Page 25 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

He bends to retrieve my forgotten sword from the ground.

The entire world seems to go quiet as I watch him lift the weapon my father gave me.

He examines the delicate metalwork, his fingers nimbly turning it in a full circle.

“Tonight, this sword will take someone's life. Are you ready for that?” he asks, holding my weapon out to me.

The iron burns my palm, still hot from his fire. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

The finality of the answer says it all. My life will never be the same.

Whether it be in body or spirit, the hope-driven girl in search of her father will die upon the battlefield before the sun rises.

It's a fate I'm willing to accept for my kingdom, for the soldiers fighting, and for the innocent people who can't defend themselves.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help protect our people,” I say.

“Do me one better and don’t die tonight.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He gives me a curt nod. “I suppose that’s all I can ask of anyone fighting this battle.”

We race toward the surge of power and grunts of war, my mind recalling the little training I've received for moments like this. It doesn’t matter how many drills I run or how much instruction I receive: all the critical thinking in the five kingdoms couldn't ready me for this moment. Ulric once said only battle could fully prepare me. I’m about to receive the ultimate lesson.

We step out of the trees and into the meadow.

I only have a moment to take in the carnage—bodies ablaze, mangled by wind, contained by plants, gashed open from blades—before I'm consumed by the power.

It vibrates around me in euphoric swirls; my blood hums with it and answers its call. I rush into the chaos.

A flash of light sends me stumbling back.

I block my eyes with my arm, blinking several times to push past the searing pain in my head.

A petite Stigian warrior with two blonde braids on either side of her head comes into view.

She slashes her sword with skilled movements and a smirk on her thin lips.

I hold her gaze and bring my blade between us.

With sweet laughter, she says, “Oh pretty Cyffred, you would have been better off as my power source. I would have treated you well while I slowly drained you.”

I lunge forward, aiming for her ribs. She blocks my advance, and we fall into a rapid exchange.

It's not until I swipe at her leg, leaving a gaping gash, that she uses her power again, blinding me with her light.

I recklessly swing, stepping away until my back crashes against a tree trunk.

Rays like the sun jet from her palm, and I frantically brandish my sword.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Right. My movements are clumsy at best, but my blade meets resistances.

A high-pitched squeal pierces my ears, and the burst of light subsides. My opponent lies in the grass, her limbs bent haphazardly except for her hand that holds her sliced middle. Her black eyes stare at the night sky as her body twitches with the last signs of life.

My first kill was pure luck.

My first kill.

I've killed someone.

I fall to my knees, and the metallic tang of blood lingers in the air as I pant for my next breath. It was you or her. Stigian or Lucent. Them or us.

Reasoning her death doesn't help. I dig my fingers into the soil, fighting back the urge to wail. The purr of power vibrates throughout the battlefield, traveling through the ground and up my arm, comforting me. I've felt nothing like it, every gift of the Statera buzzing through my body in a chaotic summons. I lift my head and find Kyron disappearing into his shadows and reappearing to hurl balls of fire. Terro manipulates dirt in a tiny tornado, distracting his opponents as Ulric slices them open. Our Khiros and Cyffreds pair up to fight the superior power of the Stigians, but it’s not enough. We’re losing soldiers.

A spine-tingling screech draws my attention, and I leap to my feet.

Greer backs into a rock formation at the other end of the meadow, fiercely battling two warriors.

With one hand, she calls upon her water to dowse an Ignita's flame, and the other wields her sword.

An Electro zaps her with tiny bolts of lightning, rendering her useless for split seconds until he needs to recharge.

She takes the opening to swing her blade, only to meet the Electro's in return.

Each move she makes becomes more sluggish than the one before it.

A small bolt of lightning sizzles across her cheek and her water wavers, giving the Ignita the chance to burn through the arm of her jacket.

She screams, and I sprint across the field.

The fire at her bicep recedes, leaving behind angry blistering skin, and her power produces nothing more than a palm of water.

The malevolent chuckles of her attackers carry on a breeze contaminated with the stench of burned flesh.

I hold the pommel of my blade at my shoulder and charge toward them, running through inky smoke.

A hand grasps my upper arm.

“Stop!”

Power roars through my veins, hot as embers and dark as the midnight tide.

Fear and the thrill of the kill grab ahold of me, and I drop my sword and grip the hand on my arm.

Instead of pushing it away, I hold on to the hand, anchoring myself with it as one thought repeats in my head: Save her, save her, you must save her.

A fine mist billows around me, casting everything in a gloomy hue.

Raging flames flicker inside it. The two merge into a twirling and powerful dance.

I raise my empty hand and curl my fingers like I'm reining in that power.

Keeping the Stigians attacking Greer in sight, I aim my fist at them and open my palm.

Under the guise of shadow, the fire barrels toward them before splintering off into three streaks of flames and engulfing the warriors.

Greer sinks to the ground, and I snarl, “Protect her.”

The shadows wrap around her like the gentle embrace of a lover's arms.

The shadow-covered infernos continue, snaking through the battlefield and screaming with each Stigian they set ablaze.

The four warriors surrounding Terro and Ulric ignite like fiery pillars before crumbling to the ground, nothing more than charred remains.

I sweep my gaze over the remaining Stigians, and the fire follows.

One by one they burn. Their fear of death courses through me, their pleas to stop ring in my ears with the sweetest cadence.

I almost give in to the request, but the energy rushing through me is addictive.

It embraces me, and I lean into its strength and close my eyes, letting the power whirl around me.

“Please,” says a cracking deep voice. The hand under mine slips away, and my grip on the power disappears with it. The craving for vengeance, the warmth and control are all gone. The abrupt change leaves me stunned.

The air, infused with burnt flesh, freezes me to the bone, and I finally move to rub my hands up and down my biceps.

I can’t look away from the trail of dead bodies left by the shadow and flames.

Statera help me, this is impossible. I somehow used power that was not my own to cause this devastation.

Unable to stomach what I’ve done I rip my gaze from the carnage to find a limp body at my feet.

“No. Kyron,” I gasp, falling to my knees.

His eyes blankly stare at the sky, and his jaw is slack. I shake him, but his head lolls to the side. Panic wracks me and my hands move in a frenzy to his chest. It's still. No up and down. No movement at all.

The general is dead.