all at once. They flew toward Carden one after another, forcing the king to inch away even as they sliced through his arms and tore holes into his clothes. A few dug into his torso or neck, ripping open the skin with their force. He cursed and swatted them away, but Braeden drove him ever farther backward.
Commands and mandates interrupted Braeden’s instinct. His father’s silent orders told him to run into trees, to throw himself off the cliff, or to simply turn the blades on himself. In the split moment they popped into his head, the ideas seemed brilliant. It took a second each time to remind himself they weren’t even his thoughts.
The orders flew through him so quickly that his attacks started missing. He would hit trees or even other soldiers. His aim slipped. He
grunted and refocused, trying all the while to push away the conflicting thoughts.
A blade of air ripped through Carden’s arm. The Blood’s eyes burned red as the skin healed. Braeden cursed under his breath—Carden had given up. He would tap into his daru any second now.
Black fire burst across the king’s skin. His body cracked and popped as he grew taller, and Braeden had no choice.
Carden’s daru would destroy Braeden unless he tapped into his daru as well. He might lose even then. He didn’t know if he could control himself once he let his daru take over. The only time Kara had ever seen it, he’d nearly killed her with its power.
He gritted his teeth. He had to try.
He released his hold on the layer of control that kept the daru at bay. The air hissed. Fire rushed through his body, feeding his muscles as they grew. Black flames erupted across his arms, too similar to Carden’s for his comfort. Smoke coiled around him, some of it from the now-burning hems on his shirt.
But with his control went his self-loathing. His disgust for the black flames dissolved. Steam whistled by his ear. An untapped stream of magic fizzled in his palm. His fingers itched to strangle something. His pulse beat in his ear, a slow thump, thud, thump as he savored what he was born to be: powerful.
The commands that once distorted his instinct faded until they buzzed in the back of his mind like a gnat. Murderous glee ripped through him. Carden would die.
Carden narrowed his eyes and conjured lightning from the air. Yellow bolts zapped between his fingers as he held it back, no doubt to aim. His arm shook, as if he couldn’t quite contain the pooling energy.
He wouldn’t get a chance to fire.
Braeden pulled the wind toward him and funneled it into his left hand. The air compressed on itself, glimmering in the light as he aimed. In one swift movement, he shot the energy at Carden’s neck. A whirlwind of leaves ducked out of the way, and the sword-sharp blade of air spiraled toward the king.
Carden tried to duck, but the spear hit him in the shoulder and went clean through. The force threw him backward into a tree trunk. The tree’s branches shook from the blow, releasing a wave of green leaves onto the king as he slid to the ground. The sparks in Carden’s hand sputtered out completely.
The Stelian Blood pushed himself to his feet. His breath raced, and he gritted his teeth. Good. He should feel pain.
Gavin joined the fight. Braeden barely looked over, but he did catch a glimpse of thorns pushing through the Hillsidian’s pores as he took on his own daru. Vines ripped from the trees and shot for Carden.
No. Gavin needed to stay out of this.
Carden dodged the vines and ran. Braeden followed, and light breaths not far behind meant Gavin had come as well.
A cliff edge flickered into view from between the trees, darting in and out of focus as the trunks came closer. Carden ran for it, as if he intended to jump off. Maybe Braeden could wound him and send the king hurtling a hundred feet to the rocky ground below—
Pain blistered through Braeden’s stomach. He tripped. Blood dripped down his side from a hole in his stomach that hadn’t been there a second ago. Carden sneered over his shoulder. Gavin ran ahead without looking back.
Braeden hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been so wrapped up in killing that he’d let down his defenses. Whatever technique Carden had used to wound him hadn’t even made a sound. The injury was slow to heal, too.
The forest blurred as Braeden tried to get back up. Ahead, Carden stopped at the cliff edge and looked over. Gavin ran toward him. Someone shouted. Gavin didn’t see the Stelian Blood duck out of the way at the last minute.
Gavin teetered on the edge of the hundred-foot gorge. Carden kicked him over.
“NO!” Braeden yelled.
“Him or me, son,” Carden said.
The Stelian Blood’s skin stretched and popped as the charcoal gray bled away into silver. Black wings tore from his back in a fury. He soared off into the sky, now in his Kirelm form. A wordless command pulled on Braeden’s mind as Carden ordered all Stelians to retreat. It took nothing for Braeden to suppress the order.
Panic rippled through him. He pushed himself to his feet and looked over the edge. Gavin had already fallen almost halfway down. Stelians pooled at the bottom of the gorge, eyes on the Hillsidian king. If Gavin survived the fall, those soldiers could easily kill him.
Braeden hesitated. He could either follow Carden or save a man he disliked.
He cursed and dove off the cliff, changing form as he fell. Wings ripped from his back, and the Stelian uniform stretched to accommodate them. His wound hadn’t healed yet. It tore open even further as he shifted. He stifled a yell.
