by Everly Frost
He told me… Even fate isn’t that cruel.
My whisper is cold, my breath catching in my throat. “I could have healed her.”
“You didn’t know that then.”
I want to scream at him for being so calm, so forgiving. I want to lash out at him for not telling me himself, for letting me hear it from Hagan. I want to rage at him for carrying his mother to the border. For deliberately placing her under my sword.
I want to hate him for not hating me.
Nothing he can say will take away my guilt. I hurt him and his people and I did it without thinking.
I don’t even remember her.
Slowly reaching up to my hair, I place my hands on either side of my head and allow my power to shine, burning at the sap that turned my locks black.
Nathaniel sucks in a quick breath, lurching away from me when I press too long and the ends of my hair catch fire, the sickening scent filling the air before I catch the thick strands and smother the flames beneath my palms.
I don’t care about the heat. All that matters is that my hair is white again.
Now there is nothing left that makes me appear human.
“You have to stay alive,” I say, raising my eyes to Nathaniel’s, speaking clearly so that Hagan will hear me too. “No matter what it takes.”
“Aura—”
“You may have bargained for Hagan’s life once, but it’s your life that will give your people their freedom.” I draw to my feet and back away from Nathaniel, my body numb, but my thoughts clear. “You will do whatever it takes to stay alive.”
Nathaniel returns my steady gaze. His clothing is ripped and torn. He’s bruised and beaten, but he’s still the most mesmerizing man I’ve ever met. The soft edges of his expression become hard, determined. I glimpse again the rage he showed when Tanner threatened me. The inner warrior he tempers with reason and justice.
I may have scratched his name from my face, but he is a part of my life I can never erase or replace.
“Stay alive,” I whisper. “I need you to stay alive.”
Even if it means that I will face him in a fight to the death. I need Nathaniel to live.
Nathaniel inhales, filling his big chest, his muscles flexing before he gives me a nod. Then he spins and strides toward the weapon stand, quickly collecting a weapons harness, tying it around his chest and waist and filling it with every blade it can hold.
I back toward the gate we came from, but I veer toward the snarling white-tailed wolf on my way, checking out the length of its chains and ascertaining that they’re secured to the wall—unbreakable.
Up in the stands, Cyrian’s booming voice suddenly demands our attention. “The Three Chances are in play!” he shouts. “The traitor, Nathaniel Displaced, has been challenged by the strongest of my hunters, Hagan Sever. This is a battle that is long overdue.”
He waits another beat for Nathaniel and Hagan to turn to him.
Then Cyrian raises his hands above his head, his silver wrist bands glinting. “Let the fight begin.”
My heart leaps into my throat, anxiety shooting around my body, but I’m surprised when Hagan and Nathaniel take a step away from each other.
They both take a knee, heads bowed, the same way Nathaniel’s trainees show respect to each other before they fight—the way Luciana taught them.
Up on the dais, Cyrian falters a little. It’s clear from his glower that he didn’t intend for the two men to show each other any respect.
Hagan rises to his feet. “Son of Luciana,” he says to Nathaniel. “I will respect your strength by fighting with my own.”
Drawing to his full height, Nathaniel gives Hagan a dangerous nod. “Brother, I expect nothing less.”
Neither man has drawn a blade.
Hagan nods.
His fist flies out at Nathaniel and it’s like watching a bear move—except this bear has rocks for paws.
Nathaniel ducks and returns the hit. Hagan avoids it, but Nathaniel’s arm is already swinging back, his elbow colliding with Hagan’s cheek. Hagan ducks under the next hit, landing a walloping blow to Nathaniel’s stomach, another to his shoulder, and then charges under him, crushing his chest and driving him back across the ground. In retaliation, Nathaniel’s fists slam onto Hagan’s back, then his stomach, forcing a gap between the two men.
They both take a second to recover before they charge at each other again. Their blows are crunching and rapid. Every single hit makes me wince, sending a shock through my heart. Within seconds, they’re both bleeding from splits across their cheeks and lips.
