Page 50

50

T he air grew heavy with plumes of dirt, left in the wake of the Forest People’s manipulation of roots and vines. It was some of the most impressive feats of visible magic Cora had ever seen. She couldn’t gape for long, though. Not only was her vision growing increasingly obscured as she wove through the battlefield, but she had a job to do.

Salinda stayed at her side, fending off threats with her Magic of the Soil while Cora used her bow. They kept to the east side of the valley, where the field was devoid of wraiths. The specters remained to the west, the side closest to Menah’s and Selay’s camps, where very few of Morkai’s men kept up pursuit. It didn’t take long for Cora to learn why. The wraiths cut down anyone they came across, regardless of what side they served or what sigil was etched into their armor. She supposed that was the cost of employing the dead—beings whose bodies had been stripped from mind and spirit. Morkai had said they were the souls of warriors who’d served in a war long passed. They were living memories gifted with the power to kill, nothing more.

The ground rumbled beneath her feet. Cora and Salinda pulled up short as Valorre streamed past, the Roizan charging after. Cora had been too late to prevent Morkai from using his creature to summon the wraiths, but Valorre’s appearance on the field had been enough to get the Roizan away from Morkai shortly after. Valorre had then begun circling the perimeter of the field, drawing the Roizan up the hillside, between the trees, anywhere to keep him out of range from the duke. But whenever Valorre had tried to lead the creature too far, the Roizan would come barreling back, forcing Valorre onto the field to tempt the beast away again.

Cora coughed into her cloak as she and Salinda moved through a particularly dense cloud of dirt. She blinked the grit from her eyes once they were past it. They were nearing Centerpointe Rock. Through the haze, she saw half of it was framed by roots, as if one of the Forest People had tried to create a cage around it. Finally, Cora caught sight of Morkai. He was battling Roije. The tracker had a spear in one hand while his other palm was raised toward the earth. He sent root after root to harry the duke, but Morkai sliced through every vine that tried to wrap around his ankle, hacked through every root that shot toward his chest. Not only did Morkai have his long dagger—the one he’d had hidden in his cane—but he now held a broadsword as well. Salinda and Cora took off toward the fighting pair. Cora’s heart leapt into her throat when she passed a familiar body lying in the muddy grass.

Druchan.

He was dead.

She didn’t have time to grieve or feel guilt. Only to nock an arrow and aim for Morkai. Something heavy slammed into her, and she lost her footing. Her bow skittered out of her hands as she landed on her back. A dark silhouette stood over her, backlit by the rising sun. The light glinted off a broadsword pointed over her heart.

“You,” growled a familiar voice.

Her lungs tightened. “Dimi.”

“Impostor,” he said. As her eyes adjusted, she saw his furious glare. “How dare you come into my home and try to manipulate me. To pour salt in a wound already gaping.”

“Brother,” Cora said, trying to keep her voice level. “It’s me. It’s…it’s Aveline. It’s…Cora.”

He froze on an intake of breath. “How do you know about that name?”

“Because it’s my name. It’s what our mother used to call me in private. You know that.”

“All you speak are lies,” he said, shaking his head. He continued to glare, but for the briefest moment, she thought she saw the glossy sheen over his eyes retreat.

Hope sparked inside her, and she held on to it like an anchor. “Do…do you remember when I told you how I’d learned where babies came from? How I’d overheard what Lady Paulette had been discussing with Lady Madeline? Do you remember what you said to me after? You said?—”

He took a forbidding step closer, the tip of his sword pressing against Cora’s thick leather breastplate, the haze once again clouding his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I said. There was a spy in my house that night. I trust nothing that was uttered where that wretched poisoner could have overheard.”

He lifted his sword slightly, as if preparing to thrust.

“What about the wildflower meadow?” she rushed to say.

He paused. “What about it?”

“Do you remember when we used to have picnics on our secret cliff?” The memory played out in her mind as she said it. She hadn’t even remembered it until now. “Remember how we used to watch the meadow beneath the cliff and pretend it was home to faeries? We used to imagine we could leap from the ledge and land in another world. Another realm. You took me there after our parents died.” Mentioning her parents brought a lump rising in her throat. She searched his eyes, hoping to see the haze lift. It didn’t. Grief snagged her heart, and rage began to bloom there. Her voice quavered, growing louder, firmer, with every word she spoke next. “You told me it would be all right. That you’d always protect me. You said you’d never let anyone hurt me. You said that, Dimi. You promised.”

She no longer cared about the sword pressed over her chest, only the relief that came from uttering truths she’d let lie buried too long. “You asked me a question the night you found me next to Linette’s bedside. You said, What have you done ? I ask you the same, Dimetreus. What have you done? What have you done to us , to all that was left of our family? What have you done to our kingdom?”

