Brienne had seen it in the memories of the goddess when they’d merged and melded in the barrier. Her blood and his, the last living firebloods, would forever close this gateway, preventing what he was trying to do. She could bring an end to the possibility that their bloodline would rise again.
Now she peered into the circle and saw Aislinn there, at a stone altar with Brisbois at her back and another man at their side. Lord Hugh was focusing his efforts on making the perimeter of the stones a hell. He set it all on fire so that none could pass. Chanting, he walked around it, casting more fire until the stones were almost invisible among it.
“Warblood!” he called out in a voice too loud to be human. “I will destroy them both if you do not do my bidding now.”
It was a voice that combined male and female—Hugh and the goddess spoke. Brienne felt the ground trembling and knew she was attempting to force herself through the barrier that was the center of the circle. All it would take was a slight rupture and she would escape into this world.Theirworld.
She was held, burning and not being destroyed, against the tallest of the stones. It towered over her and seemed to grow taller by the minute. All the stones did, stretching and groaning and changing. Symbols appeared, being carved before her eyes like metal in her father’s fire pit.
Flames. War hammer. A horse. A tree. A sun. Water moving. A stick figure of a man. A bolt of lightning. Carved, glowing, and disappearing. Again and again, across all the stones.
Then she heard the clamor of fighting coming closer and saw William striding toward her. Her blood roared and her powers soared as he approached.
He was enormous, almost as tall as the stone at her back, with huge muscles. His limbs were weapons that no man could have wielded. His eyes were huge and red, and his skin was the color of the sky and ice. He was death walking, and he was aiming at Lord Hugh.
He paused before her, and his eyes were William’s for a moment, as was his voice.
“Brienne, my love,” he said. He reached through the flames that surrounded her and stroked her cheek. She watched the skin on his blue hands begin to burn and still he did not pull away.
“Save Aislinn. She cannot survive the fire,” she urged him.
He stepped back, the warblood once more, and faced Hugh.
“’Tis not just the one, Warblood,” Hugh called out to him, and he pointed to the other side of the circle. Marcus’s priests were surrounded by the flames. “I will kill all of them now or feed them to my goddess later,” he threatened, “unless you open the gateway.”
Hugh set one of the priests aflame to demonstrate his power and his determination. But William understood that Hugh would kill every last one of them if the warblood became his pawn. He watched every second of the priest’s torment, honoring his sacrifice as others would honor his, for he could not allow the gateway to be opened.
He pulled the power into his blood, urging it on, forcing his body to push to a new size and strength. Then he turned his hands into flat hammers. With one last look at Brienne, the woman he loved, the fireblood he would never claim, he ran, aiming at the stone next to where Hugh held her. The pain of the impact of his body against the stone was immeasurable, but so was the pleasure at feeling it move.
Hugh did not realize his intent until he did it a second time . . . and a third. The warblood’s bones crushed and healed, crushed and healed with each impact. If he could bring down this stone and destroy the altar stone behind it, the integrity of the circle would break and no spell could be cast there.
The stone began to wobble. The warblood smiled and prepared to hit it for the last time.
And Hugh screamed and attacked him.
The fire swarmed him, burning his skin, burning his lungs, and driving him away. All it would take was one more blow to knock it over, but the heat and torment of the flames directed at him forced him to stop just a few paces from the stone. He laughed then, for Hugh had forgotten he needed the warblood for the spell and was destroying him on his own. Either way, it would end here.
And Brienne would survive.
I love you, Brienne.
If he died saving her and the rest of his world, so be it. The warblood closed his eyes.
She was there before him, a shield against the flames her father aimed at him. He felt Brienne but saw the fireblood around him.
I love you, William,she whispered in his thoughts and in his heart.
Hugh screamed again, and it sounded like a roar around and in him. Brienne did not relent, surrounding him so that nothing touched him.
Go, get Aislinn. Save them. Trust me.
And he did.
As she spread herself into a wall of flames, wider and longer over him, a path opened for him into the circle. He ran to get the priest but found her waiting for him. The warblood looked back and saw that the flames battled each other now, Brienne trying to keep her father out of the circle while he was in there.
“Hold up the torch,” Aislinn said to the soldier who had carried her there. He was one of Hugh’s men and yet he followed her orders without hesitation. The other lay dead on the ground. “Your hand, Warblood!”
He rushed to the altar stone and held his hand over it. Aislinn cut across his wrist, and his blood, blue now and glowing, flowed onto its surface. Then she held her breath, grabbed his hand, and did the same to her wrist. He watched as her human blood, rich and red, mixed with his.
