The words slide under my skin like a knife, even as Darian strains against the bindings keeping him in place. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”
Cindral chuckles softly. His eyes drag over me, revulsion crawling across my skin in his wake. “Everything about you is ours, though, and we can take it back if we want it. Even if it’s marked with Darkwielder filth.”
His smile sharpens. “You were to kill Kaelen Duskbane. Remember that? The crown prince. The great prophecy.” He clicks his tongue. “And you failed.”
Iliria watches me like she’s savoring my every reaction. And Darian’s eyes flicker to my face, tightening. Cindral steps closer still.
“Come back,” he says, voice dropping into something coaxing. “This little rebellion of yours can be forgiven. Commander Vaelion will show mercy if I ask him to. He always knew you were weak-willed, Lyra. My offer still stands.”
My throat tightens. “Don’t pretend that you’re his chosen one, Cindral. You’re just another soldier to him.”
His smile is slow. “But he still gave you to me, didn’t he?”
Darian makes a sound behind him; a low, furious growl. Cindral continues as if Darian isn’t there.
“You can have a place again,” he says softly. “In Solvandyr.”
His gaze rakes over me once more. “And you can have protection. Mine.”
The word tastes like bile. “Touch me, and I will kill you.” I mean it with every single fiber of my body.
Cindral’s smile doesn’t falter. “You said that before.”
“I know. I also said I’d rather spread my legs for an entire Darkwielder legion, if I recall correctly.” Pulling the ring from my pocket, I toss it at him. When he doesn’t move, it bounces off his chest before vanishing into the snow. “I did. They weremuchbetter than you.”
Behind Cindral, Darian chokes.
Cindral’s face flushes. And his hand shifts at his side, twisting in a signal as if he’s forgotten that I learned from the same man that he did.
Iliria lunges for my back, fast and low, her blade aimed for my ribs. Pivoting, I bring up a luminth shield that forms in a curvedflare. Her blade hits it with a clang that vibrates through my bones, sending sparks of light scattering into the air.
“I suppose the discussion is over, then?” I shove outward, knocking her back several steps. “You never could take constructive criticism, Cindral.”
I want him away from Darian. But he only waits, his face empty as he watches Iliria circle me. Not wasting any more energy on words, I shape my luminth into a short blade and meet her next strike with a parry that rings into the air.
We trade blows, back and forth across the clearing. She’s skilled. Quick wrists. Dirty angles, and a barrage of rapid, furious movements. She fights like someone who expects the other person to hesitate.
I don’t.
Feinting left, I drop low and slash upward with my blade. It catches her thigh, burning through metal and flesh. Iliria screams, more from fury than pain, and slashes wildly.
Stepping inside her reach, I slam my palm into her chest. Iliria flies backward, hitting the snow hard enough to leave a crater. She tries to rise, struggling upright.
I don’t let her. Flicking my wrist, I shape a thin spear of luminth and fling it across the clearing.
It drives directly through her throat. Her body jerks once. Then stills.
Cindral watches Iliria die with mild interest, as if he’s evaluating a demonstration, before he looks up. “Impressive,” he murmurs. “I’ve missed fighting with you.”
“Release him,” I demand.
Cindral’s eyes drift to Darian, still bleeding slightly at the temple.
“Why?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Who is he to you?”
When I don’t respond, his eyes flicker. The flames bank, glowing faintly. “I see.”
Lifting my hands, I let my blades draw free, the glow brightening the clearing. “Fight me, then. Like we used to.”