“Enough!” he shouted. His torso heaved as he stared down at her, blinking furiously. “Enough,” he said again. His voice, his posture, his expression…everything began to deflate. His sword still stood between them, but his sword arm trembled. The haze…began to lift.

She extended her senses toward him, felt his conflict, his confusion. His dulled emotions seemed to slam up against invisible walls. She swallowed hard, willing her anger to abate as she brought her palms out in a placating gesture. “It’s all right—” Her words cut off as two shapes came barreling toward them. A pair of fighters on horseback locked in battle. The horse and soldier closest to them were wounded, the mount rearing back. Back. Edging dangerously near. “Dimi.”

“No,” he said, the word like a plea. “It can’t be…”

“Dimi!” She shouted his name and began scrambling back on her forearms, her brother’s sword no longer her greatest concern. She rolled onto her stomach, clawing at the earth to gain enough purchase to rise to her feet. The sound of hooves closed in, followed by a guttural neigh. A glance over her shoulder showed the wounded stallion bucking as his rider received a fatal blow. His rear hooves caught Dimetreus in the gut, sending him tumbling back. His head struck the earth. Cora was halfway to rising when the stallion bucked again. She ducked, covering her head, and caught a hoof in the shoulder instead. It sent her to the ground, several feet from where her brother lay unconscious. Perhaps even dead.

Another guttural sound came from the horse. The other soldier had opened the stallion’s throat. It fell back, its body plummeting straight toward Cora. She half ran, half crawled. But when the horse landed, her legs were pinned beneath it.

The ground was riddled with roots and vines, impeding Teryn’s progress along with the relentless reappearance of the wraiths. His one consolation was that the longer the battle went on, the slower the wraiths began to reanimate. It seemed there were limits to the duke’s magic. Or perhaps the wraiths’ patience in following his will was wearing thin.

Teryn was nearly out of breath, his brow slick with sweat, by the time he finally found Morkai. The mage stood upon Centerpointe Rock, locked in combat with two witches, a male and female. Both had tattoos like Cora’s and worked with roots the same way he’d seen others doing on the battlefield. Morkai parried every attack they threw his way, his moves swift and sure. The female sent roots crawling from the earth around the rock, snaking over the surface and weaving around his ankles while the male charged with a spear. Morkai broke free and parried the spear with his broadsword. With his dagger, he cut through the vines and kicked the tangled limbs free.

Another root erupted from the earth, this one large enough to make the ground tremble as it shot toward the rock. It wrapped around the mage’s middle and squeezed. Teryn saw the duke’s breastplate begin to warp. The male witch came in for another attack with his spear. With a mighty swing, Morkai hacked through the root with his sword. With his dagger, he severed the leather straps securing one side of his breastplate. He shrugged off the armor just as the witch swung out with his spear. The spearhead sliced open Morkai’s side, but the duke didn’t falter. He stepped forth and swung his sword in an arc.

And severed the man’s arm at the elbow.

“Roije!” the female witch called out. She ran to the injured man.

Morkai pursued them both, turning his back fully to Teryn.

Teryn raced the rest of the way to the rock, determined to plunge his sword into the duke’s back, straight through his ribs, his heart?—

Morkai turned around and parried Teryn’s attack.

“The new King of Menah,” Morkai said with a smirk. Now that they were face to face, Teryn could see the blood splattered over the mage’s face and neck. How many others had the duke killed? Teryn was vaguely aware of the unmoving shapes of other bodies strewn about the rock. He had a feeling most were soldiers from Menah or Selay.

“I appreciate you making things easy for me,” Morkai taunted. “After I kill you, I’ll kill your brother. Menah is as good as mine.”

Teryn’s blood boiled with rage, fueling his every move as he struggled to get under Morkai’s defenses. The mage fought with surprising skill and unnatural speed. Teryn knew the mage worked terrifying feats of blood sorcery, but he hadn’t expected him to fight like a trained soldier.

Teryn’s eyes stung as sweat dripped into them. He blinked the moisture away, swung his father’s sword. It clashed with Morkai’s dagger, but the force of Teryn’s swing was so hard it sent the mage’s weapon flying from his hand?—

A sharp pain struck Teryn’s ribs. He staggered back. Glancing down, he found a gash in the right side of his breastplate. Morkai may have been partially disarmed but he still held his broadsword. Thankfully, the wound didn’t appear terribly deep. Or was he simply in shock? Whatever the case, he gritted his teeth against the pain, set his feet, and strengthened his grip on his sword.

Morkai raised his empty palm.

To Teryn’s horror, streams of his blood began to float from his wound to dance through the air between him and the mage.

In a matter of seconds, the duke held a ball of Teryn’s blood in the palm of his hand.