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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

“What does that mean?” Arimen asks. “That her life is in pieces?”

I turn to face him and the others. His face is still paler than usual, and there’s a very slight tremor to his lower lip. He looks exactly as young as he is, and not for the first time I regret that he’s been dragged into this. “You did an amazing job,” I tell him. “That was really quick thinking, and you might just have saved the day.” He definitely made it a lot safer for us.

He flushes, a pleased expression chasing away the rest. “I’ve been watching Coryn and Peiris spar, and they always go somewhere that has plenty of space. There wasn’t enough space in those trees for them to do their best work,” he explains earnestly. “I thought it would be better if we went somewhere else.”

“You thought exactly right,” Peiris agrees. Coryn finishes wiping off his sword, sheathes it, and then walks over to give Arimen a hug.

“You kept your head and did the smart thing. I’d have you at my back any day.”

Stars dance in our young friend’s eyes. “I just tried to do what you all would do,” he mumbles, but it’s impossible for him to hide how happy the praise has made him. Then he stubbornly repeats his question. “Why is her life in pieces?”

He’ll soon find out anyway, so I go with blunt honesty. “Did you hear what I said to them?”

He nods. “That was Wasianth, right?”

“Yes.” Technically, we’re the same person, but I was using god power, so yes. “Everybody she meets will immediately know she’s not a priestess any longer. They won’t know how they know or why, but they’ll know deep inside. They’ll know she’s been outcast by the gods. That applies to any priest who knew about this and was willingly involved.”

Coryn’s eyes widen, but Arimen seems to be mulling it over. “That’s a good punishment,” he says finally. “They betrayed the oaths they took and led people astray in the names of the gods. People should know that the gods no longer recognize them.”

“Do you actually have the authority to speak on behalf of all the gods?” Jaimin asks curiously, and I flash him a smile.

“In this case, yes. I can’t exactly talk to them while I’m human, but the part of me that’s Wasianth still has a channel of communication open with them. If they’d disapproved, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. Not to Malna’s priestess, anyway.”

Before anyone can say anything else, a shadow falls over us, and we look up to see two dragons sweeping in, one of them Leicht. They land between us and the house, and even though the front lawns are expansive, it suddenly feels a lot more crowded here.

“Problem?” I ask Leicht, and he snorts and shakes his head.

“No. But I assumed you’d want to leave soon, so I brought one of the riders to help the others take control of the estate back.”

I never thought I’d love this dragon, but he’s my brother now.

“Thank you.” I turn to Jaimin as the rider slides off the back of the other dragon. “I’m going to find someone in the house who knows me and tell them you speak on my behalf. Make sure they’re all healthy and help them start getting things back in order, would you?”

“Where will you be?” Coryn asks, but I can see from Jaimin’s face that he doesn’t need the answer.

“You know who?” he asks, and I nod. It’s so simple, I’m kicking myself for not having guessed before. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be back in two days,” I promise. There’s a lot of work to be done here, including finding a steward for the estate, because I don’t want to run it. And I should probably be present for Father’s execution.

The blond woman in green leathers who approaches is familiar to me, and I smile at her. “Hello, Sarsheena.”

“Talon. I’m so sorry about Tia. We all miss her.”

“Me, too. It’s been hard without her.”

Sarsheena looks around at the zombie corpses. “She’d be proud of the work you’ve done here today. I hear you need some help with cleanup?”

“If you don’t mind. Have the other zombies moved?”

She shakes her head. “Zolan is still watching them, but they didn’t react at all when the others died. There are bodies strewn all over the estate, though.”

I make a quick decision. “Come with me and Jaimin. As soon as we can be sure there aren’t any farmworkers wandering around, you and Zolan and your dragons can incinerate those bodies.”

It’s not that simple, of course. I find the housekeeper and the farm manager, both of whom have known me since I was born, and they immediately protest the fact that I want to set the whole estate on fire. Lindrin, the manager, tells me to run along and let him make arrangements to dispose of the bodies. Jaimin has to pinch me hard to stop me from saying something that a longtime family retainer doesn’t deserve. We finally agree that the farmhands will pile the bodies in several big heaps that will become bonfires.

“It will be good for morale,” Mrs. Hickings, the housekeeper, says. “We’ve all been feeling low this past year with this nonsense going on, and then the news about Lady Tia. We can have a nice wake for her and get to know your friends!” She smiles at Jaimin. Her excitement when she saw his arm around my waist was palpable. I would bet real money I don’t have that she’s picturing children in the nu— “You know, the Welfort children from the village were orphaned last year.”

