“Impossible.”
“Yargen bless, grant us your light once more.”
“You heard him. He had relics…”
“Grant us your light…”
Doubt and confusion settled upon those gathered. It rode on an undercurrent of awe and reverence. This was just what Ulvarth wanted, Eira realized. She stood covered in the blood of his son and somehow he had won. Even in death, Ferro had bested her. She’d played right into his plan as they had created what Pillars would claim as the True Flame of Yargen. And even if Taavin cast doubt on it, the display had been enough that it would give them credibility.
Lumeria’s control on Meru was chipped away.
“It is impossible to reignite the Flame of Yargen once extinguished,” Taavin said. “Those relics were not sacred.”
“You lie,” one of the Pillars shot back.
“I am the Voice of Yargen; I am the authority.”
“You are a puppet for Raspian, fraternizing with his followers, and desecrating the clothing of her holiness.” The Pillar reached forward, reverently taking the dagger from the pile of ash. The pale flames continued to dance only along its edges. “This will be wielded by Yargen’s Champion, thetrueChampion. When he returns, heed us, Meru, embrace his light or fall into darkness.”
More murmuring throughout the room.
“What if itisthe Flame of Yargen?”
“Did the Pillars actually do it?”
“Is the Champion real?”
“Whois the Champion?”
“What do you know about the Pillars?”
Eira staggered, drawn to the flame.
“The Champion will return to you all!” The Pillar shouted.
“He will not because Ulvarth is dead!” Taavin blurted. All eyes swung to the Voice. Eira saw panic light his face.
The Pillars had never said the name Ulvarth. And, according to what the populace knew…Ulvarth was still in his prison. As the whispering grew louder, Eira focused on the flame. The Pillars held it aloft, marching toward the exit. None of the Swords of Light moved to stop them. Lumeria’s knights were equally still. After the shock of the evening, no one seemed to know what to do.
Were they just going to let them leave?
The final straw was when she saw men and women bowing their heads, dropping to their knees, clasping their hands in reverent prayer as the Pillars passed.
“Is no one going to stop them?” She projected her voice loud enough that it echoed off the chandeliers.
Inaction was her response.
A current of rage swept through her. Ulvarth, Ferro, all of them were going to get away with this. And no one was going to take action. Be it from fear of more power like what Ferro possessed, or reverence of the flame, or sheer uncertainty, the Pillars were going to walk out triumphant.
“Stop.” Eira strode to the center of the room. The brigade of Pillars ignored her. “I saidstop!”
Ice exploded across the floor. It rippled like a wave of cold hatred. Her spiky magic prickled underneath the feet of people standing at the edge of what was once the dance floor but had now become the first arena of the tournament. The ice raced ahead of the Pillars, sweeping up with a curl of Eira’s fingers, pointing sword-like shards toward the men and women.
The one holding the dagger like a torch raised an eyebrow at her. “Let us pass, Dark Isle dweller. You sought to kill our Champion’s right hand out of malice. You do Raspian’s work. Yet her light will prevail.”
“Is that truly the Flame of Yargen?” Eira asked.
“Do you not feel its radiant power?”
