It landed in the enemy’s neck just before the boy’s arm dropped. The Engrossian’s ax hit the stones, and both warriors fell.
The Mystique couldn’t even have been eighteen; there was no chance he’d completed the Undertaking either. Yet, as blood bubbled through his lips, and his eyes found mine, there was no fear in his stare. That boy died with nothing but a fortified strength, taking out one last threat as he went. The heart of a true warrior burned through his gaze, searing my ravaged soul.
He was braver than I.
As his life drained unjustly, I didn’t move from my position on the outskirts of the battle. But something raw—something jagged—stirred in my chest.Anger. Hot and vivid, it soared through me, not alleviating my fear, not shrouding it, butigniting it. Melting it. Instilling the durability and immortality of volcanic fire that could only be a strength.
Gripping my sword tighter, I summoned every ounce of my dying strength and convinced one foot to step forward.
Then, the other.
Until I was shoving through crowds, dodging blows and debris,the only place I looked was at the ax that ended that young boy’s life.
That Spirits-damned weapon, it’s curved blade stained crimson.
Through the clouds, moonlight hit the edge. My muscles locked, remembering precisely how that thick, sharpened edge tore through flesh.
But I am no longer captive. Chains and secrets didn’t dictate my life.
I wasn’t a fucking animal to be caged, a toy to be used as they desired.
I swiped that ax up and flipped it in my hand, ignoring the twisting of my gut. They’d tried to wreck me with this weapon—instead, I’d become its master, using it to slay the shadows around my heart.
With that promise sealing itself in my mind, I rejoined the battle and lost count of the Engrossians I took down. My sword settled into my hand as if it had always been there, waiting for me to realize it, and the ax warmed in the other.
I transformed in that battle, ripping through enemies. No compassion broke through the iron bars around my heart, no guilt plagued me. They wanted to torture me? Fine. I’d turn that pain into a weapon, desensitized and thirsty for blood.
Death rose around me, the endless swirl rivaling my blackened heart.
I fought back-to-back with Cypherion, my brother before all else, and smiled as the black-armored warriors piled up around us.
The fight lulled, allowing us a moment to catch our breath. Cyph and I looked at each other. Blood trickled from his lip, a cut of my own stinging at my collarbone, but we exchanged devious grins.
“Good to have you back,” he panted.
“I’m not?—”
A hand closed around my wrist. I whirled, ready to strike, but instead of the dark, inhuman eyes of the enemy, I met Vale’s harsh stare.
“What the fuck?” I started, trying to throw off her grip.
A fresh flood of Engrossians charged in across the square, weapons raised and cries echoing. But Vale tightened her fingers, digging into my skin.
“I need to speak with you,” she said over the din of battle, herusual chiming tone higher than the bloodshed. She was bruised, ash coating her hair, but her tight expression was determined. Her other hand latched on to the fabric of Cyph’s shredded shirt.
“What are you doing here?” Cyph growled, no doubt having told her to shelter in the palace. But he was a fool if he was trying to protect her. She was no safer there, not with the way the Engrossians were driving through the city.
Cyph opened his mouth, most likely to insist she retreat, but without an explanation, she dragged us both from the square.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ophelia
“I’m disappointedin how long it took you.” Kakias’s voice was chilled, slithering over the marble floors of the Rapture Chamber and up my body.
She’d pulled the Revered’s chair—my chair—to the open wall, facing the drop over the mountains. The queen didn’t even deign to look at me. She only watched the city below, her tainted troops ravaging ours.
The Rapture Chamber—the one place where you could see all of Damenal, spread out before you like a map teeming with life.
