Page 78 of A Rising Hope (The Freckled Fate #3)

78

ZORA

I grunted, yanking my crescent blades out of another gurgling throat. Destroyer blood trickled down the polished streets of Svitar. An occasional gentle brush of wind carried the last remnants of the dark fog at our feet. My muscles ached, lungs burned, but I kept my thoughts sharp, holding tight to the reins within.

Another swing of the sword, another tug of my chain. My body moved on pure instinct, instinct that I learned from the moment I gained consciousness. Step, duck, move, swing, jump, lunge.

I didn’t look, didn’t dare to look, but I knew the rest of the Ten were doing the same as we made our way towards the city walls, carving a path through the retreating enemy battalions.

Only an occasional flash of fire and sparks from swords and axes blinked in the periphery of my senses.

We fought. And we fought together. Each one of us silently delivered deadly blows, each one of us grieving the empty void where Gia would’ve been. Where her hungry fire would’ve scorched the lines of soldiers. Where her strength would’ve broken their shields in half. Where her smile would’ve brought courage and hope to those around her.

I ducked once more as a knife went past my head. Metal echoed against the cobbled street behind me. I flinched at the sting, fighting the urge to touch my ear to assess the damage as warm blood trickled down my neck.

A loud horn sounded through the city. Once, then twice, then thrice. Each sound added a spark to the flame of hope that flickered in my heart.

Svitar fell.

We had won.

I froze, my thoughts snagged on that realization.

We won .

“We need to retreat, Zora,” Ashe advised next to me, landing her short swords straight into the lungs of an attacking soldier. “They are retreating from the city walls and are going to flood the streets soon. We need to join the rest of our armies or we could be overrun.”

I wiped my chin covered in blood, nodding.

“Retreat. Now!” I shouted the command and landed the last few fatal wounds to a kneeled soldier, choking on my blades.

We won, my mind repeated, as if aware there was a part of me that didn’t feel triumphant. Couldn’t feel triumphant. Not when Gia and so many others wouldn’t be here to whistle and shout victoriously with me.

The Ten ran and so did I, bolting down the serpentine streets of the ancient city until we’d reach the victorious battalions of Gideon’s army. The shouts grew louder. Smoke coated my tongue as it slithered deep into my lungs.

We turned again and again, just a few blocks away from the rendezvous. My legs cramped, but I kept going. The first sight of the familiar dark banners flickering between the grand buildings eased my drumming heart.

“To the left, there is a shortcut!” Motra shouted, as the Ten sprinted ahead before being cut off by some enemy soldiers. The loud fight exploded only a block away. And I would have followed them had it not been for the unsettlingly familiar figure appearing in the small alley.

I froze in my steps. My eyes narrowed on the shadowed silhouette. Echoes of my past luring me like a siren to the right, and I followed.

“Zorianna.”

That voice, the familiar tone of disgust mixed with demand, cut me to my bones.

“ Father .” I stood still, matching his hatred-filled look as he stepped forward.

He wore his general’s armor, but his helm was off. The stark white feather, cut in half, was soaked in blood.

My father had aged. The harsh features of his face deepened, the pointed eyes that mirrored mine, dull and worn.

“I should’ve known. The little cockroach survived after all.” His spiteful, thin lips dipped down into a scornful frown.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I clenched my teeth, holding tighter to the hilt of the blade in my hand, my knuckles turning white. His vicious gaze scrutinized me.

A foolish part of me hoped that perhaps after all this, he’d see me for who I was. His daughter.

But the cruel features on his face didn’t soften. No, he assessed me like any other foe he’d come across, his focus wasted on finding my weakest points, contemplating on how many moves it’d take him to kill me.

My heart thudded in my chest loudly, iron coating my tongue from my split lip.

“I don’t want to fight you, father.”

“I stopped being your father long ago,” he spat, and I wished I shielded my heart better, because even after so many years, after so many vows and promises to never let his words wound me, they found their mark. “I shall do what I should’ve done a long time ago. But you shall not die of the Destroyer’s fire, for you are not worthy of such a death, but a mere human death, the death of a commoner by the blade.” With that, he drew his sword.

“Why?” I asked. “After all these years, I just want to know why.” My words were quiet, tainted with hurt only a child would know.

“She died because of you. I will never forgive you for that,” he seethed.

“I was just a child! She died because she drowned in the Numb, and you were never home to see it, or help her through any of it.”

“I loved her with everything I had, and you’ve destroyed my family.”

“ Your family? I was your family. You lost your wife, but that day I lost both of my parents. I lost my mother, and I lost you.” My chest ached as his angered stare darkened with more abhorrence.

“Enough! You are a disgrace to my name. Nothing but a pest,” he snarled, and I tightened my grip on my chains.

“I don’t want to harm you, father.” I staggered a step back as he raised his sword.

“In war, there is no truce. There are those who win and those who lose. As a self-proclaimed commander, you should know that.” He lunged, and I moved, jumping aside. Blood rushed in my ears, and thoughts crumbled. Bile burned my throat, but I let my chains swing, aiming for him.

He didn’t say another word as the clang of metal rang through the small alley. Little by little, his heavy blows pushed me closer to the walls but I fought back.

