On a hunch, she searched his mind for more instances of the resonance, and she found two others, both from very early on in her charade. Apparently, when he had discovered that she was not Sloane, he had begun wondering when it was that the switch had been made. It seemed that the memory of his first attempt to take her to bed as his true wife was one of them. When defending her against Cora Barrelon after her first, disastrous attempt to sit in with the ladies to review festival activities was the other. Sacha hated both of those memories herself, so it was with a little bit of ruthless joy that she ripped both of them free. When Alexander cried out this time, she did not cringe.
Alexander sagged in her arms, a clear fluid trickling from the exit points at which the memories had come forth. Sacha was relieved to see that it was not the color of blood. In the material world, she could sense that he had also slumped over, insensible.
Sacha swept his mind once again, looking for any shred of memory that might have escaped her purging. When she was satisfied that nothing remained, she left his mind to settle once again fully in the physical world. She reached out to touch her husband’s face and once again set Alexander’s body to work at healing itself. As he slept, she soaked in his handsome features, tracing a finger over his strong jawline. Forgive me, my love, she thought and then leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. Things will be better now.
The knife that dug into her shoulder came without so much as a whisper of warning. Pain radiated from the wound out to her entire body. Sacha cried in agony and spun around, lashing out with the power.
Waves of force slammed into the goblin assassin that had snuck up behind her. Its little shadowed form flew through the air and punched a hole in the ramshackle ceiling that protected them. The creature made no more sound as it disappeared into the vegetation.
Sacha winced as she reached around and yanked the dagger out of her back.
“They’re in the brush!” a ragged voice called. “Kill ’em!”
Sacha threw up an invisible barrier around herself and Alexander just in time to deflect the countless spears, arrows, and javelins that rained down on them. Cold fury rippled through her as she clambered to her feet to stand over her prince. She swayed, both physically and emotionally exhausted, but she was a daughter of Pelos. Combat, fury, and bloodshed were more than her heritage. They were her birthright.
She opened herself to the Shamonrae, drawing deeply to supplement her weary body with the power of creation. Mystic energy gathered within her as she clutched her hands into furious fists at her sides. She squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled with her emotions, seeking the equilibrium she needed. Her heartache only fed the flames of her writhing fury. Eos, help me, she pleaded. Slowly she found the balance between her rage and her calm.
She opened her eyes in time to see another volley smash into the shield. Near her feet, the snouts of half a dozen wargs were pushing through the brambles and deadfall. Goblins hooted just behind the slavering wolf-kin.
Sacha whipped her arms outward, releasing a shockwave of force in all directions.
The thorny vines, dead stumps, and dense foliage surrounding them shredded to splinters as the shockwave made impact. The wargs and goblins closest to the sheltering brush simply evaporated into clouds of crimson and black mist. The fracturing of oaken trunks and screams of broken Wildmen filled the air as the mystical wave of force spread up and around in an expanding dome.
Sacha stood sentinel over Alexander in the newly created clearing. She watched as the mystical shockwave’s effectiveness waned rapidly the farther it traveled, but tree branches continued to rustle more than a hundred feet away. She was shocked at the sheer number of Wildmen that surrounded them. Many lay moaning on the ground, clutching at their broken bones and torn flesh, but a greater number stood in dazed puzzlement at the sudden destruction.
She looked down at her hands, surprised at how much power she had just unchained. Never before had she unleashed such destruction and remained on her feet. Teacher had forced her to blow channels into the fast-flowing Tanglevine until she had lost consciousness from the strain. How, she wondered. The answer came to her when she realized that her conduit to the Shamonrae was still open. Mystic power flooded into her, rapidly replenishing what she had poured into the wave of force.
“Kill the witch!” someone yelled from the recovering masses. Hobgoblins staggered forward, brandishing their weapons and howling, while the rest of the Wildmen followed, shaking off their doped haze.
Sacha curled her lip in contempt and stood her ground.
The Shamonrae was still open to her, and she pulled deeply from it, relishing the cold fire that suffused her body. From beyond the constant flow of energy, one of Teacher’s lectures of warning scolded as if the mage were standing right beside her. “Do not become a conduit between the Shamonrae and the power you wield. You will lose yourself in the transference and burn.” That was Eos’s own truth. She was burning already, but not only from the Shamonrae. She burned with the fire of Alexander’s rejection, and she smoldered from the soul-rending steps she had taken to ensure that he would never remember the reasons for that rejection. The months of pressure applied by Vinnicus and his threat to kill her daughter had burned her will down to ash-laden cinders. Teacher’s words of caution no longer carried the weight they once had—she simply didn’t care anymore.
Sacha shook from the amount of power she drew from the Shamonrae. The throbbing discomfort from her many wounds was all but gone, replaced by a new agony that rippled through her.
Consumed by the Shamonrae or skewered by the sword—in the end they both meant death. She would rather die trying to save herself and the one she loved than stand idly by, waiting to be butchered. She looked up past the broken forest canopy into the ominous gray sky above.
