“What do you mean?”Will frowns at me.
“He released them because he’s found the cup,” I say. I’m certain of it, the feeling in my gut a curdling mixture of urgency and rage. “He wanted time to combine the tokens. He’s not planning on leaving this forest as a mortal.”
They don’t have time to respond as we burst out onto a long clearing filled with freshwater pools. I can’t tell if it’s the same one we passed on our last trip to the Miravow, because the place has become a battlefield.
Part of my army reached here before us. Clerics and Trovian soldiers wrestle on the banks by the water, fighting hand to hand where they’re too close to effectively cast magic. Bodies float inthe nearest pool, dyeing it an awful shade of pink. The sun shines on over the scene, light dancing across the water to illuminate the lifeless faces of the fallen.
I recognize Harman in the fray, fighting with his rebels, as well as Hyllus past him, busy bringing clerics to their knees with his sensic magic. And beyond all of them, beside a pool in the far distance, is a collection of people wearing purple sashes and a man in a white cloak.
Caledon stands beside the water with his bearers, and he’s holding a cup in his hand.
No, no, no.The word beats in my heart like a drum. There’s still time—there must be. I can still stop this.
I cast around me for an idea of what to do. My guards are holding firm around me, but they’re fighting hard against a nasty crop of cleavers. I blast two down with my sun beams, leaving their corpses smoking on the ground, and urge my horse forward.
I’m too far to orbit the cup from him—I can barely make out his face at this distance—so I need to get closer. I squint, making out the curve of the bow strapped to his back and the glint of light on his chest that I suspect is the sunlight catching the seal.
“Your Majesty, what are you doing?!” someone shouts after me, but I pay them no attention, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in the distance.
A bearer steps up beside Caledon, holding something out to him. He lifts it, and I see the crescent blade—it’s the scythe.
“Your Majesty! My queen!”
I dig my heels into my horse’s flank, pushing it onward into the water of the nearest pool. I’ll never make it past the forces fighting on the banks in time to reach Caledon, but if I gothroughthe water, rather than around…
A body bumps my shin as my horse wades deeper. I nudge it away as I watch Caledon lift the scythe to his neck. In one swift movement, he cuts his own throat.
I blink, unable to make sense of the scene. Like with Leon, there’s no blood. Caledon slumps to the ground, the bearer catching him so that he comes to rest on his knees. Another bearer holds the cup to Caledon’s hands, lifting the limp arms until the chalice hits his lips. Caledon’s head tilts back as the bearer pours water down his throat.
No.The word rings in my head like a shout. I didn’t come this far to watch this play out in front of me.
But before my horse can take another step, a wave of water hits me so hard I’m nearly knocked from the saddle. The animal rears up, trying to climb the rising water. I splutter, desperately looking around to find the source, and locate a cleaver standing in the shallows. Another surge of water hits, dragging me from my horse.
As I’m pulled under, I throw out my magic to find the cleaver’s inner flame. I snuff it out, and the waters above me still. Then I kick off from the bottom of the pool and breach the surface, finding my horse again and climbing back on.
Pushing the soaking hair out of my face, I find Caledon again. He’s no longer a limp shell now. Somehow, the cup revived him, and he’s pointing his bow toward the sky. The mosaic in the high temple flashes into my mind, showing Ethira shooting an arrowinto the stars. This must be some part of the ritual too. I search the sky for a sign of the arrow through the trees. There’s nothing, but Caledon’s staring at one spot expectantly.
Then, like it’s slipped through the fabric of reality, the arrow blinks into sight, its glinting tip pointed earthward. It plummets down toward Caledon, dragging a shadow with it.
Not a shadow. Caledon’ssoul.
As easily as if he was pinching a drifting feather out of the air, Caledon catches the speeding arrow, then drives it into his chest. The pieces of the ritual fall into place in my mind: the seal protects him, keeping his body safe as he separates his soul from it with the scythe, the cup makes his physical form immortal, and then with the arrow he retrieves the soul, reuniting it with its new vessel.
The ritual is done. We’re too late.
As the soul sinks into Caledon’s body, the whole world starts to shake. A roar rises up from the trees—not just the rustling of the leaves but a deafening susurration, like the wood itself is frantically whispering. The fighting slows as the combatants look around fearfully, and a bright, white light flashes across the clearing.
When it fades, I watch Caledon climb to his feet, finally immortal.
Leon
I cleave open the earth, watching a rotting gray body tumble into the newly carved ditch with a shriek of fury.
It doesn’t take me long to turn the tide for the soldiers fighting the ruined. I concentrate on creating small, well-placed rifts, opening them up right under the ruined’s feet so they go down fast and hard. They don’t feel any pain, of course, not in their state, but unbalancing them buys the Trovian soldiers time to strike without getting their faces clawed off.
I’m helping out with some neat sword work of my own when I feel a spike of alarm across the mooring and know Ana is in trouble. I leave the soldiers to finish off the ruined, following her pounding heartbeat to a clearing raging with the crackle of magic and clash of weapons.
I find Ana astride her horse in a pool of water, her eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. It takes me just a second to absorb the scene—the white-caped figure surrounded by bearers, the arrow in his hand—and I understand that she was trying to reach Caledon before he completed the ritual.