Despite the pain from his injury, he reached Gavin in a matter of seconds. Braeden wrapped his arms around the Hillsidian Blood and pulled him back toward the cliff. Gavin didn’t resist.
They reached the forest edge and landed on the cliff. Gavin fell in a heap. Braeden doubled over. He couldn’t catch his breath. Fresh blood pumped from his wound.
Gavin pushed himself to his feet and looked out over the gorge. “You’re letting him get away, Braeden!”
“You’re welcome for saving you!” he spat back.
General Gurien limped over and froze in place. “Wait. You?”
Braeden caught the general’s eye, but couldn’t hold it. He retreated to his Hillsidian form which, he noted with a twinge of relief, made his wound slightly smaller as it healed.
“I fought you in the sparring ring?” Gurien asked.
Braeden hung his head and nodded, too exhausted to lie. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Why is no one following Carden?” Gavin interjected.
Braeden leaned against a tree. “He’s gone. You can’t catch him at this point. He called the army into retreat. That was my one chance, and I blew it!”
He punched the trunk beside him. The force ripped open his still-healing wound for a second time. He cursed again.
Gavin glared at him. “This was a trick! You—”
“Blood Gavin! Heir Braeden saved your life, and you should be thanking him!” Gurien shouted.
Braeden and Gavin both stared at the general: Gavin most likely because a general of another kingdom had just given him an order; Braeden, because he had never expected anyone to stand up for him.
“We need to regroup,” Gavin said after a while. He stalked off into the woods.
“Thank you.” Braeden nodded to the Kirelm general.
“We should be thanking you, Prince. You disobeyed your Blood. I have never seen anything like that in my life. You truly are one of the greatest fighters I have ever met.”
Braeden grinned. “Likewise, my friend. And call me Braeden.”
Gurien smiled. “Whatever you prefer. I owe you my life.”
“Then buy me a beer or something.” Braeden laughed, but pain splintered up his side. He groaned.
“You need to rest,” Gurien said.
“I’m fine. You, however, need a healer. Did Aislynn send any of hers?”
“Yes, but I have no idea where they are. It was chaos, Braeden. Everyone split up. I have no idea where Blood Ithone is, or Blood Frine. My guess is they got into a sparring match between themselves.”
Braeden laughed. “They do seem to hate each other.”
“Not hate. They compete. Everything with those two is a sport. If they didn’t duel each other, they likely made an event of seeing how many Stelians each could kill.”
Braeden shook his head. “But this is serious. Why didn’t all of the Bloods attack Carden at once? I thought that was the plan.”
“They can barely sit in the same room for ten minutes, much less fight together.”
Braeden laughed again. “Your honesty is refreshing, Gurien. I wish I could steal you from Ithone.”
Gurien laughed with him. “I’d never be allowed to marry Aurora if you did that.”
Their laughter died. Gurien cleared his throat and shook his head, as if he ha
d just said something stupid. Braeden remembered the general’s look of longing when Aurora stormed from the Ayavelian throne room not long ago. It reminded him of Kara, who would probably never forgive him for holing her away in Scotland.
“Does Aurora know you love her?” Braeden asked.
Gurien stared at the ground. He didn’t answer.
Braeden ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“At least yours loves you back,” Gurien interrupted.
Braeden sighed. He didn’t have a response. Kara might not ever find it in her heart to love him after what he’d done.
His skin cooled as the wound finally finished healing. Too bad the weight of Gurien’s words made Braeden’s stomach sink lower.
“We really do need to regroup,” he finally said.
“I agree.”
Braeden stood and helped Gurien to his feet. He wrapped the general’s arm around his shoulder so that the hobbling soldier could lead the way toward a regroup point.
They’d lost the battle, yes. But Braeden had just made a valuable ally in this never-ending war.
Chapter 25
Glasgow
After an afternoon of testing hairstyles, a makeover, and an hour’s drive, Kara followed Bonnie into a club in Glasgow. She wore a borrowed outfit and—in her opinion, at least—too much makeup, but there was no stopping Bonnie once the girl unzipped her cosmetics bag.
A massive dance floor consumed most of the club. Black tile covered the floors and walls. A short way off, a deejay plugged in a microphone on a stage. Music blared through the club’s speakers, though Kara didn’t recognize any of the songs.
Bonnie slipped her arm through Kara’s and led the way toward the bar. “Let’s start off with shots!”
Kara laughed. “If you insist.”
A twenty-something young man with spiky blond hair stood behind the bar and nodded toward Bonnie as they came closer. He flashed a smile that probably got him anything he wanted in life and leaned on the counter. Bonnie sat on one of the stools in front of him.
“The tyrant returns!” the bartender said.
