The Storm Crow.
There was a reason her mother’s mirror had lit at her touch, just when she had been most desperate for knowledge of her. A reason that poison had mysteriously disappeared from Oskaren’s veins all those nights ago. A reason only she had felt the songs of the Losrohir in her bones. A reason she had wished with her whole heart that Oskaren could have but one night, and then the girl had received it.You did something.
She thought of the first time she had seen Ren, the girl behind the curse, when she’d been tending her wounds, wishing there was something she could do to take her pain away. The spark.
And how she had seen the curse as a tangible thing in her most desperate moment, when all logic had left her and every guard she’d ever had was gone. And she’d known exactly what it was and how to break it.
They need only feel, and their desire is made manifest.
She looked at Oskaren, the hollow rings below her eyes from years of suffering, and felt her heart crack under the weight of love that flowed through her. She looked at Dess, and she knew she would do anything, risk anything, give everything, to keep him safe. And she looked last at Thran, who was afraid, but who was good. Who had died for her.
She let all that love become strength.
And clambered to her feet.
Two things happened at once. Oskaren stood, too, arm coming around her to hold her up. Solanthe raised that same red nail, pointing it at the dark-haired girl, silver lightning crackling at the tip.
Thia didn’t know what the woman intended, to curse her again or kill her. She didn’t wait to find out. She let that strength explode out of her. It became a beam of gold that began in her chest, then moved down her arms into her hands as she flung them forward. Light burst forth, surrounding them in a shimmering, glorious sphere, just as Solanthe threw the crackling silver.
The force of the queen’s blow slammed against Thia’s shield, then ricocheted back toward her. Solanthe threw up her own hands just in time to spare herself, but the force of it sent her careening backward. She slammed into a boulder, hiccupping as it knocked the air from her lungs. A spot of red trickled onto her chin.
Then she fell. When she hit the stone floor, she did not move.
Thia sagged forward out of Oskaren’s grip, the abrupt surge of energy abandoning her. Dess’s palms clamped around her ribs instead, just before she fell.
“Thia,” he breathed, uncertain. “You’re a mage.”
The words hit her ears and bounced off. Her gaze was caught on Thran’s lifeless body, the pool of blood that still glimmered in the flickering green light. Then movement shifted in her periphery, and she managed to turn her head.
Oskaren approached a still Solanthe, sword clutched by a taut arm.
Dess’s grip tightened around Thia. “Kill her.”
Thia didn’t know if Oskaren heard or not, but it was clearly what she intended. Her gaze didn’t leave the queen as she took a determined step, then another. She paused only when she was directly above Solanthe, and then wavered.
“Ren,” Thia said gently.
The queen moved. She rolled upright, nostrils flaring. No sound left her lips, but the mountain groaned. The cavern walls shuddered, the rumble so loud, Thia felt it in her chest.
Rocks began to rain. Thia was immobile, torn between fleeing and dragging herself to Oskaren, who was still staring at the queen.
Then Dess wrenched her back just as a boulder crashed where she’d been standing.
“Ren!” Thia shrieked, her view of the girl now obscured.
“We have to go,” Dess yelled above the chaos. “The mountain is falling!”
“I won’t leave her,” Thia protested. She tried to twist away from him.
“I’m here,” Oskaren said, hand finding her face. The quiet cry of a bird alerted Thia to the presence of Mavrel, nestled in the girl’s other arm. Her knees shuddered with relief.
“The queen?” Dess asked.
Oskaren looked over Thia’s shoulder without dropping her hand. “Escaped. The rocks prevented me.”
Another boulder crashed to their left.
“We have to go,” Dess said.
