Osian retorts, “We know.”
Without hesitation, his hand shoots out to take hold of Grayson’s arm. Elwyn grips the other, his fingers like claws around Grayson’s bicep.
I brace, expecting them to burst into flames like Baelen did, hoping they will.
They don’t. Their mouths split into wide, malevolent grins.
They haven’t… died.
Grayson’s shock is palpable. It fills every angle of his body, confused and alarmed. I jolt backward, plastering up against the wall as he retaliates against them, pushing, using his power to fling them both back against the opposite wall. Priscilla shrieks as they crack against it, scrambling away from the fight. She already used up most of her sorcery fighting me. It will only take one blow to finish her.
The older Commanders fight back, flinging light in the shape of crimson arrowheads into Grayson’s chest. His cry of pain tells me that they are fighting with a different kind of sorcery now—not death, because they don’t want to kill him—but torture. He roars, shakes, his arms still outstretched, trying but failing to keep them away from him.
Elwyn finds his feet, pushing through Grayson’s opposing force. “The pain will stop when you take us up. Not before.”
Grayson gasps a breath. “How are you… still alive?”
Elwyn’s face lights up with cruelty. “Your mother didn’t tell anyone that your father was a gargoyle. In fact, she tried very hard not to tell us anything. We found out when you were born.”
Osian snarls, “You were a freak!”
“An elf… with wings!” Elwyn twists his hands mid-air and the arrowheads in Grayson’s chest turn to and fro, making him roar with pain. His knees buckle but he refuses to kneel.
Elwyn says, “Dirty… filthy… gargoyle wings.”
Osian sneers, “We cut off your wings.”
Elwyn forces his way back to Grayson, his gnarled features cast in crimson light from the arrowheads. “Then we cursed you to kill what you touch.”
“And told everyone you were half a gargoyle,” Osian says, looming over Grayson now too. “So you would never know any kindness.”
I stare, wide-eyed, at the Elven Commanders, shocked by what they’re saying. Even I never imagined the depth of their betrayal. How far they’d gone to get here. To control Grayson.
Elwyn laughs. “You can’t kill us. We’re the ones who cursed you.”
Grayson roars out his pain. “Who did you kill for the power to curse me?”
Elwyn gloats. “Gideon killed your mother. I killed your father. Pedr killed the healer. And Osian killed your baby sister.”
Pain, not physical, floods Grayson’s face. He drops to his knees, broken, head tilted back to the ceiling. He exhales a moan of the deepest pain I’ve ever heard, tears leaking from his eyes.
“Give in, Grayson. Take us up. Then all your pain can be over.”
Grayson’s chest rises and falls. His chin drops to the runes lining his collarbone. He is beaten, empty, but he whispers, “Run while you can, Marbella. Take Baelen and get out of here. They can’t ascend without me and I won’t live much longer.” His eyes meet mine while he ignores Elwyn and Osian’s snarls. “You can beat them. You always could. Don’t show them mercy.”
“Grayson…” My hands drop to my sides. I didn’t realize I’d flung them out in front of me, prepared to use my power. I brush Cassian’s bone lash: my only non-magical weapon.
My resolve hardens. “Grayson… You should know by now… I don’t run from anything.”
Anger rushes hot and strong through me. My Lightsworn power flashes bright sapphire—it is my skill in battle. I snatch Cassian’s bone lash off the hook on my belt and take a step into position as it unravels with asnap. The lash snakes out, straight and true, singing past Grayson, wrapping around Elwyn Elder’s neck. I spin and rip and the deadly tip does its work.
Elwyn’s head tumbles across the ground.
Priscilla screams. Osian freezes, panic spreading fast.
The arrowheads fall from Grayson’s chest and he inhales a free breath, dropping forward, shivers still racking his body.
My focus now is Osian who roars at me, eyes wild, as I advance on him as if he can stop me by shouting at me. He flings a death bolt at me but I absorb it and keep walking.