Yesterday, I would have watched their fight with clinical interest—checking out their strengths and weaknesses, assessing their techniques, figuring out whether they favor a particular arm or leg. But today…
Today, all I want is for the fight to end and for Nathaniel to be standing at the end of it.
I back away from the battle, digging my fingernails into my palms so hard, it hurts. Edging toward the wall, I’m in danger of hitting a spike, but it’s nearly impossible to remain still. I force myself to pace back and forth, unable to take my eyes off the two men.
Especially when Hagan draws his sword and drives Nathaniel dangerously close to the female wolf on that side of the arena. The two weapons clang and glint in the firelight while the animal snaps at Nathaniel’s back.
Nathaniel retaliates with equal force, beating Hagan back toward the center of the arena before he slices neatly across Hagan’s bicep. I hold my breath, but the wound doesn’t appear deep enough to cause any real damage and Hagan moves as if it never happened.
My heart is in my throat as I pace in the dirt, my breathing alternating between rapid and halting as Nathaniel and Hagan continue to fight, both of them now gripping a dagger as well as a sword.
Nathaniel nearly impales Hagan’s shoulder.
Hagan nearly cuts off Nathaniel’s arm.
The two men are equally matched. The outcome is going to come down to stamina. Sweat drips down both their faces, soaking their shirts. Nathaniel is surviving on minimal sleep and has spent the last day and a half fighting for his life. He’s at a distinct disadvantage the longer the fight continues. Hagan will aim to wear him down…
My magic hums in my ears, needing to be released, but I can also hear the crowd, murmuring and pointing. Louder than before.
Nathaniel’s name is on their lips.
He is their rightful King. Their leader. Their path to freedom.
A change in the air warns me a moment before Cyrian steps forward, takes hold of the railing, and leaps from the dais.
A shot of dark light spreads across the air beneath him, slowing his fall so that he lands safely on his feet. For a second, I think he’s going to try to interfere with the fight, but his focus is purely on me.
His hands shoot out as he strides toward me. Dark light spears across the distance, a great wallop of it colliding with my stomach, lifting me and driving me back toward the spikes jutting from the walls of the arena.
Starlight floods my body. With a defiant flash, I free myself from the grip of his magic and drop back to the ground, inches from the nearest spike. Too close for comfort. Too close to the wolf.
I duck and roll out of the animal’s path, jumping to my feet as it snaps at me. I’m now closer to Cyrian than I want to be.
Across the way, I sense Nathaniel split his attention, seeking my position. Hagan takes advantage of the distraction, driving his dagger toward Nathaniel’s chest. Nathaniel leaps back just in time to avoid the blow.
My muscles tense. Any distraction could get Nathaniel killed and I’m guessing that’s Cyrian’s intention.
Cyrian’s mouth splits into a wild grin as he continues to stride toward me.
“I’ve been waiting to get you alone,” he says. “It’s just you and me now, Aura.” He waves his hand at the crowd. “And a thousand people to watch you break.”
Chapter 29
“You think that my magic can’t hurt you,” Cyri
an says, coming to a stop close enough to push me dangerously near the wolf at my back.
I curl my fingers into fists, fighting the need to retaliate and show him just how strong I am. I remind myself: Defend, don’t attack. And above all, I can’t allow Nathaniel to be distracted.
Despite the chill, Cyrian’s wearing a short-sleeved black shirt that fully exposes the colorful runes cascading down his right arm. They appear to shift and slide across his skin as dark light plays in his eyes and around his torso.
“You have no idea how much power I control,” he says. “I have access to the life energy of every human heart. Every beat gives me more power.”
“By killing your people slowly!”
He shrugs. “The Ebon Rot is a byproduct of draining their bodies and minds.”
Rage builds inside me at the pain Cyrian has caused the humans, but my head lifts defiantly. “But not Nathaniel.”
