I started to count, two dozen, then three. And more were still approaching in the shadows. Too many for us to fight at once.
I shuddered, fear gripping me, my stomach twisting like a vice.
Then one stepped forward and called out. “Arkturion. Arkturion Rhyan.”
“Yes,” Rhyan said cautiously. “Harman, right?”
“Yes,” Harman said, his voice surprisingly soft for an akadim. He took another step forward, into a small ray of sunlight shining through the trees. He lifted his arms out to the side. They ended in fingers, smooth and round at the end—not clawed. And his eyes—they were dark, perhaps brown. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. Because there was one important color that they weren’t: red.
“Your eyes are green,” Harman said. He was thickly muscled and tall. A soturion build. His skin was dark brown, and hishair was silky and black like many born of Ka Elys. Carefully, he looked Rhyan up and down. “You’re alive?”
“Y-yes,” Rhyan said. “I’m cured.” Tears welled in his eyes.
Tears that I could see were reflected in Harman’s.
“How?” Harman asked.
Rhyan’s lips trembled, and he shook his head. “I was stabbed in the heart. By my love.” He looked over at me. “With a lost shard from the Valalumir. It had healing powers, and so does she. She brought me back.”
“It wasn’t just you,” Harman said. He looked over his shoulder, and gestured. More men, and a handful of women began to emerge from the shadows and behind the trees and some bushes. “My lady,” Harman said, meeting my eyes. “You saved us then. Healed us.” He knelt down on one knee. And the rest followed. Over fifty former akadim were kneeling before us. “We are yours in gratitude. We owe you our lives.”
And then, Rhyan fell to his knees, looking up at me, tears shimmering against the emerald green.
Chapter
Forty-One
RHYAN
“How?” Lyr asked. She looked stunned as her eyes moved across the former akadim.
I reached up and took her hand. “Lyr, it was you.”
Her chest heaved, as she took a few shallow breaths. “But I only stabbed you.” She stared out at the crowd, shaking her head, her brows furrowed as she tried to understand. “I didn’t think I saved you at first.” She took my hand and pulled me up. “Auriel never said this was possible. We were losing in the last war because it took so long to save akadim. We had to do it one by one. How? How could I have turned so many of you at once?”
“Arkturion Rhyan,” Harman said, rising to his feet. It was only then that I realized he’d been holding the silver collar he’d worn as an akadim. The ones Morgana had fashioned. It was the collar she’d used to bind us all to her, forming a kashonim that she could manipulate and control. We’d all drawn blood, had it mixed inside the collar along with hers.
It forced us to follow her directives, to comply with her rulings and commands—at least when she was nearby.
But she left weeks ago, taking Parthenay and her maid with her. Lissa. That was her name. I’d already been Arkturion, aleader for the akadim, keeping them on task, giving them their orders. Reinforcing anything Morgana wanted. OrMaraaka Ereshyaas she was referred to.
“Harman,” I said. “May I—” I frowned, a theory starting to come together in my mind. “May I see that?”
“Of course, Arkturion.” He stepped forward, slowly approaching Lyr, Sean, and me.
“You,” I shook my head, “You don’t have to call me that anymore. I’m not—I was never an actual Arkturion.”
“That’s not what I remember,” Harman said.
I remembered him clearly. He’d been paler as an akadim, but now his skin had been returned to a deep brown. I hadn’t spoken much to Harman—truthfully, I hadn’t spoken to many of the akadim. They weren’t exactly social creatures. But I remembered Harman. He did what was asked. And he kept the others in line for me. He’d been … I supposed loyal was the right word.
He placed the collar in my hand and I nearly recoiled. I still remembered the night I got mine. The way Morgana had found me naked and feral in the woods. I was so angry and confused. But she’d collared and calmed me, and by morning, I’d had purpose.
I turned the silver in my hands, watching the hateful metal, and all it represented, glint in the sun. It was more than just a symbol of the monster I’d been, or my obedience to Morgana. It was my kashonim. The one I’d formed with her as an akadim. Like Lyr and I had done as soturi, with our armor and blood mixed together.
Auriel’s words from my dream came back to me.
She kept you tethered to her. She doesn’t even know. She saved your life. No one survives the stripping. But her soul called out to yours, and it was a far stronger pull than the cries your soul made to mine, to yourself, to your original form. Inthe end, it was sealed in blood, in kashonim. But without that connection—that alone wouldn’t have been enough.