Sacha gave another battle cry filled with the sorrow and hatred, agony and longing that had plagued her for so long. When it seemed her throat would tear from the strain of her screaming and her veins would burst from the power surging through them, she slammed her fists together, unleashing every ounce of energy and emotion she had into the turbulent sky.
A bolt of lightning the width of a fully grown winewood streaked down from the clouds to strike Sacha’s shield. Light and fury consumed the glade in a cataclysmic conflagration that burned her eyes through her tightly shut lids and drove out every thought on a wave of all-consuming sound.
Then there was nothing but darkness.
RYLAN’S enchanted giggle echoed amongst the trees of the royal garden. The sun’s rays glimmered and flashed through the canopy, casting the multicolored glade in brilliant, afternoon light. Renee...no, Alexander laughed with the little girl as they spun in joyful circles. Alexander looked handsome in his formal attire, and Rylan’s beautiful dress flowed in a fluttering arc as Alexander swung her about.
Sacha’s heart soared as she watched. The prince had decreed that Rylan should have the surname of Ventus, thus making her royal blood and heir to the throne of Basinia. The kingdom had rejoiced at Alexander’s proclamation and embraced Rylan as their own.
Tears fell from Sacha’s crystal-blue eyes. They were tears of elation for her daughter and tears of sorrow for her long-passed sister.
“No!” Her eyes snapped open as she wailed, “It’s not real. None of it.”
Sacha shook her head vigorously. The images of the dream had already begun to fade, but even the echo made her real life seem that much more of a nightmare. She’d lost count of the times she’d had the foolish dream, but each time she woke from it, the experience was more heart-wrenching than the last.
Real moisture dampened Sacha’s cheeks, and she wiped it away. When she sat up and looked around, she found familiar surroundings. Fine tapestries and pillows surrounded her. She was in the field tent that had been erected for her and Alexander at the beginning of the campaign to find the Wildman leader. Back to reality, she thought.
Sacha closed her eyes again, trying to remember how she had come to
be here. When the memories came rushing back, she wished fervently that she had not sought them out. She remembered everything until a great flash of light and...
She gasped in realization. The Shamonrae.
Tentatively, Sacha reached for the mystical place, forgetting her surroundings for the moment. She expected to find the blackened char of a burned wasteland that Teacher had warned her could be the result of becoming a conduit for the power. Instead, she found a teeming oasis as expansive as the mind could possibly imagine. She breathed a sigh of relief. The Shamonrae was as it should be—never-ending and wondrous.
Boundless arcane power swirled within the Shamonrae and suffused her body. She drew the energy until she thought her limit reached but found her threshold had changed. The reservoir within her had grown. Excited, Sacha pulled more power to define just how much she could hold. She drew more and more power, finding her limits easily three times her prior capacity, if not more.
Sacha reeled from shock. She thought that even Teacher would pale in comparison to the amount of power she could wield now.
“Princess?” Rouke’s voice was muffled as it carried through the tent. “Princess, are you awake? Are you all right?” He sounded as if he were actually outside.
Sacha tried to wet her lips, but her mouth was just as dry. “I’m fine,” she croaked, reaching for the pitcher that sat on the nightstand next to her cot. “Come in.”
“Physicians!” Rouke yelled. “She’s awake!” The armsman came bursting through the division in the partition in a rush of rustling fabric and clattering armor. “Thank Eos you’re awake.” He leaned over her, strain evident in his eyes. “I was fearin’ the worst.”
Sacha sat up. “I’m fine, Rouke. Where—”
Half a dozen men and women dressed in the light-green robes of the healers hurried in on Rouke’s heels, interrupting her question. Their chatter and bustling was almost deafening as they poked and prodded her, looking for signs of ailment.
“Enough!” Sacha commanded.
Several of the younger physicians startled away at her command. Not so the older, more seasoned healers. “You need rest, my princess,” one said. His wrinkled features deepened as he smiled. Within those crags, the old man carried knowledge, confidence, and no small amount of patience.
Sacha had seen him several times in the days following the supposed grahl attack but had not had cause to speak with him since. She grasped for his name but could not place it. She settled for a placating look that she hoped was the picture of health. “I’m fine.”
The smile he gave her was indulgent while his voice was anything but. “Of course you are. Now lie down.” His weathered hands took the cup of water from Sacha. He set it on the nightstand and then pressed on her shoulders, gently forcing her back into the cot. “I will bring you a tonic to help with the dryness and ache.” He glanced over his shoulder at the others, who quickly gathered themselves and shuffled out of the tent. Rouke remained, standing sentinel.
The ache in her muscles became apparent, almost as if the old man had summoned it. If only I could heal myself. Instead, she surrendered to his implacable ministrations and tried to rein in her racing thoughts as he continued to probe for injury.
“I’m surprised you and the prince survived,” the old healer said as he worked.
Sacha sat up again. “How is he?”
“The prince is just fine.” The physician gave her a stern glance. “Better off than you at the moment.”
“I must see him,” Sacha said, ignoring the man’s look.
“He’s in good health, Princess,” Rouke said reassuringly. “He’s up walkin’ around and everythin’.”
“As your man has said, Prince Alexander is quite well,” the old man reiterated. “Now please, take some rest.”
