‘Please, Etta!’ I choke out, my voice raw from the crush of Oke’s hands. ‘Help me!’
‘You are asking the wrong God,’ the apparition says. ‘You should ask the Mother.’
His voice is crystal clear, as if he’s speaking normally and not inside my head.
‘Etta is my Goddess,’ I reply, only to realise the insanity of this moment. I’m being distracted by a talking spirit. Thankfully, Oke seems to be experiencing something similar, but I know it’s only going to be minutes at most before she finishes what she started.
‘Just ask. Ask and we will help you, Daughter.’
I’m going insane. Of course I am. I don’t have an ancient warrior spirit telling me to ask for help.
But what do I have to lose?
‘Help me,’ I whisper, my voice barely a breath. ‘Please, help me.’
The words leave my lips at the same moment Oke swings back to face me. My stomach plummets when I see she’s found her dagger and has one very clear target for it. She raises her weapon and I lift my hands in defence, as if the flesh of my palms will be enough to block the blade from piercing my sternum. I clench my body as I prepare for the pain of impact, though I keep my eyes open. I don’t know why it matters, but I refuse to meet Mortidem with my eyes closed.
Every fibre in my body is taut as the tip of the dagger touches my skin, but all I feel is cold. Not pain. Just cold. Ice crystals form along the blade’s length, bright white, refracting light for just a heartbeat before the metal shatters completely.
Oke’s jaw hangs loose as she stares at the useless wooden hilt in her hand.
‘You … what the hell are you?’
She throws the hilt to the side before lunging. This time, a single shot of ice radiates from my palm in a long stream that strikes Oke through the heart. She stumbles back and drops to the ground, her full weight thudding down and shattering the ice beneath her.
It feels as though the entire earth shifts as water surges up and over the frozen surface, swallowing Oke into the darkness beyond as the cracks extend towards me.
‘No!’ I scramble backward, but they’re moving so fast. Any second now, I’ll be in the water.
Unless …
I stop and look up. That same figure is still there, something close to a smile now shadowing his face. Keeping my eyes on his, I place my hand on the soaking, cracking ice and speak.
‘Help me,’ I whisper again.
‘I think you can help yourself,’ he replies.
This time, I feel it. A rush of energy fills my body and sets every cell within me alight. I’ve felt magic before – of course I have, hundreds of times – but never have I felt anything like this. So energising. So pure. It floods into me, causing my back to arch as my eyes fall closed and I gasp. Only when the sensation has faded do I look down again, already knowing what I’m going to see. There’s not a single crack in the ice. Excitement and relief flicker through me. Magic. I don’t know where it’s come from, or why, but somehow … I have magic in me again.
I move to stand, only to stop.
Kyor stands looking at me in total disbelief. ‘I came back to help you,’ he says. ‘What the fuck did you do?’
Fear floods through me as any hint of relief I felt evaporates, gone like the cracks in the ice. His lips parted, Kyor stares at me unblinking. I don’t know how much he saw of what I did, but I know he saw something. The fuckingPrinceof Morathkajust witnessed me harness the one type of magic utterly forbidden in our lands. And using it carries a death penalty.
Is this it? Is this where he kills me? Will he use lightning or good old-fashioned blades? Blade, I’d guess, as lightning would crack the ice. As he glances down to his side and pulls out his dagger, I’m certain I’m right. But as I steel myself against his impending attack, he turns the blade around and hands it to me.
‘Take this and hold on to it. And whatever the fuck it is you just did … no one can know. They’ll kill you if they do.’
‘Kyor. I … I …’ I don’t know what else to say. I know I was there, but it wasn’t my magic. It couldn’t have been. Whatever that spectral Issen did, that’s on him, not me. If it even happened the way I think it did. After all, the whole point of the trial is to make us see things that aren’t truly there.
‘You did what you had to do.’ His voice is commanding, controlling. The voice he uses in battle with his men, perhaps. ‘You did whatever you needed to do to survive.’
‘I didn’t … It wasn’t me.’
He presses his lips together.
My chest twists and I can see he doesn’t believe me, but how can I know what he even saw? All I know is that whatever happened, however Oke died, I don’t have the magic to do that. So why does it feel like her blood is on my hands?
