I turn to look. More and more are breaking through. So much more gold. Everywhere I look, it swarms, drowning out the flashes of black.
Gold.
“Eres.” I grab his arm. “I have to go.”
That stops him. He stills, turning back to me. My eyes sweep the field behind him, taking in the waves that keep coming. I can’t see my father, but I know he’s there. Staying back, watching as his soldiers overwhelm us with sheer numbers.
He trusts the gold.
“I have to,” I repeat when he doesn’t say anything. “I have to try.”
And I promised him I wouldn’t go without talking to him first. His eyes close. “Lyra—”
“I have to try.” I slam my lips to his, tasting blood and dirt. His arm wraps around me, as if he’s holding me in place. “Wait for me.”
We both know that it’s unlikely I’m coming back. But he sucks in a breath against my lips, as if he’s breathing me in, before he pulls away. “Go.”
“Tell them—”
“You tell them.” His eyes blaze. “When you come back. Go, Lyra.”
Time is running out, and we both know that too.
I run.
Not for the line. Not toward the shield of shimmering, torn onyx as Kaelen keeps his protection in place, though it’s ragged around the edges as if the Lightbringers are carving it away, piece by piece.
I run for the walls. ForUmbraxis.
Lyra
Istagger into the bedroom, my eyes pinning on the bed. I’d left it there with every intention of not setting a single finger on it.
But now, my hands reach for the Lightbringer armor.
Gold is far heavier than leather.
I knew that in theory, though this is the first time I’ve ever felt it against my skin. But I don’t understand the truth of it until I’m running through Umbraxis’s corridors with my lungs on fire and my fingers numb, dragging plates over my arms, latching straps with hands that won’t stop shaking.
It feels as though the very stone of Umbraxis trembles beneath my feet. The clash of steel and the roar of hundreds of voices seep through the walls. Every distant scream is a needle under my skin. Dust falls from the beams above my head like ash as I struggle with the straps on my left arm.
I don’t let myself think about who's screaming.
Not yet.
Greaves, vambraces, pauldrons. The helm last. I hesitate, stopping for a brief, breathless moment with it in my hands, thumb tracing the inside edge where someone else’s face once sat.
Queen Maelira. Eldritch. How many more before it ends? My heart thuds again. Would I feel it, if Eres dies? Will he know if I don’t make it through?
I jam the helm on, and the world narrows to slits of vision and the sound of my own breathing, harsh and loud in the metal.
A Lightbringer once more. At least from a distance. Long enough to get close.
Stay alive.
I’m not sure if the silent plea is for myself, or for the three men I left on the field.
The back passage out of Umbraxis spits me into the bitter air behind the castle’s flank, facing the Barren Lands and the Gloam. I keep low, moving from broken stone to the cover of a collapsed wall, victim of an errant strike.