Cyrian scowls. “For reasons that evade me, I’ve never been able to infect him. But… let’s see how long you can resist me…”
A trickle of black light wafts across the air between us, brushing up against my neck. It leaves a burning sensation that startles me and makes me gasp.
“Imagine the pain you just felt magnified a hundred times,” Cyrian whispers. “It would take all of your starlight to counteract it. But then you would distract Nathaniel and put him in danger…”
Cyrian circles me as my hand itches to draw my liquid sword or my dagger, but a blade won’t do me any good.
“I can reach inside your mind and burn your senses without even leaving a mark,” Cyrian continues, running his hand across my shoulders before I quickly step beyond his reach, whirling to face him.
We’ve now switched places and he stands closest to the wolf.
Cyrian smiles. The chains holding the wolf suddenly break.
The animal leaps at him first, but it yelps and darts away when it comes into contact with the dark light covering his body.
The wolf spins and launches itself at me instead.
Cyrian expected me to use my magic, but my reflexes are at full speed. My liquid sword is in my hand. I dart left. The animal skids past me, one claw dangerously close to disemboweling me through the rips in my armor before I swing and jump at it, landing on it from behind and driving the sword into its neck.
The whole move is completely silent.
The kill strike is clean and the wolf slumps beneath me.
I take a deep breath, preparing to face Cyrian again, when a clutching sensation grips the back of my neck, pulling me to my feet.
“Very good, Aura,” Cyrian whispers, leaning across my shoulder, far too close for comfort. “But how will you cope when I take hold of your insides and make you feel like I’m ripping them out?”
I gasp as burning pain rockets down my spine. He hasn’t touched me, but dark light swirls around my torso now, sinking beneath my armor, gripping my arms, legs, and ribs.
“That’s your bones,” he says, circling me again as pain shoots through my body. His hands glitter with dark light as he extends them, turning and twisting them in the air around me. “Next your stomach and lungs.”
I double over, kneeling in the dirt beside the dead wolf as the burn spreads through my abdomen, a fire like no other eating at my stomach and spreading upward. I gasp a breath. Then another, each one like inhaling flames and smoke.
“And finally…” He bends beside me, grabbing my left shoulder and forcing my torso upright. “Your heart.”
He dares to slide his palm across my upper left breast and I’m grateful that my armor forms a barrier between us.
Mercifully, this time, the pain doesn’t worsen.
A hint of confusion enters Cyrian’s eyes. He tilts his head, taking glances at my chest and then my face, searching my eyes.
A short laugh escapes his lips.
“Aura,” he asks. “Where is your heart?”
I stare back at him in confusion, my vision blurring with the force of the pain burning inside me. I try to focus, replaying his question in my mind, but it doesn’t make any sense. My heart is where it’s supposed to be—inside my chest.
Cyrian suddenly grabs my hair. Pain explodes across my scalp at the sudden pressure, but at the same time, he seems to lose his concentration and the pain elsewhere in my body eases. Not much, but enough for some clarity of thought to return.
His voice is sharp. Deadly. “How do you exist?” He shakes me so hard that it feels like my bones rattle. “What are you?”
I grit my teeth at him. I don’t understand what he’s talking about, but I do know who I am. Finally, I have some understanding of my place in my world. If he’d asked me a day ago, I would have defined myself as Imatra’s Champion. Then as a traitor and an escapee. But now…
Grabbing his hand and shoving it away from me, I return his hard stare. “I’m Aura Lucidia, the brightest of the Bright Ones. I’m Nathaniel’s wife. And I’m the reason you’ll be dead in a day.”
A hint of worry enters Cyrian’s eyes, but he gives me another shake, a snarl on his lips that makes him appear more wolf than man. “Let me tell you a story about life and death, Aura. And then we’ll see how certain you are.”
His momentary distraction is over. Dark light gusts across my arms and legs, burning pain dragging at my limbs like claws.
