I clutch my throat.
We failed.
This madman will steal my life, then Dietan’s, and then join the Usurper in marching on our homelands. A tear rolls down my cheek.
I’m sorry, Dietan.
We didn’t have enough time. I didn’t even get to tell him how I truly felt. How I’d rather die here having loved him than live never having met him.
The room grows colder, as if wind is circling me. My fingers are numb, and the candles flicker, dimming in the corners of my vision.
And still the winds rise.
Then Namreth stumbles. He suddenly falls to the floor, and a gust of wind hits my face.
I turn to Dietan in wonder as the air rushes back into my lungs. I canactuallydraw another breath, then another and another. I never knew that air could taste this good.
My head begins to clear, and I rise to my feet as Namreth skids across the marble floor, skittering over the tiles like a pebble being skipped on the surface of a pond. He rams into an oak table with a loudcrack, the wood nearly splitting.
For an instant, the battle pauses.
A moment ago, Namreth seemed invincible, but now he’s on his ass, face red, teeth clenched in pain. His unnaturally youthful features look older, undoubtedly rattled by the realization that he might not be the only power in the room.
“Dietan?Goddess above, Dietan. You did that?” I’m amazed, and proud.
Dietan doesn’t reply. He’s oddly…calm.
No, he isn’t calm. He’s focused.
His hands are raised toward Namreth. The winds whip around him, swirling upward from the floor and churning debris around him like a hurricane. The growing storm flutters his hair. It slices at my clothes and face, tears tapestries from walls, roaring around the hall like a living thing.
The Whisting has returned to him.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Dietan
I feel alive.
Gods, I’ve never felt so alive. Power pulses through my body, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. The Whisting wipes away all doubt and fear. Everything spins as the Whisting unfurls at my feet, the Rings thrumming with untapped power.
They want to be used. Theyneedto be used—risks be damned.
The Whisting came back to me when I saw Aren fall to her knees, when I saw her light start to dim. As she faded, the Rings roared to life, unrestrained, for the first time since we arrived at this castle, which feels like lifetimes ago.
The power rose so unexpectedly, I didn’t have time to think or plan, or to hold it back with breath and will. I just acted. I called the wind to me, and the Rings answered, throwing Namreth across the chamber.
The mad king is still lying there, sprawled on his back, and his guards all stare at me. They seem unsure of what to do next, their mouths hanging open like fools as they realize I hold the same great power as Namreth. They silently weigh their options, exchanging glances, asking themselves if they should run or fight. I bet they’re all wondering how I came back from the dead. Half of them gawk at me like they’ve seen a ghost.
But I’m not a ghost. I’m a nightmare, a vengeful one.
At my feet, Aren looks up at me, eyes wide with fear and wonder.
She’s alive.
I want to call to her, but I can’t. I can barely form a thought. The power inside me is like lightning, like a thunderstorm under my skin that must be set free.
On the far side of the chamber, Namreth stirs.