I pat Jaimin’s chest. “Have a lovely time.”

“We’re about an hour away,” Leicht tells me late in the evening, and I immediately reach out to Master.

“We’re close. Call the meeting.”

“Do you still want me to keep the reason a secret?” he asks. We spoke earlier, and since then, he’s been waiting.

“Yes. Just tell them you have an update.” If we’ve timed this right, Leicht will land after the councilors are all in the chamber, and they won’t know I’m back until I walk in.

I’ve spent most of this flight thinking. A lot has changed, and a lot of things in my life are going to be different. I’m not sure if I want that. Some I won’t have a say in—Tia being gone, and Leicht being bonded to me. But other things, like where I’m going to live and what direction my studies will take—those are going to need me to make decisions. I can share the weight of some of those decisions with Jaimin, but not all.

That’s for later, though.

As Leicht touches down in the grassy expanse behind the academy, Master reaches out to tell me all the councilors are assembled.

“On my way.” I slide off Leicht’s back and glance down at myself. I don’t exactly look impressive in my travel-worn and rumpled clothes, and I think there’s some blood droplets on my pants from the spatter when Coryn killed the high priest, but I don’t care. I’m not here to impress with my clothes.

“Just as well, since that’s never been something you were capable of,” Leicht informs me. “Go. I have my own council meeting to attend, and when I’m done, the dragon riders will support anything you say.”

I pat his foreleg and then head across the lawn to the Academy of Mages.

This is it. This is… everything. The moment I end the threat to the world. The moment I avenge Tia. The moment I fulfil my destiny.

I haven’t told anyone that I don’t know if I’ll survive it. The whole flight here, I focused on what the future will look like when I win—because I’m determined to win—but I can’t escape the nagging thought that maybe even if I win, I’ll die. After all, to end this, I need to kill a mage much older and more experienced than me, one who’s embraced forbidden and awful uses for his magic, and I’ve never been much of a fighter.

Anything to add? I ask the stone.

It stays silent.

That’s okay. Whatever comes, I’ll give it my all.

The hallways are deserted—much more so than they should be, even at this hour—and it’s a reminder that one of our own engineered this and sent thousands of mages into danger. Even so, the first startled glance comes within minutes.

“Talon?” It’s another level-2 mage. “When did you get back? What does this mean? Has?—”

“Sorry, can’t talk. I need to get to the council meeting.” I breeze past, my stride long and purposeful but not hasty. I can almost feel his startlement, and then he hurries after me.

“Wait, Talon?” someone else calls from off to the left, but I wave and don’t stop. “When did he get back?” I hear her asking the other mage.

“I don’t know. He’s going to the council meeting.”

“The council’s meeting?”

“They must be.”

By the time I get to the council chambers, I’ve accumulated a small coterie of mages trailing after me. I steadfastly refused to answer any questions, and they’ve been discussing possibilities. Some are close to accurate, while others make me wants to laugh.

The guards at the door see us coming—it would be hard not to—and straighten. Master told them to expect me, so when I stop in front of them, one is already reaching to open the door. The other eyes the crowd behind me.

“Master Samoine didn’t mention them.”

“They’re not coming in,” I assure him, and he nods.

The doors swing wide, and I stroll in. The heated discussion that was taking place peters off as the doors thud closed behind me.

“Silverbright?” someone exclaims. “Is that Silverbright?”

It sets off a cacophony of sound as dozens of mages, riders, and healers ask stupid questions at the top of their lungs. Things like, “What’s he doing here?” and “How did he get here?” I ignore them all and walk directly to the dais, where Master and Master Cranch, the current chair of the council, are standing.

Master nods solemnly to me and goes to sit in one of the chairs off to the side, prompting the noise level in the room to rise even higher. Master Cranch meets my gaze, his eyes worried. “Whatever you’re about to say, I hope there’s still an academy left when you’re done.”

“There will be,” I promise. “I need a home to come back to.”

He joins Master Samoine, and I reach into my shirt and pull out the stone, setting it on the lectern just as Master did months ago.

The assembled councilors fall silent.

Turning, I skim my gaze around the room. My time away has wrought some interesting changes. The councilors are no longer grouped by Talent, but rather seem to have formed cliques—presumably born of interests and opinions. I wonder if that will last past the aftermath of the current crisis.

“Earlier today, the dragon Leicht executed one of the necromancers responsible for the current zombie crisis.”

