I grit my teeth and push myself up with my other arm, doing my best to stand when one of my legs won’t do what I want it to do. “Because I’m not a Priest,” I say. “I was trained by one, but I’ve never become a part of the Order. I never lied about that.”
I point at her. “And you never told anyone about your ability to do that,” I accuse. That’s when I see it in her eyes. The hurt. The anger at knowing I’ve hidden things from her. She doesn’t see me as a friend. Not now.
I can’t win this fight. This is where I’m supposed to die. I try to move as fast as I can, but my left hand isn’t as dexterous as my right, and when I put my hand into my cloak to pull the ermine fur pouch out, she points her finger at my arm. The red lightning strikes my elbow, and I fall over in pain. I can only move my left leg as I stare up at her.
And I realize that I’m about to die. I can’t reach for the beads. I can’t stop destiny. I didn’t truly believe I’d ever stare death down like this. All this time, as I’ve told myself I would make my own destiny, I’d thought I would be cleverer or a better fighter than Saelira could see. I’d imagined the challenges would be hard, and that I would get hurt, but this is different.
“I’ve never been able to trust anyone in this miserable world,” she says. “But then you and Darian came, and it… it felt like you weren’t going to use me to save your own neck. I saw the trust in Darian’s eyes. I felt the friendship between you and Rurik. When we were in that little shithole of a cave for those three days, I thought thatmaybe…Then I realized what you were, how you’dbeen lying to all of us. You’d been using us the entire time to teach you to fight the Godforged.”
This is an unwinnable fight. I can’t wield a dagger. I can’t use my Marks to kill her. Even if I used the Mark of the Cloak, which I should have done initially if I’d been smarter, I won’t be able to reach the altar with only one functional leg.
Then I remember the Mark I’ve never used before. The Coin. Without a moment’s hesitation, I activate it and feel a strange tingle run through my entire body. Even my legs and hands feel it, though they can’t feel anything else. Either the best luck or the worst luck imaginable. Instead of fighting destiny, maybe I’ll see if I really am Veris-touched.
“Now you’re going to die here. It’d have been better if you’d just died on the Shadow Road so I never had to meet you, so I never had to feel like it would be possible to trust someone.”
I smile at Isola. The words come out as if someone else were speaking through me. “You figured out that I was a Priest, and you know that when a Priest kills someone, they don’t Return. You just didn’t put the pieces together, did you?”
She frowns. “What do you mean?” Then her eyes open wide. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why Darian, Ainslee, and Rhion were supporting you. If you were the Champion of Nyxthos…”
She stops talking, and I finish for her, “It’d be like if every person Echo killed didn’t Return. I could deplete every army’s troops, and that would be bad for everyone. The war will have to end, Isola. It’s the best chance any of us have ever had to stop all of thismadness. It’s why… it’s why so many people want me to succeed. If I become the Champion of Nyxthos, things will have to change.”
Isola stares at me as the puzzle pieces fit together. She’s quiet for a long time, and I don’t interrupt her. She bows her head. “Things could change?” she whispers. “Gods, it’d be nice to live in a world where every day wasn’t about death, where I didn’t close my eyes and see fields covered in ash.”
She looks down at me, and a little laugh escapes her lips. “You’re serious? It’s not just a trick?”
“Do you think I’m smart enough to trick you?” I ask. Whatever controls my words knows exactly what to say to manipulate her. She’s never thought of me as powerful. I’m still very human in her mind.
Isola shakes her head. “Darian could have, but not you. It all makes too much sense for it to be a trick.”
She sighs, and I don’t interrupt her thoughts. “I was tired of it all, anyway. You know, they say only humans go to the Realm of Death, that I never have to deal with Lysara again now that I’ve become Godforged. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“It does.” I stare into her bright blue eyes, and she smiles.
She runs her hand over her arm, and I make out barely visible gray flecks in her skin. They remind me of…the touch of death. How are Undying created? Marek forced lightning through his Stormbringers for years. Erelith flayed and burned her Godforged. Did… Did Lysara use the touch of death on the Undying? Did Lysara brush that terrible soul of hers against each of theirs for years? Did they have to die over and over again?
The Mindless are those humans who have died and been brought back too many times. They say that death is terrible, that Returning is miserable. How many times was Isola brought back when she was being made? How broken must she be? What’s keeping her mind and soul together after all of that?
She gives me a haunted smile. “Maybe I’m not so angry that you lied to us. This way, I wasn’t ordered to kill you in your sleep. Maybe it’s better this way. At least this way I can be done.”
She bends down and picks me up, slinging my mostly useless body over her shoulder. Then she starts walking, and I feel my heart breaking. If I’d only told her and Jorren my secrets before this last trial, they probably would have left Castle Lachlan. Instead, I doomed them. I hadn’t trusted them, and now they’re dying because of it.
I watch the shadows swirl behind her as she takes step after step toward the ruin of a temple. She doesn’t say anything else as she carries me, as she takes the steps I’m too weak to take.
And I see stone under her feet. We go down a set of stairs, and she turns around so I can see the altar before me. A stone slab covered in liquid shadows. Below it, on the floor, are bones of all shapes and sizes.
“Reach out and touch it, Fiona. I hope you manage to do what you think you can.”
And I hesitate for a moment. “I’m glad to have known you, Isola. Thank you.” I press my forehead against the black stone of the altar, and I feel myself falling.
In the distance, I hear Isola scream in agony.
Interlude 12
ThePrinceoftheHouse of Flame’s destiny was decided before he was born, when he was still a swimmer in the Endless Sea. He was chosen by a dragon to inhabit the body of the one who would become the Prince of Bones, but he was not born with that title, nor that disposition.
And when he was seven years old, his mother’s adopted sister came to stay with them for several days. Echo, the Queen of Shadows and Champion of Darkness, was not a fierce warrior in his mind. She was his sweet aunt who showed him how to shadow walk. She was the woman who rode the black dragon, Vyran, beside him as he rode Inni. She laughed loudly and passionately, and she danced with him as the bards sang their songs.
This time, though, he was afraid. Everyone knew what happened when his Aunt Echo slept.
