Their hearts may beat, blood may spill, but they were puppets to the rot within them.
I adjusted my sweaty grip on Starfire and gritted my teeth. My Angelborn necklace warmed, but I ignored it.
Instead, I watched that wide vibrant stare and shoved down any remorse crawling its way up my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, chest heaving. I didn’t know if it was to the creature itself or the Angels I may be upsetting. Maybe it was to the God of Mythical Beings for harming his ward, or to myself for the guilt I’d suffer.
The cat snapped its dripping jaw. It bent its legs, preparing to pounce.
I raised my sword higher, aiming for that exposed maw.
But then, a shadow reared up above me.
Two hooves planted firmly on the cat’s side and threw it to the ground, unmoving. I blinked as the dust settled.
My grip tightened on my sword again as the second nemaxese leaped after its leader. But Sapphire reared up again, clouds fanning out on either side of Sapphire’s body like a pair of luminous, swirling wings. She hit the second nemaxese square in the skull, then the third in the ribs. Each fell into a heap on rock-strewn dirt.
Almost laughing at the shock flooding my system, I jumped back into the saddle, and Sapphire galloped away, releasing a triumphant whinny into the night that echoed up to the stars.
As the adrenaline faded, though, anger slid into its place, a hot knife slipping into a waiting sheath.
Because there was something very wrong among the wild of Gallantia, and while most of the troubles among the warriors could be traced back to our former Revered and his wicked queen, I doubted even Lucidius and Kakias could be responsible for this corruption.
Sapphire whinnied a second time, and I shouted out with her.
The fates had been unfair to us all, and I poured my anger into that endless night.
For those who had suffered from the war, for those who were hurting now from the deep-rooted corruption, for every innocent soul being forced into a battle they never asked for, I roared my frustrations to the stars.
Chapter Thirty-One
Malakai
I bit backon a roar that wanted to burst through my lips as I swiped my sword across my sparring partner’s and sent his rattling to the ground.
“Good, Malakai!” Cypherion barked from the sidelines. His eyes had been burrowing into my back the whole time, tracking every move. With more warriors attempting their Undertakings, he’d grown more serious about training than ever. And with the additional sleeping tonic I’d gotten from Rina’s stores, I was more rested. Working harder despite the fact that I fucking hated training now.
I nodded at him, bending to retrieve my opponent’s weapon.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling despite the fact that I’d beaten him.
I didn’t know him well, but I knew his name was Gerad, originally from Turren, and he’d been hovering around the palace lately. Alvaron had recruited him as a member of his trainee program. He’d appeared sharp when I’d heard him conversing with the Master of Coin, quick and resourceful.
His sparring skills were no different. We were even in the count for the day. Two wins each. One match left.
“Ready?” I asked.
He brushed his dirty blonde hair back from his face and nodded, his eyes already intent on my stance. I gripped my sword, prepared to wait for his strike first. The weapon was foreign between my hands. It wasn’t a sword I’d trained with all my life; I had no attachment to the thing at all.
There were a number of exquisite options in the vaults beneath the palace, adorned with precious gems and crafted of rare metals, forged directly from the fire of the volcano, but each was tainted by my father’s hand. Being in this palace was hard enough, living where he lived, working where he worked…it ripped apart pieces of my soul each day. Using the weaponry he had deemed his most cherished was more than I could bear.
I’d stuck with the armory’s supply of practice weapons, but none were right. Nothing fit in my hand the way a personal blade would.
If I could find a weapon of my own, maybe I’d be more eager for training. Not one I shared with others, not a symbol of my previous life.
But one forged for the present me—the one who was not meant to be the Revered. The man who had no destined future ahead of him.
Still, when Gerad lunged, I tried to beat his blow.
