Page 184 of Black Sea

But all I felt was the darkness calling me with ever greater force.

It was Amlach’s mark burning relentlessly in my soul.

Showing me who I really was, what I was.

His.

And suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty what I wanted to do.

* * *

I had to run.

The sun was already high when I rushed through the trees, indicating I had been underground longer than I thought. In fact, when I got to the palace, I found it empty.

They all went to watch my love’s execution.

Fuming, I rushed toward the glass and stone bridge that linked the palace to the citizens’ homes. Water vapor from the waterfall moistened my face, yet it couldn’t quell the fear burning me from the inside. I crossed Aegel’s upper area and then hurried through the alleys between the houses at the mountain’s base. I was so fast that my boots seemed to float above the ground. I then dashed into the woods stretching southeast until I ran parallel to the main river flowing to the sea, with birds soaring from the trees and other animals scattering as I moved.

I had to get there on time.

The drums’ echo began to blend with the roar of the water, growing more distinct. My father’s loud voice reached my ears, erasing the sound of my deep breathing from my mind. He was listing the heinous crimes of Mornon the Abomination.

I was close.

I began to notice the soft colors of the citizens’ clothing and the white armor of the soldiers scattered among the trees and rocks at different levels.

I didn’t slow down.

Not even when I saw my parents—with crowns made of white gold leaves and wearing royal robes so bright they appeared to capture the sun’s rays—and Araton on the circular stone altar, decorated with elven runes, with four archers positioned behind them.

Not even when I saw Amlach kneeling at the center of the platform, dressed in a plain white tunic, with blood still crusted on his face and his wrists bound in front with the golden rope blessed by the Spirits.

Not even when I saw the executioner in gray behind him, holding a long, sinuous red axe with silver decorations.

“Mornon,” my father declared in a booming voice. “Abomination of the elf and witch race, I, Erech of Aegel, King of the Elves, sentence you to death.”

I sprinted past the last trees that separated me from the crowd, silent and unsettled by the first execution about to happen in our kingdom.

I glimpsed my father signaling for the executioner to go ahead. He moved into position beside Amlach as the druids began to chant a mournful litany, and the drumbeat intensified.

I meandered through the crowd like lightning, alerting the soldiers.

The executioner slightly spread his legs, raised the axe to decapitate my mate, who was looking straight ahead with pride, and then lowered it.

Just milliseconds before the curved blade could cut Amlach’s head off, I jumped onto the stone base, blocked the weapon, and knocked the executioner aside with a spinning kick.

A sudden movement to my right.

My heart tightened in a tearing grip, because the next moment, I deflected the slash from Araton’s sword and did the only thing I knew would prevent him from attacking me again.

The one thing he would never, ever see coming.

I swung the axe and cut him on the cheek.

A collective gasp swept through that sacred place. The archers nocked their arrows and aimed at me, then froze like statues, waiting for their king’s command.

Araton raised two fingers just below his prominent cheekbone. A slick scarlet film colored his fingertips, and he shifted his wide eyes my way.