Sacha allowed herself to be pushed down once again, but inside she roiled with agitation. She needed to see Alexander. She had to know if what she had done to him had changed the man she had fallen in love with. “Where are we?” she asked, unable to contain her thoughts and concern any longer. “And what’s happened?”
“We’re camped just outside the glade where the Wildmen were takin’ shelter,” Rouke answered. “Everythin’s in order, Princess. We’ve got ’em under control.”
Sacha had all but forgotten the reason they had come here. “Did we capture the leader?”
A satisfied grin lit the soldier’s plain features. “Aye. We did indeed.”
One of the younger physicians reentered the pavilion with a small cup. “Master Nolan,” she said, offering it to the old man. “The tonic.”
“Thank you, dear,” Master Nolan replied, taking the elixir. “Now be off with you. I’ll be along momentarily.” To Sacha, he directed a firm look with the cup. “Drink this and rest. I will return to check on you this evening.”
Sacha took the cup and put it to her lips. She suspected some herb to help her sleep made up the majority of the mixture, so she didn’t actually drink the contents when she tipped the cup back. “Thank you, Master Nolan. Now, if you will excuse me and my armsman. There are subjects that must be discussed before I sleep again...”
The old man bowed. “Princess.”
Once Master Nolan had lumbered from the royal tent, Sacha sat up and set the cup next to the pitcher on the nightstand. “Where is the prince?”
Rouke raised his brow and appeared to be on the verge of protest, but he decided better of it and sighed instead. “There’ll be no stoppin’ ya, I see.”
“Come, Rouke. We’ve been through far too much together for you to think otherwise.”
He chuckled. “I’ll agree with that!”
Sacha tried to stand, but her legs quavered violently, forcing her back to the cot. Still too weak. She held out her hand to Rouke. “Help me.”
Rouke pursed his lips as he stepped forward and took her hand. “If you can’t even stand—”
“I know,” Sacha interrupted. “But I must check on...something.”
She leaned heavily on his armored arm, and together they shuffled to the trunks that held her wardrobe. Sacha released her grip, managed to control her drop to the thick carpets, and began to root through the trunks. Her voice became somewhat indistinct as she leaned into one of the large boxes. “Now, answer my question. Where is Alexander?”
Rouke opened the other chests for her. “He’s meetin’ with the commanders. They’re in the process of interrogatin’ the ‘leaders’ we captured.”
She had expected that, but she still found that her sense of urgency escalated. “I need to be there.”
The soldier frowned. “He’s safe, Princess. Honestly safe. I don’t see why—”
Frustration crackled within her. “You wouldn’t!” she practically shouted at him. “And you won’t!” She winced at her own tone and took a breath. It was her fears talking, and she couldn’t allow that. When she had calmed herself by a hair, she continued in a much more measured tone. “I don’t need you to understand just now, Rouke. I just need you to help me get to Alexander as soon as possible.”
The soldier eyed her suspiciously with a glimmer of dawning realization. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Sacha cringed but said nothing. If Rouke had noticed, then others…
“The storm,” Rouke blurted. “You brought that bolt of lightnin’ down, didn’t ya?!”
Sacha almost laughed in relief, though being tied to the lightning bolt was hardly better than the possibility of having scrambled Alexander’s mind. She managed to shoot the soldier an aloof look before she went back to digging.
Rouke laughed aloud and relaxed. “The damn thing nearly blew us all outta the sky—we were circling, looking for a way to help you and the prince, when all hell broke loose. The trees got to swaying like a giant was shakin’ them, and then that damnable bolt fell outta the sky like Mot’s own firebolt. Blew a hole in the trees thirty feet wide, and it tore the Wildmen apart, too. I’d wager there are a few of ‘em still runnin’. My ears are still ringing,
and I was almost a quarter mile off!” He shook his head slowly. “The prince got struck. That’s what has ya so tied up, isn’t it?”
So close, and yet… she thought, giving a noncommittal shrug.
The soldier nodded with a grin, apparently satisfied. When she offered nothing further, he continued. “Damn amazing even knowin’ what I know, though I can tell you there’s been more than a little head scratching. We found the two of you in an untouched clearing about six feet wide in the center of Mot’s Cauldron. Smoldering trees, churned earth, and bits of Wildmen for hundreds of feet in every direction.”
Sacha winced internally, thinking of the shield she had been using to protect them from the bolts and arrows. She hadn’t crafted it to be proof against lightning, but apparently some instinct had shifted the nature of it.
“The more pious of the lot are calling it Eos’s own favor that spared the two of you and a sign of Alexander’s fitness to assume the throne. Wallner won’t shut up about it, and Langston’s not far behind, which is a shocker, bein’ that his family is close enough to the throne to make a play for it himself.”
Sacha snorted, though it probably didn’t carry past the trunk she was currently head and shoulders into, but even if it did, she didn’t care. Eos hadn’t shown himself in much of the doings of the past year. In her estimation, if any god was putting pieces onto the board, it was Mot.
Rouke seemed content to talk while she worked. “The prince was actually wakin’ up by the time we managed to land. He was confused but demanded that you be flown out before anythin’ else happened.”
Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3) Page 25