Even at his age, my father was nimble, holding the same precision to his blows as I did to mine. A twist and his sword sliced my thigh, pain barking up my leg. I flinched, but didn’t dare look at the wound as I threw the blades at him again.

I fought with all the might I could summon, relentless, as he attacked me without mercy, without a single moment of hesitation.

He had never sparred with me before, never saw it worthy of his time. And perhaps it was his downfall as my crescent blade found its mark on his face. But not deep enough to seriously wound him, just enough to let a trickle of blood run down his cheek.

“You can’t win with children’s toys, Zorianna. You’ve been living in a delusion for far too long,” he muttered, yanking a dagger from the sheath at his side. He dove, his sword going straight for my neck. I sent my chain flying at his sword, but only when his blade aimlessly fell against the ground, wrapped around with my chains, did I realize my mistake.

But it was too late.

His armored fist found my face. Once, then twice. My nose crunched and eyes darkened as I stumbled back, trying to find footing.

The tip of my father’s dagger dug into me as he pinned me between his blade and the wall. He should’ve killed me now, but he hesitated. Blood poured from my nose and pain edged my mind closer to the abyss with each breath.

“I thought you’d beg for your life,” he scoffed. “But it seems even you share the sentiment it’s not worth the words,” he grumped.

“You don’t deserve the honor,” I slurred, choking on the blood running in the back of my throat. His dagger dug deeper, piercing the layers of my leathers, scraping my skin. He looked as if he was searching for something, his eyes piercing mine. But that second cost him. I kicked him straight in the groin, twisting the dagger he held with my palms directly into his neck, the blade wedged deep in his throat.

He staggered back, yanking the dagger out in shock before his body fell against the cold stone.

“No . . . no . . . no!” My voice failed and panic recoiled through my entire body at the realization of what I had done. I dashed to him, dropping to the ground as I lifted his motionless head, his eyes frozen wide open. His blood gushed over my bleeding hands as I held him closer.

There were no last words. No professing confessions. Only regret. Only hurt. Only death.

“No, father. No!” I shouldn’t have cried for the man that spent his life hating me. I shouldn’t have cried for the man that broke me with his coldness, with his despise.

But I did.

I cried for the little girl who loved her father despite it all. I cried for the girl who, despite everything, kept hope for appeasement and dreamed that one day, perhaps many years from now, there would be a moment when she’d be seen, be accepted by him.

But that hope died alongside his bleeding body.

“You were my father. You were supposed to love me.” I cried out and I let the tears pour from me as I cradled his motionless body. “You were supposed to care for me! I spent all my life trying to make you love me, trying to make you see me . . . ” My words were jumbled, tainted with grief and loss. I cried because the wound that I thought had long been scarred over was now bleeding, gushing as if it was the day I walked away from our family home never to return.

“I wish I was enough. I wish I was enough for you more than anything. I am so sorry . . . I am sorry.” My vision blurred and hands shook, but I held him closer.

“Over here!” someone shouted.

“Fuck. Zora! Fuck !” Orest’s muffled voice sounded from afar.

“I am so sorry . . . ” was all my lips could mumble. “I am so sorry.”

I felt Orest’s hands on my cheeks as he stared at my leaden eyes. His lips moved, but I didn’t understand the words. He shouted a few commands as more soldiers poured in. I felt my body move as Orest picked me up. The shouts and orders were muffled, streets flooded with our battalions raising Gideon’s insignia for everyone to see and submit to. But my eyes were glued to the lifeless body of my father, his peppered gray hair stark against the crimson, his black eyes still wide open.

“Get him out of her sight, damn it,” Orest scrambled, carrying me away from the shadowed alley. The city was swallowed by infernos, whether it was from Finn’s dragons or Gideon’s flame I didn’t care as my vision darkened and mind crumbled like sand against a wave.

“Zora, listen to me,” Orest spoke against my hollow body. And I tried. I tried to fight through the rising craving of the Numb. “The war is over. You did it. No more fighting. No more death. It is over.”

“I am so sorry,” was all I could say, as my chest wheezed its last drop of air. Streams of tears rolled down my cheeks without reprieve. Each drop was heavier than the one before, taking the last sliver of strength my body had. My limbs shuddered incessantly. All I could see was the dark sky covered in smoke, and my stained, bloody hands.

“Stay with me, Zora,” Orest whispered in my ear, holding me tight against his chest. “Listen to my voice, Commander.” A sliver of my consciousness clung tight to the tethering sound of his firm voice.

Orest walked, carrying me past the rushing soldiers, past the smoke and the flames of the final battles erupting throughout the city. He carried me far beyond the sound of fighting, past the carnage and the bloodstained fortifications. He walked until we reached a long alleyway of trees, away from prying stares. He kneeled, gently rocking my shaking body as I sobbed.

“We’ll be okay,” he reassured my scrambling mind, kissing my forehead. “You’ll be okay.”

“I am so sorry . . . ” I managed to say between the clattering of my teeth.

“I am never letting go. Never ,” Orest whispered.

And he didn’t, holding me tight as I wept against his chest until the sun hid far beyond the horizon.