“MORGS!” I screamed.
I inched further back, trying to line myself up with a column. I didn’t know where to start. Who would defend me, and who would let me die. I could only watch in horror as the akadim, tore through the room, grabbing whoever was nearest, biting down on their necks, and shredding through them. They were falling one by one, too quick for me to process, too quick for me to react. I’d fought larger akadim than this—and I’d done so with far less strength. But seeing Morgana now, seeing her control them, command them, it was too much. I couldn’t move.
Another soturion fell and finally I snapped out of it.
“Call them off!” I yelled. “Call them off!”
But Morgana remained unmoved. She stood there, still as a statue, watching me, as blood filled the white tiles of the Throne Room. Scream after scream came as I watched death come nearer.
My eyes welled with tears, and something inside my heart broke. The pain in my chest, this feeling twisting in my gut was far worse than it had been when I’d learned what Arianna was. When that first betrayal had caught me off guard.
Because this time, I had known. I’d known a month ago when the akadim had called her their queen. I just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Had been unable to accept the true horror of it all.
Because a part of me had been holding on. Holding onto my sister, desperate to believe she was still good, that this wasn’t her, that this was temporary. Because deep down, I thought she’d come to her senses, thought she’d come back to us. Because I loved her, and I thought she loved me.
Outside, I could hear the chanting, the shouts getting louder, more excited. Another horn blew. The energy of the crowd, the auras, it was palpable, violent and hungry. Rhyan was outside. My chest tightened. He was in the arena. And he was out of time. Fuck. Fuck!
“Morgana,” I said, eyeing every locked door. “Please! Let me pass.”
She shook her head. “No.” Her eyes raked across the expanse of the shield, of the orange shard pulsing within. “You know what I’m here for.”
I shook my head. The shouts were growing louder, reaching a fever pitch, the excitement full of a bloodlust I could sense from even here. No. No.
“Morgana, please! You know what’s happening out there! Please! It’s Rhyan. Gods, if any part of you is still my sister, let me go! Let me go to him.”
She remained still, blinking slowly, her dark eyes taking in all of the death that filled the room. And then one of the akadim ripped off the belt of the last soturion to fall, andpresented it to Morgana. A set of golden keys jingled and she placed them in her pocket.
“It’s because he’s vorakh!” I yelled. I knew that’s what this was. The keys. The chayatim. She was going to release them all. And I wouldn’t stop her. But I wouldn’t allow Rhyan to be the cost.
“You came to save them?” I shouted. “Save him!”
“Give me the shield, and you can save him yourself.”
“I need it. And I need to go. NOW!” A thousand soturi stood between me and him. I needed every advantage. I had no ashvan, no vorakh. Only me and whatever strength I could draw on from Asherah and the Valalumir. I needed everything.
“Don’t you get it?” Morgana hissed. “This is bigger than him. Bigger than us! It’s about all the vorakh. I won’t damn them all for one life. But you would. That’s the difference between us. Look what they did to Jules. And look at everyone in this room. They did that. They hurt her. And they are allowing for more hurt—for what’s happening right now outside. And what makes me sick to my stomach—is they used vorakh to do it. Used our own powers against us, took us, stole our magic. It ends now. The shield is mine by right. And you know it.”
“What’s done here is evil,” I said. My throat tightened with emotion. My gut gnawing at me. “But you think Aemon—Moriel—is any better? Do you think if I hand this to you, he will be reasonable? Kind?”
“What does kindness have to do with suffering?” She shook her head. Her aura pulsing with sharp anger. “I did what I had to. And you’re being an idiot. Hand over the shield! I still hold the indigo shard. I haven’t given it to him yet. Trust me.”
“But you will?” I asked, my heart thundering, someone outside had amplified their voice—they were reading off alist of Rhyan’s crimes, riling up the crowd to accept and revel in his condemnation.
Morgana stepped forward. “Look around you, Lyr. I command the akadim now. Think about it. Did a single one come near you? No! Are you hurt by any of them or me? No. I’m your sister!”
“That’s not what happened last time. You tricked me!”
“I did what I had to.” Morgana’s voice shook, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she seemed to show true emotion. Then her face righted, her lip curled into a sneer. “I am not your enemy. Who did hurt you is the one who tore our family apart, the one who has made life in Lumeria a living hell. And the Empire,” she pointed to the window, “is the one who is about to strip your lover. Not me. I’m here to end this. To free the vorakh. I’m done playing their games.”
“So am I,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Then hand over the shard.”
“I’ll give you the shield,” I said, the feeling in my gut had sharpened. Intensified. The shield felt like it was pulsing in my hand. Growing more powerful, more aware of its connection to Morgana. To Ereshya. But that meant growing closer to Moriel, too. “If you give the indigo back to me. A trade.”
Morgana’s lips quirked up, her face almost sad. “Lyr, you have nothing to bargain for. I hold the power here. Not you. Decide. The shield? Or Rhyan’s life.”
The horn blew again, the sound in a raging battle against thunderous applause. The reading of the crimes had come to an end. The sound was replaced by the chant of “strip him” emanating from the crowd.
