I can either try to transcend and risk being drawn to the Witch King or hope the kraken faints before she crushes me.
I pick with hope, and keep trying to remove anything that’s breathable from the kraken’s body as the tentacle wraps me tighter and tighter.
The kraken doesn’t let me go, though, and shows no signs that it’s getting weaker.
Can I risk transcending? The Witch King and his dreadful pull come to mind. That’s not an option.
My weakening, inefficient air magic is the only option left, and I focus all my might on getting this creature to faint.
The only way to do it is by letting go of the air around me. I take a deep breath, then focus my magic on the kraken. The tentacle tightens. I’ll have no option but to transcend.
But then, all of a sudden, she lets me go, the tentacle slipping away, her body sinking back to the abyss, her eyes closed.
“I won,” I say, even though I’m getting suffocated, with no air. I attempt to call back the air bubble, but it’s so far. “I want an audience?—”
There’s no more air for me to speak. Soon I’ll be the one fainting. I can feel the air drifting away, returning to the surface where it belongs. It’s whereIbelong, and all I can do now is swim up.
“You did not kill the Kraken!” the prince’s voice reaches me, this time muffled. Shouldn’t water carry the sound better?
The water is murky and I feel like sleeping. No. Not now.
“Kill him!” the prince yells.
I need to transcend, to swim to the surface, to do something, and yet my body and my magic don’t respond.
Despite all my will to fight, all my determination, in the end, my own body is defeating me.
Magic fatigue.
Of all times, why now? I can’t faint, not when Lidiane depends on me. Her face comes to mind, her smile, her hope.
And yet not even love can save me as I surrender to my own limits and the world turns dark.
MARLAK
Anxiety comes at me in waves and waves as I lie down with Astra in this strange cage. Every time the wind rustles the leaves outside I shudder wondering if an enemy has breached the city, or else I shudder with the memory of what happened in the Witch King’s prison.
And then that old, never-forgotten memory of what happened so long ago threatens to take me. It doesn’t help that the grounds are lit by torches, their light flickering and frightening, their cracking sound cracking me apart.
Astra’s calm breathing is the only thing that soothes me, her chest moving up and down slowly as she sleeps peacefully. As promised, Nelsin came again to treat her wounds, and she’s out of physical danger, but being here, in the forest of the Shadow Lands, is a danger in itself.
Owls and other birds hoot, insects chirp, and I fear that something as harmless as a snake could crawl through our bars.
I’ll keep you safe, I told her. Had I been a normal fae, could I have said that?
My thoughts go round and round, always returning to my encounter with the Witch King. A part of me truly thinks that if I retrace my steps, if I find my mistakes, I can somehow make things right. But I can’t. Now we don’t know if he’s still in his prison and what he plans to do. We don’t know what the giants plan to do.
When the morning comes, I’ll have to escape. The question is if I’ll succeed. And then what? Do I try to kill the Witch King again, hoping I do it right this time? My chest is stuffed with worry and tainted with shame.
I had one chance.
And I failed.
A tap on the bars startles me, and I turn, ready to use my air magic against any possible enemy. But it’s only Nelsin, his cat ears perked up.
He places a finger on his lips as he opens the door. For a second, I consider pushing him and escaping with Astra, but then we’ll still be in enemy territory—at night in the Shadow Lands.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