“Not so long ago,” he says, “Before the glitter field and the Misty Gallows, a man had the courage to defend his border village from the attack of a fae raiding party. The fae didn’t give up. They attacked again, and each time, the man killed them. The King heard about this man and came to the village to ask the man to be his Champion. He offered him all the glory he could ever dream of.”
Cyrian leans close to me, stroking his hand down my cheek, his fingertips burning across my skin so painfully that I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe.
He continues. “The man said, ‘Only if you guarantee the safety of my wife and newborn child.’ The King agreed. He convinced the man to go to the castle, while the King left twenty soldiers to defend the village until the man’s wife could come to the castle too.”
Cyrian’s fingers twine into my hair, tugging sharply. “The next day, a fae raiding party attacked the village and slaughtered everyone in it, including the man’s family.”
He exhales a slow breath, making a hum like a moan of pain. “The King wept tears for the man, but the man saw through them. Over time, he learned that the King didn’t want a Champion. The King wanted a protector for his own newborn son. You see… the good witch Mathilda had foreseen that Nathaniel’s life would be filled with unbearable pain.”
Cyrian grips each side of my face, forcing my eyes open. Released, tears leak down my cheeks.
“Nathaniel’s father traded my family for his,” Cyrian says. “Over time, my pain and anger festered until one day, I woke up with dark light glowing in the palms of my hands. Dark magic sprung from hatred itself.”
He wrenches me around to face the arena, gripping my arms so tightly that dark light spills between us. “Nathaniel’s existence is built on the blood and bones of others. If I take life, it is only because of him.”
“Your choices are your own,” I say, swallowing my groan of agony. “You’re the one killing your people, not Nathaniel.”
“My wife and son died first,” he says. “It’s time for Nathaniel to die too. Only your pain will distract him. You will scream for me, Aura. Even if I have to burn every thought from your mind.”
Despite the pain seizing my insides, despite the sobs forcing their way into my throat, I manage to say, “I will not.”
On the other side of the arena, Nathaniel and Hagan are locked together, muscles straining against each other. Hagan’s sword lies on the dirt beyond his reach—Nathaniel must have disarmed him—but Hagan’s hands are clamped over Nathaniel’s, both of them gripping the handle of Nathaniel’s sword.
Nathaniel shoves their locked fists back at Hagan, who takes the knock across his
cheek but refuses to let go, hooking his foot around Nathaniel’s ankle and destroying Nathaniel’s balance.
Nathaniel drops to the ground, releasing the weapon.
I stop breathing as Hagan drives the blade down at Nathaniel’s neck in a blow that has the speed and strength to cleave Nathaniel’s head from his shoulders.
Nathaniel rolls to the side just in time, snatching up Hagan’s sword from the ground.
Both men take a moment, pacing around each other, breathing hard. They’re visibly tired. Sweat pours off their bodies, but their blows are no less violent—fists and swords. They’re bloody and bruised, but neither has given ground.
Their fight has progressed beyond rational thought now. I know this from having trained long hours every day. There comes a tipping point past which nothing exists except the next move.
Every move is instinctive.
Distraction means death.
“Scream for me,” Cyrian whispers as the pain levels inside my body reach breaking point.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the agony, desperately allowing a small glow of starlight to ease across my chest. I’m alarmed at how little it protects me from the pain. He told me I should be more afraid of his power and now I wonder if he’s right.
With an impatient scowl, he says, “If you won’t break, then the chains must.”
My eyes fly open.
On the other side of the arena, the female wolf strains at her restraints. Nathaniel and Hagan have fought around her, avoiding the radius within which she can attack. Right now, Nathaniel stands with his back to her, close to the wall on that side, while she snarls at his heels and strains against her shackles.
I subdued her this morning, but her hatred of Nathaniel is irrepressible.
“You can’t release the wolf.” I gasp. “You can’t interfere.”
Cyrian smiles and it turns my blood cold. “I’m not interfering. The wolf will do whatever her natural instincts dictate.”
He closes his fist and the wolf’s chain breaks.
