Page 52

Panting, she stared at the pooling blood, and decapitated bodies. People she’d murdered. But she couldn’t let herself feel anything about it—if she did, she would break, and there would be no hope for her husband, family, or the countless innocent lives Filip threatened to snuff.

Jogging between the aisles, she hastily grabbed book after book.

Her hands trembled, her knees weak, but her mind forced her onward.

The building shook with the impact of an explosion, sending her hurtling into a bookcase.

She crashed to the floor; stacks of books tumbling on top of her.

She pulled herself free, ignoring the pain shooting up the side of her ribs .

Taking a turn to the back of the library, she sprinted to the shelves where she’d found the astral magic book. She froze. Each of her muscles tensed, and she was unable to move. They were gone. They were all gone.

She fell to her knees. An overwhelming charge of anger shot through her body, dousing each of her nerve endings in wildfire. She screamed. Golden light ripped through her and blew out of her in an explosion, decimating the bookcases.

Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, she rose. Charged with a newfound abhor for Filip, she climbed over broken shelves, scattered books, and bodies of the soldiers she’d killed.

Her gaze locked on a battered, dusty grey book poking out from between splintered shelves.

Bending, she scooped it up. She wiped away the dust, revealing it’s faded title.

A Practitioner’s Guide to Ancient Magic, Nether Edition, Volume II.

Flicking through the pages, she frowned.

Unlike the first volume, this one was written in a different language—one she didn’t understand or recognise.

If she wasn’t going to get help from astral magic books, she sure as hell would take the one about nether.

She shoved it into the inside pocket of her cloak.

Another explosion rang, ripping through the wall behind her. The impact sent her hurtling through the air. She collided with the doorframe.

A searing pain shot through her scalp. Wincing, she raised her hand to the top of her head. Glancing at her blood-covered fingers, she groaned. Hoisting herself onto her hands and knees, she fought with every shred of energy to rise. Her vision swung wildly on its axis .

Tilting, she fell into the wall.

“Gods damn it!” she shouted.

With a mighty yell, she pushed through her pain and stood.

Prodding her ribs, she growled. Probably fractured, but there was nothing she could do about it right now.

Readjusting her eyes to the dusty dull light of the corridor, her lips parted.

Chunks of stone from the explosions littered the long hallway.

Paintings either hung crooked on the expanses of wall still intact or lay buried beneath the rubble.

Broken glass dotted the floor, having blown in from the impact.

Glancing down, she spotted a pair of booted legs sticking out underneath the full weight of a collapsed stone beam.

Covering her mouth, she gasped. Their blood pooled around them, soaking into the carpet. Although she suspected they were dead, she grabbed at the beam. With every ounce of her strength, she tried to lift it off the person crushed. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn’t budge.

Glancing at her hands, she considered using her magic to blast the stone, but what good would it do? If anything, her magic was more likely to cause harm.

Cursing, she spun on her heel and jogged through the winding corridors towards the way she’d entered.

Her route was blocked off by a blown-in wall.

A thick cloud of dust hung in the air, giving a haziness to the sparse light shining into the building.

While it was still midday, the clouds cast out the sun, and darkness fell in its place.

Hurrying through another corridor, she found the main staircase. The banister was ripped off, and several steps had caved in. She dashed down them, jumping over the broken steps .

A new wave of pain shot through her ribs from exertion. She clutched her side, flung open the main door, and stumbled outside.

The city of Pike stretched ahead of her—charred, blackened, and blazing with fire. She shivered as a howling wind cried, mingling with the grunts and screams of fighting men. A lone horse neighed, galloping along the cobbles, retreating. Bodies littered the floor—blood coating the ground.

Through the commotion of sparring soldiers, she caught a glimpse of Filip.

Black tendrils spun from his body like giant tree roots, and talons formed at their tips.

His nether magic snaked through the serried enemies, encircling them, choking out life.

With quick flicks, the talons discarded severed bodies, flinging limbs to all corners.

Her stomach heaved. Doubling over, she wretched. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she darted towards Filip. Within seconds, the gold embroidery erupted from her arm, wrapping itself round her wrist like a rope. Its burst of light shone over the courtyard of the Saintlandsther Council.

His piercing gaze found her, and with swift movements, his talons cleared the path for her, removing men as if they were no more than pesky flies. Soldiers surrounded Filip, although she didn’t understand why. It’s not like he needed the protection—he was more powerful than anyone there.

“Where are my men?” he hollered—a sharpness to his tone .

“Dead. They fell in battle while we took out enemies inside.” She would never admit she killed them.

Pressing his lips into a pale line—fire burning in his eyes—his talons shot upwards, whipped through the air, and into the crowd. She spun on her heel, staring at the nether magic as it recoiled. In its clutches was Damir.

“One thing you should know about nether magic—it does its master’s bidding.” Filip snarled. “If I command it to find and kill, it will execute my orders precisely.”

The black shadows held her husband in a death grip. His face turned purple from suffocation.

