Ayla ground her teeth, jaw flexing as her eyes darted from me to her father, still locked in battle across the room. Her mouth pressed in determination. “No.”
“No?” I echoed.
“No! I will not believe your lies. I will not turn away from my father and my legacy. I cannot do this.” Ayla blinked rapidly.
I felt the urge to look away, to spare Ayla the embarrassment of watching her tears fall, but I did not. “Claudian admitted to ordering me murdered as an infant. He claimed the death of Queen Katalin, just moments ago. Did you not believe her to be your mother? Would you stand by him even with this information?”
“Stop.” Ayla’s voice was quiet as she said the word. The second time she screamed it, a sound lost to the cacophony of swords and daggers and Harkin’s whipping wind. “It can’t have been for nothing. If I change my mind now, it will have all been for nothing. She will have died fornothing.”
Ayla leapt forward, flames licking up the length of her fingers.
I dodged as she thundered past, the heat of her fire mágik scalding even at a distance. I was suddenly grateful to Harkin for my bound hair which would have surely singed had it been loose. I tried not to search for him, knowing Ayla would wage her assault again.
The floor dipped, cracks beginning to spiderweb through thick marble slabs. I lost my balance but righted myself before I could fall. My ankle twisted, a dull sensation dimmed by the rush of adrenaline.
My eyes betrayed me then, finding Harkin near the throne. He gripped his forearm, which dripped blood in a steady pattern, but appeared otherwise unharmed. He launched back into the fight with a grimace, choking the prince on a swift burst of air as the king sliced upward with his blade.
Ayla was upon me then, fire roaring.
I had known the moment of distraction would cost me, but even as I blocked Ayla’s arcing flame with a wash of cooling water, I could not bring myself to regret ensuring Harkin was alright.
The flaming mágik of Ayla’s fire was like nothing I had ever encountered. The heat was that of a wildfire tenfold, and she wielded it with practiced efficiency. My cousin may not have wanted to fight, that much was clear from the fear that lingered in her still, but she was clearly capable.
I summoned a wave as I pulled on the tidal mágik within me. I sent it forward in a rush as I ducked away. “It doesn’t have to be this way!”
When I turned toward Ayla again, she was drenched from head to toe. Chestnut hair turned a shade darker as it dripped upon her silk slippers. The flames across her arms were quenched.
“Ayla, please,” I tried again. “It does not have to be like this. I promise, it won't have been for nothing if you stop now. But it will cost this kingdomeverythingif you continue.”
Ayla’s only response was a fresh wave of blistering mágik.
I surrounded myself in a shield of cool waters only to regret the decision moments later when it began to roil and bubble, boiling me within. My skin turned from cream to pink to red. Sweat dripped down my face, along my neck. I rolled away as my water mágik dissipated into mist. A memory struck me, a moment in a dream, and a rough voice explaining how one might be boiled alive beneath the weight of fire and water mágik combined.
Black streaks of soot marred the pristine white floor, sullying my hands as I collapsed onto it. I gasped in aching breaths as I tried to come up with a plan to rid myself of this mess.
I knew then, with absolute certainty, that Harkin’s training had been too narrow. I had become accustomed to his mágik, to his fighting style, to him. Harkin pulled his punches where my enemies would not. He had defended me and covered for my shortcomings, but now I was on my own, and I was terrified.
My fingers played at the hilt of my sword, but I could not bring myself to draw it—to pull a weapon of steel against my own cousin.
Ayla was upon me then, pushing me further into the ground with feverish hands. She struck me across the face, the ring on her finger slicing a path across my cheek. Blood trickled, warm and steady and stinging, to the base of my jaw.
I thrashed to no avail. The smaller woman was strong and practiced, and her hits came again and again. My bones bent under Ayla’s might. Bruises bloomed with urgency under her blows.
“Please,” I breathed. “It was never meant to be this way. We do not have to hate each other.”
Ayla opened her mouth as if to say something then closed it with a shake of her head.
I had always prided myself on my composure during a fight. I was silent and deadly and never acknowledged my pain. But as Ayla brought her flaming hands down once more, searing my forearms until the skin blistered and split, I let out a wailing scream that threatened to tear my vocal cords right from my throat.
Chapter thirty-eight
Harkin
The scream that echoed through the hollow ballroom was haunting in its agony. It was unbridled with terror, yet the ringing flash of blades did not pause. The tongues of flame did not halt in their burning advance.
Guards in shining armor joined the fray, summoned by the commotion that had ensued, but they were hesitant to step between the two royals, afraid to harm either of the men who held Acsilla’s fate in their palms.
My vision narrowed, and I could hardly see them, so insignificant they were in the wake of that wailing scream. I knew it belonged to Seren before I even laid eyes on her. Though I had never heard her utter such an unrestrained sound of pain, I would know her in any instance.
