Page 44 of The Enduring Universe (The Rages Trilogy #3)

AHILYA

Her reality condensed to shards of horror.

Iravan’s hands pressing her throat. Pain rippling through every inch of her body as if she were being flayed. A nightmarish realization that her husband was trajecting her.

Her visions collapsed, breaking into meaninglessness. She fought for breath, and though he was not crushing her throat yet, it was only a matter of seconds. She could tell by the trembling of his fingers.

Yet the danger was not in what his body was doing. The danger was his mind, which was dismantling her piece by piece.

Her bones crackled. Her skin was on fire. In the crashing depths of her consciousness, Ahilya saw Tariya shatter into ribbons, she watched Viana explode into thorns, and—

Blankness.

Everything s l o w e d for a dangerous, horrifying instant. She knew she would soon be no more.

In desperation, Ahilya fled completely to the vriksh. The forest shook at her scrambling arrival. Iravan followed her, for in her panic she had left the door to his mind open. Ahilya tried to banish him, but it was too late. She couldn’t drop the Etherium—this was the only place she could fight back. Iravan glowed with the everpower, stalking her as she ran. Her fear gave her speed and purchase, and the vriksh read her intention, attacking Iravan with branches slashing at his silvery face.

A whiplashing root curled around his waist, holding him back for several seconds. Ahilya exerted her will, and the root tightened, wrapping him head to toe so only the silver blaze of his eyes was visible. A stutter of hope escaped her mouth. His fingers loosened on her throat. She had control here, and she had learned the ways of the architects—

Iravan obliterated the roots, destroying the memories easily with the power of the yakshas blazing in him. He had never been able to control the Etherium, but with the visions collapsing and reality wobbling, the playing field was level. Within the Etherium now, neither of them had the upper hand.

Still, Ahilya fought.

She ducked under a branch, hurling will and intent at him haphazardly. More roots curled, and she saw leaves obscuring Iravan’s vision for long seconds before he conjured a whirlwind to sweep them away. The ground rose to stop him, trapping his feet, but he converted it into flowers and marched forward, his aloof expression never changing. She fled, wishing to hide, and a whole copse appeared out of nowhere between them, branches and thorns impaling him, but Iravan sliced through them in another soundless explosion. Ahilya heard humanity scream, and within them the Virohi. Panic seized her. She could not win. He was too practiced. He was an architect—more than an architect. He anticipated every move, every deflection.

Tattoos blazed on his skin, and Iravan curled his right hand into a fist. Ahilya cried out, pain gutting her, spreading through her limbs. She fell to the floor, but flipped immediately to her back, crawling away. He was almost there. Tears ran down her face. He looked nothing like her husband, with silver suffusing him, and in the dimness of the forest, he was a startling light, silver wings flowing from his shoulders in the form of massive falcon.

Iravan, she thought, desperately. Stop! This isn’t you. This isn’t you.

He reached for her, as she willed the tree to break him.