Sound roars through the room as they shout questions at me. Some surge to their feet, but I say nothing, waiting them out, and eventually they quiet down.

“Also executed was the high priest of Wasianth, who was found by Wasianth himself to have betrayed his position in service to the gods.” My voice rises to be heard toward the end of the sentence, as this time, the councilors don’t wait before erupting into yet more useless questions. Again, I refuse to answer, and only when all voices are silent do I continue.

“Holy Wasianth also pronounced judgment upon all members of the temples who were complicit in this event. They have been cast out, and all who come across them will recognize that fact.”

That seems to be one shock too many for them, because the outcry this time is muted and lacking any real zeal.

“My father, who was also a conspirator, is being held by Queen Nyana of Rebithia and will face execution for his crimes, including treason, in due course.”

Some of them draw back in distaste, as though my being calm about the impending death of the man who was complicit in my sister’s death is something I should be ashamed of just because he sired me.

“With the death of one necromancer, a great many zombies are no longer animate. Riders Sarsheena Harbit and Zolan Creg are overseeing the cremation of the remains by their dragons. Thought was given to attempting to return the bodies to their rightful resting places”—briefly—“but Master Kahwyn vetoed the idea as having too high a risk of disease.” It also would have been next to impossible, but I’m not going to say that and give someone a reason to argue.

Most of the healers in the room are nodding and murmuring approval, so that puts a seal on that.

“There still remains a large number of zombies throughout Vaderyn, which indicates the existence of an additional necromancer. He will die today.”

The flat statement startles them. A healer in the front row half-raises his hand. I vaguely recognize him from the last time I faced this group. “Er… do you know who this person is? And where?”

I ignore the questions. “Why would someone do this? For power? We assumed they were waiting to amass certain strength before moving their forces. Stone,” I turn toward the unassuming rock that started all this, “was the necromancer who conceived of this plot waiting until he had more zombies?”

~No~

“Was his original motive power?”

~No~

“Did he, in fact, have control of sufficient zombies to seize sovereignty of the continent of Vaderyn before you came to us here months ago?”

~Yes~

The frightened murmur of voices is getting louder, but this time, I don’t wait.

“Is he in this room?”

Dead silence falls.

~Yes~

I thought they would erupt at that, but the silence holds, heavy and somber.

“Is he Master Leng?”

~Yes~

A gasp echoes through the room, followed by the rustle of movement as everyone sitting with Leng moves away.

I meet his gaze, surprised by how calm I am. He stares back, his face a mask that betrays his guilt more than anything else could. “Master Leng, is there anything you’d like to add?”

He shrugs. “Not particularly. My choices were made long ago.”

“ Why? ” someone cries, and I glance over at Master Gao, who’s another prophetic scholar. If I recall correctly, the two of them were arguing over their theories in this room when the stone came to us. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I wanted answers,” Leng hisses. “I spent decades studying the Prophecy of the Stone, decades debating whether the stone would champion us or choose a champion, and I wanted to know the answer!”

“For shame,” the records master wheezes, but my head spins. I suspected that was the reason, after what Uncle Domys said today, but part of me was convinced it couldn’t be. He raised zombies and killed thousands to infect them, all so he could find out if his theory was right? I barely even remember what the point of contention was, and he devastated Vaderyn for it.

While ugly words are thrown around the room, I reach out with Wasianth’s senses, searching the academy, and find what I need.

“Stop,” Master Cranch eventually shouts. “This is getting us nowhere.” He looks steadily at Leng. “You will be executed for this.”

Leng laughs. Standing, he saunters across the room and up the dais steps. “You can try, but I hold the power of necromancy now. Want to know a secret? I. Won’t. Die.”

I draw Tia’s dagger from the sheath at my thigh. The hilt warms in my hand, as though it knows it will finally taste vengeance. “That’s impossible,” I counter, stepping forward to face him down. “All beings die.”

He smirks. “Not me. Look at you with your knife, as if you know how to use it. We all know your sister was the fighter. You’re just a smart-mouthed waste of space.”

“You truly believe you won’t die?”

“I am immortal.”

“Then fight me. You’re right; I’m not a fighter. I don’t know if you are, but I’d say we’re either evenly matched or you outmatch me. But you’re the reason my sister’s dead, so that’s a risk I’m willing to take for the chance to hurt you.”

He laughs again, scornfully this time. “You want to fight ? Very well. Someone get me a blade.”

The councilors look around uneasily. “Perhaps,” Master Cranch begins, but Leng cuts him off.

“A blade. Once I’ve dealt with this nuisance, the rest of us can discuss how things will be from now on.”

