Six warriors tackle Kyron to the floor. He screams and thrashes as they struggle to pin his arms and legs. My panic surges along with the shouts of my people below us. If Esmeray uses her Cognus power to erase Kyron’s memories, the future of our kingdom and all of Pliris is doomed. Cyffreds will be under the control of others, and not only to the Allaji, but to Pliris. Power-hungry Khiros will drain their dormant gifts to satisfy their cravings. And Micah’s death will be in vain.
The queen kneels behind Kyron’s head and lowers her outstretched fingers to her son’s temples.
“No, this can’t be happening,” Greer says in a trance-like state, and her fingers dig into my arm.
She has taught me so much about strength and sacrifice. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for her friends. She would even forgive them when they hurt her in ways that leave deep scars on her soul. Every blade she sheaths on her body is a meager representation of her strength. Every. Single. Blade.
I snatch the dagger at her thigh and barrel through the warriors,grasping onto an Electro’s power. My fingers spark with the blue lightning as I electrocute those standing in my way. Esmeray’s hands brush Kyron’s head, and I fling myself at her, knocking her back. The blade slides through her breast, scraping against bone as it pierces her heart. I hold my buzzing hand over my head and create a dome of lightning around her and me.
“This is for every Cyffred you have imprisoned. And this”—I turn the knife a click—“is for Micah.”
Esmeray gasps and blood trails from the corner of her mouth. She smiles, and a gurgled laugh rumbles from her lips. “I didn’t mention the last term of the treaty, did I? You. I promised to give him you. The Statera will forsake you for spilling my blood here, and you will be nothing more than the Allaji king’s whore.”
I lift my trembling chin and clench my teeth. “And you will be dead. May you dwell in the darkness for eternity.”
“I’ll see you there,” she gasps.
I twist the dagger, and the Stigian queen jerks before releasing her last breath.
Bile rises in my throat, and my body convulses. I let go of the electric shield, bracing my bloody hands to the ground and gasping for my next breath. I won’t regret it. I did what I had to do to save so many.
“Raelle?”
I lift my head to find Kyron crouching next to me. His brows knit together with worry, and his focus only on me. He holds a shaking hand out to me, beckoning me closer. His shadows join his efforts, slithering around me in calming strokes. I can’t recall ever needing to touch him as much as I do now. The base of his neck looks like a safe place to rest my head, and his body is sturdy and will keep me grounded. I can hide from these horrors in the circle of his arms.
With urgent need, I shift to my hands and knees to close the space between us. My palm reaches his cheek when a head-splitting screech echoes through the sanctuary. Fear has me scurrying forward, desperate to make it into his arms. My shuffling knees and hands leave the ground in a swoop, and sharp claws dig into my waist. The black marble floor whisks by as does an enormous ball of fire. The hawk glides to its side, clearing the double doors of the sanctuary with me in its clutches.
My panic renders the Eporri useless, and by the time I find a semblance of control, it’s too late. We soar through the sky, and I’m too highto feel the Statera’s energy coursing through anyone.
I hang limp in Zek’s talons, uncaring about the ground far below. My hair blows in the wind, the strands clinging to the tears streaming down my face. The price I paid was steep, almost too steep. I lost it all in a matter of minutes: my crown, my family, my parah. Even the creator of my life force has abandoned me. The only shred of hope I have is knowing the people of Pliris will finally know peace and equality under the rule of their new king.
Twenty-Five
Kyron
It has been thirteen days since my life was stolen from me. She was right there, my hand centimeters from her neck, her palm almost to my chest, and then she was gone. I got one, one fucking flame out before Greer tackled me to the ground. She screamed at me to stop, to consider what I was doing, what it would mean for Pliris.
Fuck the kingdom.
Fuck the crown.
Fuck everyone who tells me this is what Raelle wanted.
My parah didn’t ask to be a pawn in the negotiations between my sociopathic mother and the egomaniac that rules Allaji. She didn’t want the dilemma of losing her crown or saving me. Raelle didn’t wish for me to build this kingdom alone.
I kick back a tumbler of spicy amber liquor and slam down the glass on my desk.
“Are you listening to me, Kyron?”
I lift my gaze to the chair across from me, and the disappointment etched into Borin’s face greets me. It feels like he has given me that samelook since I took my oath as king. If I’m being honest, it was the last thing I wanted to do mere hours after my parah was taken. I don’t even remember the words I recited after the Divine Sibyl. One minute I was Raelle’s heir, the man meant to sit on a throne beside her. And the next, I was bound to this kingdom as its sole ruler.
I reach past the mounting paperwork, with my new crown/paperweight on top, and snatch the glass decanter. Kicking my feet up on my desk, I slosh around the liquor and take a long swig. I drink until I find what I’m chasing after: numbness. I want the liquor to no longer burn and every miserable thought in my head to turn fuzzy. This is how I’ll make it through another day without her.
“I wasn’t listening,” I confess with no remorse.
Borin sighs, lowers the leather-bound organizer in his hands to my desk, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Dark bags frame his eyes and the crow’s feet at the corners are deep, spreading to his temples. His dark brown skin has an ashen hue and clings to his bones. Borin is withering without his parah.
I sympathize with the man.
