“You can depend on us,” Alden said.
“Let’s go, then.” Teryn sheathed his sword and extended his uninjured palm toward Cora.
She grasped his hand, gave it a squeeze, and worldwalked them back to the battlement. The conflict was quieter now, and as they looked over the wall at the castle grounds, they found only a few groups engaged in combat, some with soldiers from the garrison, others with the wraiths. Misty white continued to fill the field, but most of the wraiths had ceased fighting. Those who’d already been felled were unable to reanimate and had returned to their mindless meandering.
Regardless, Alden was right. The victory was already theirs; Cora could trust her soldiers to end this.
Teryn stepped closer to the parapet and unwrapped the bandage from around his palm. An angry red line marred his skin, but it wasn’t actively bleeding. He held his hand out, palm to the air, and whispered, “At ease. Your battle is won. Your vengeance secure.”
The wraiths stilled on the field. Some disappeared at once, while others simply lost their bloodlust and proceeded to slowly wander.
“When I call you next,” Teryn said, “it will be to send you home.”
He faced her then, nodding. This was all they could do for Ridine right now. Their next task lay at Centerpointe Rock.
Again, Cora took his hand. Closing her eyes, she pictured a large flat stone amidst a sea of green.
Even after five hundred years,Ailan’s body remembered how to fight. Her limbs moved in fluid motions, even as her muscles screamed. The rhythm of battle was ingrained in her bones, and with the return of her youth and memories came everything she’d ever learned long ago.
Warfare and violence weren’t the most treasured arts amongst the Elvyn, but they were necessary for a future Morkara to learn. And learn she did, her training thorough. It had come to good use during the war with her brother so many centuries ago.
Unfortunately, what was true for her was true for Darius too.
He fought like death incarnate, with the advantage of unfamiliar human combat techniques paired with his worldwalking abilities. He was always escaping the swing of her sword, evading lethal blows and exchanging them for shallow wounds, if any. His lips remained peeled in a taunting grin as they dueled, his attacks unwavering.
But she didn’t give up, even as her body grew weary. She kept her mind sharp, attuned to the whispers of her weavings. While she’d waited inside the Veil for the signal that Darius had arrived, she’d constructed a truthweaving, seeking guidance for success.
She hadn’t heard a thing in response until the battle with Darius had begun.
Now they whispered to her.
Told her where to turn.
Alerted her of Darius’ next move.
Even so, the battle felt endless.
When would her whispers guide her to land a killing blow? When would they shout, teasing out a weakness in Darius’ defenses? When would she have the ideal opportunity to end him?
Sweat slicked her brow and dripped into her eyes as the softest, quietest whisper answered her question.
You won’t.
You won’t.
You won’t.
It should have filled her with dread. It should have frozen her under a blanket of foreboding.
But it didn’t.
She’d suspected for a while now that she wasn’t meant to be the hero in this war with Darius. The prophecy had said so little about her, after all, and every truthweaving she’d cast about El’Ara’s future had been about other people.
Noah, the Morkara.
Mareleau, the Edel Morkara’Elle.
She may not be the hero, but she was meant to fight. Destined to face her brother like this.