“No!” she shouted. “Let him go.”

“Do you think I would allow you to come to the Saintlandsther Council without removing any and all tools of support from your path?” He laughed.

“I had a vision you were going to produce the Sword of Light, and such a book is only held in this grand library. I removed the whole collection, of course.”

You were too busy stealing all the astral books, you forgot about your own.

“Please,” she choked out. “It’s not his fault. I’ll do whatever you say.”

“You’d already promised your obedience, and you have now proven your word means nothing.” His black stare pierced straight through her.

As more of his soldiers marched into the courtyard, one approached him.

“What is it?” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“The city has fallen, sir,” the soldier said. “Saintlandsther is yours. ”

Filip nodded once. “Find the Council members. Bring them to me.”

The soldier spun on his heel, then headed inside the building.

Moments later, six unarmed individuals filed outside.

She recognised two of them. The elder woman was Olga—the leader—and the second was Kira.

The girl she’d quickly befriended during her training.

She hobbled—her leg covered in blood—but held her chin high.

“As punishment for your treachery, you will kill them.” Filip’s words sliced through the air like knives. “If you don’t, I will snap Damir’s neck, rip off his limbs, and throw each of them to every corner of the world.”

Her magic surged, urging her to lash out at him. To snuff the life out of him instead of the countless innocents he’d slaughtered in his quick and bloody battle.

“Don’t even think about it.” His lips curled back as his gaze fixed on the golden rope around her wrist. “You have no control over your magic—if you use it, what’s to say you won’t kill everyone here anyway? Actually, you’d be doing me a favour. Go on. Do it.”

Every inch of her body crawled with the desperate need to lash out, to scream and let her magic erupt.

For everything he’d done and threatened to do.

She didn’t belong to him, and every fibre of her being wanted to fight against his control.

Those soldiers she’d killed—that was out of self-preservation.

But this —this was cold-blooded murder. She would not risk lives for sake of letting out her anger.

Lives would be lost for nothing. She couldn’t kill Filip.

“Time’s ticking.” His hard voice interrupted her thoughts. The nether magic lowered Damir a foot or two, bringing him closer to her. His eyes bulged from the restricting talons. “He doesn’t have much life left in him.”

She flicked her gaze from Damir to Olga, Kira, and the other council members. Her eyes watered. How could she take their lives? Who was to say they meant less than Damir’s? She shook her head profusely.

I am not a murderer.

“It’s okay.” Olga’s voice was soft, almost inaudible. “I am quite prepared to die for my cause, and someday, Adelina will rise from the darkness in which you keep her.”

Adelina could no longer fight the quiver of her lips or the tears in her eyes. “I won’t do it.”

“You must,” Olga said sharply. “You must stop him, and we are but one sacrifice to ensure it happens.”

“Do it now!” Filip hollered.

The soldiers shoved the Council members forwards, forcing them onto their knees, then stood back.

“Do it now, or so help me, I will kill them all. Every last one, including Damir, and your entire family.” A feral growl escaped Filip’s throat. “I will not pay a single thought for any civilian. Man, woman, or child.”

Rage burst through her body, drenching her skin in wildfire as tears fell from her eyes. Golden light exploded from her, and the embroidery lashed out like a whip. Six severed heads hit the floor.

She fell to her knees, gaze locked on the bodies in front of her. Her hands were weak—no anger left in her to bunch them into fists. But her heart and her soul ached. How did this make her any different from Filip?

Damir thudded on the ground, tossed aside by Filip’s talons.

Groaning, Damir crawled to her, wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against his chest. His act of comfort burst open her floodgates, and she wept. Mourned.

“Get up.” Filip seized her by the arms and hoisted her off the ground.

Damir lost his balance and fell against the stone path.

Filip ordered a portion of his army to stay behind to ensure Saintlandsther remained captured, and any surviving man was slaughtered.

To her, his words were drowned, sounding distant and detached. The face of each council member burned in her mind. She was broken, and by his hand.

Chosen foot soldiers and cavalry prepared to leave the beaten city of Pike. As Filip left the courtyard, he halted, peering at a body slumped by the gate. With his booted foot, he turned the man’s bloodied face. Pyotr.

“Pity,” Filip muttered. “I suppose you have fulfilled your purpose.”

As he hoisted himself onto his horse, Adelina stared at Pyotr. Although he’d betrayed her and her family, his death meant a wife without a husband, children without a father. She peeled her gaze from him, put her foot in the stirrup, then flung her leg over the saddle of her own mount.

“Return to the carriages,” Filip ordered the army. “We must make way for Temauten. ”

The foot soldiers shoved Damir along the path as the cavalry left the city.

Filip rode ahead. But she could not rid herself of the gore and death surrounding her.

It would haunt her on her journey to her home country.

The ghosts would follow her. And she could not escape the fate awaiting her there.

Home. Family. Everything she’d ever loved would be destroyed.

The world blurred. A dull ache shot through her chest. Her heart shattered.