Master Cranch’s eyes narrow, and without looking at me, he says, “Do you have this in hand, Silverbright?”

“Yes.” Whether I fight fair or not, I will not lose and let this monster wreak havoc.

“Then by all means, we shall fetch a blade.”

“Talon—” Master sounds alarmed, but I can’t afford distractions right now, so I shut him out.

After an expectant little pause, Rider Master Hearne strides forward, pulling a dagger from its sheath. I’m grateful he doesn’t offer a sword—there would be no chance of me being able to fight fair against a sword.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” Hearne says, tossing the blade at Leng’s feet. The necromancer stoops to pick it up—then lunges directly at me.

Unprepared, I dart backward, glad I don’t trip over my own feet, and raise Tia’s dagger to defend myself. Leng doesn’t even pause to regroup, coming after me again with the blade held very competently. Dammit. How can an old man wearing robes move that nimbly?

I dodge again, trying to strike at him, but I’m not successful and it just seems to amuse him. Our “fight” quickly devolves into him chasing me around in a circle while I simultaneously try to stay out of his reach and somehow get close enough to wound him. If I’d known this was going to happen, I would have asked Coryn to train me to fight.

Finally, the worst happens and I trip. It’s sheer good luck that I don’t impale myself on Tia’s dagger when I sprawl on the floor. All my grandiose plans of taking Leng down in a fight were clearly misguided. The groans of the watching councilors indicate that they agree.

Time to use my wits instead.

“I’m obviously not going to win this fight,” I say, scrambling back to my feet and out of the way an instant before Leng reaches me. “If I surrender, will you still kill me?”

“Yes,” he says casually. “You’ve annoyed me to no end these past months, getting in the way of my plans. It will make me feel better. I might even raise you as a zombie so I can make you dance to my tune.”

Rage bubbles up in me, but I push it down and let my shoulders slump. “So I die either way, and you win.” Just the thought allows me to squeeze out a tear, and as it trickles down my cheek, I meet his gaze. “Will you give me one thing—one final wish?” I have to concentrate on my footing, since we’re still circling each other. It would be bad if I fell again now.

He raises a brow. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you win anyway, you’re the reason my sister’s dead, and you’re going to destroy everything I hold dear. My whole world. Surely you can let me have something .”

“I suppose it depends on what you want.”

“To stab you.” One of the watchers gasps.

“ Stab me? Why would I let you do that? Do you think I’m stupid?”

I really hope he is. “You said you can’t die. That necromancy has made you immortal.”

He stops moving, the point of his dagger lowering, and I stop too. “Well… yes.”

“Then you’ll have no problem with me stabbing you. It’s the last thing I’ll ever get to do before I die, and you’ll be able to prove your immortality to everyone here—perhaps quell any further dissent.”

Mutters begin, and sweat breaks out on my spine. Please let them stay quiet.

Doubt crosses Leng’s face. “It would still hurt…”

Steaming gods’ turds. But at least he’s considering it. I look around the room. “Is there a healer here who will numb Master Leng’s pain after I stab him?”

The confusion is palpable; nobody knows what I’m doing. Eventually, though, one of the healers says, “I will. If you really think I should. You’ve earned the right to stab him.” She hesitates. “Stab him for me too.”

I smile at her. “Thank you.” Looking back at Leng, I raise a brow. “Now, can I stab you?”

“You’re pathetic,” he informs me, casting aside Hearne’s blade. It clatters to the stone floor, and the sound is as beautiful to my ears as the finest music. “I’ll enjoy making you my lapdog zombie. Go on, then. Stab me, and see that I won’t die.” He spreads his arms wide, smile mocking.

I raise the dagger, closing the distance between us, and call on a magic I’ve used twice before, but this time, I do it deliberately. My god-power summons Leng’s soul energy from the cat he’d transferred it to, but instead of releasing it to the afterlife, I slam it back into his body. His face goes pale as he realizes what’s happening.

“Wait! No, I?—”

I plunge Tia’s dagger low into his abdomen and rip it upward, not stopping until I hit his breastbone, and then I twist. The blade is long, and the sound that comes from his throat is one I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.

Blood spatters me and the dais, and more sprays as he slides off the blade and crumples to the floor. I must have hit a major vessel… or two.

“Am I supposed to numb him now?” the healer calls, not making any move to come forward.

The light fades from Leng’s eyes, and finally, Tia’s death is avenged.

“Too late,” I say. “I guess he wasn’t immortal after all.”