Page 61 of Wild Reverence

XLIII

Come Closer

MATILDA

We were trapped on the tower’s roof.

We could not stay here, exposed and cut off from the fortress. I needed to get us back to the safety of Maiden Tower, but I did not draw my sword. Not yet, I thought, keeping my shield upright before me, protecting my heart, my throat.

“Behind me!” I ordered Nathaniel. He gripped the hilt of his sword, but his eyes were wide, his breaths were skipping in fear as he realized our predicament.

He submitted, remaining on my heels. Archers continued to shoot from above, falling into step behind us as we began to make our way down the stairs. My heart was in my throat as I listened to screams echo off the stone walls.

Grimald’s warriors poured through the breached gate. They swarmed Fury Tower like they were the river, flooding it step by step. All too soon they met us on the stairwell, the firelight glancing off their armor, their bloodstained swords.

I gathered all my strength and swung my shield, blowing warriors clean off their feet.

I swung again and watched as they smashed into walls, their armor caving from the force.

They tumbled down the stairs, falling like wheat beneath the scythe of my buckler.

I cut them down, took a step, cut them down, took another step.

My strength was a wildfire, gaining fuel until it burned so fierce within me that it felt as if my ichor was boiling.

That if my veins were cut, I would spill steaming gold over the stones, scalding anyone who dared to touch me.

It crossed my mind, swift as a star falling from the sky, that I had never fought like this before.

It felt as if I had just woken from a very long slumber. As if I had just caught my reflection in a mirror, shocked to find it had changed. I did not look how I remembered.

But even with my divine strength and fury, I realized that I would soon tire. Our painstaking progress to reach the bridge made my mind whirl. We were trapped in Fury Tower, woefully outnumbered. And no matter how many of the baron’s men I pushed down the stairs, more emerged from the shadows.

“Keep going, sister,” Nathaniel panted behind me, desperate. “We need to reach Maiden Tower.”

His words propelled me forward; I swung my shield again and again until one of the baron’s men learned my movements and took a cut at me with his sword.

The steel caught me in the thigh, just below my glitter of chainmail.

I did not feel the blade’s sting; I only felt my ichor begin to flow, dripping down my skin.

The air grew sweet with my blood, like flowers crushed underfoot. Teeth bared, I knocked the soldier off-balance, but more continued to surge, pushing us back up to the top steps of the tower.

My breath was sharp, my heart pounding when I felt the stones around me rumble. The firelight in the sconces wavered. Mortar and dust rained down, settling on our helms, our shoulders.

The air suddenly tasted like cold salt, as if I had run my tongue over a tide-soaked rock.

“What was that?” one of the archers behind me asked.

I was not certain, but I kept my eyes on the stairwell, surprised when the baron’s men ceased climbing the stairs. A lag had come, despite the cacophony of battle that continued to echo up to us.

“We should go!” Nathaniel said, eager. “The path is clear.”

I held up my hand, stopping him.

“ Wait, ” I said. My eyes continued to search the stairwell’s dusty shadows, the rings of torchlight.

Nathaniel heeded me, although I could sense his impatience.

He stood so close I could feel his warmth; I could hear the ragged pull of his breaths, how fear made his lungs small.

But I did not take a step lower. Not yet, my heart pounded.

Gooseflesh rippled down my arms as I continued to hold my shield in place, waiting for the worst to meet us on the stairs.

I should draw my sword, I thought. A loose thought that rattled like a pebble in my mind.

The air went colder still.

I continued to wait for the worst, my eyes fixed upon the wavering shadows.

“ Matilda, ” Nathaniel demanded, but his voice was distant, as if he stood in one realm, and I stood in another.

Someone was ascending the stairs. I could feel the strength of their footsteps, how the tower quaked with them. This was no mortal but a god coming, and I braced myself, my heart throbbing. I had not known fear until this moment, and it made me tremble just as the stones did.

My breath became smoke in the chilled air.

My blood continued to drip down my leg, sweet as honey, my wound slow to heal.

And from the shadows emerged none other than Bade, his red cloak torn at the edges, his face splattered in mortal blood. He stopped five steps down from me, scowling.

“Where is your sword?” he said.

My relief was so sharp I could not speak. I merely stared at him as he stared at me, and I resisted the temptation to throw myself into his arms. Instead, I wordlessly drew my sword. It flashed in my hand, and he grunted.

“Come,” he said. “You are all sitting ducks here.”

We followed him, and I could only wonder how he had awoken, if it had been my peril that had stirred him.

At the bottom of the stairwell, we stepped into a hazy world of steel, clashing swords, and blood-slick stone.

Smoke was rising in languid tendrils from the fallen gate, and I did a quick survey of the path to Maiden Bridge.

Its portcullis had also disintegrated beneath Warin’s magic, and the baron’s forces were working their way to its vulnerable gate, the battering ram in tow.

They should have claimed the middle tower by now, but the Wyndrift knights had formed their own shield wall on the bridge, holding the line.

I fought at Bade’s side, and the world seemed to warp around him. He was a windstorm, a frenzy, and yet I sensed he was still holding the fiercest portion of his strength in reserve, keeping his eye on me always. We carved a path across the bridge toward Maiden, Nathaniel remaining in my shadow.

We fell into a strange dance—four steps forward and then halt. A clash with footmen in leather armor or knights clad in steel armor and chainmail. Then another four steps, only to halt and parry, halt and cut.

I was covering Nathaniel’s back when I felt a jar against my own. It nearly knocked me off-balance, and I lifted my hand to discover a mace had struck me, its spiked head piercing me through the chainmail.

My breath went shallow; my sinister arm tingled.

I turned to see a knight watching me through his helm, as if he had amazed himself by wounding me. Blood stained his breastplate; it dripped from his gauntlets. There was a splatter of gold on the steel. My blood, I realized, distantly.

He was reaching for a discarded sword, preparing to hit me again, when I swung my shield around. I struck him in the face with such brutal force that his helm crumpled. He let out a ragged cry. A second blow and he went down, trampled underfoot as another wave of the baron’s men surged.

I felt a painful pinch and then a shiver of relief as the mace was jerked away from my shoulder. Before I could stand upright, a hand had closed over my arm, holding me steady.

“Stay close to me,” Bade snapped as he hurled the mace over the side of the bridge. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments; his face was furrowed with a savagery I had never seen before.

“Nathaniel,” I said, my voice wispy.

A current of warriors had come between us. I pulled from Bade’s hold— he followed me instantly with a dissatisfied sound—and darted through the fray until I reached Nathaniel’s side again.

We pushed toward Maiden Tower.

Arrows fell like rain. Some of them shone with oil, their shafts lit with fire, and soon patches of flame began to lick along the ground. The air smelled of contradictions, a mix of mortal blood and magic. I drew a haggard inhale, tasting rust and lilies, shorn grass and burning hair.

I could have choked on it; I did not know how Bade could thrive in such conditions, but he was vivid, his power luminous, as the fighting intensified. And yet there was no pleasure within him; there was an anger, a sadness, a weariness in his stance.

I noticed because I knew him better than most.

He had come for me, but only because of his salt vow.

He did not desire to be here. He took no joy in cutting down mortal men. Not as he once had.

What had wrought this change in him?

I swallowed, but something hung in my throat. Tears, guilt, my own fury—I was not certain what, but I focused on my task of keeping Nathaniel safe. We stepped through screams and flickers of fire, over dead bodies and rocks and weeping men.

The world was a tangled mess; my eyes smarted from the smoke.

For a moment, I could not tell which warriors were ours and which were the baron’s. The colors seemed to smudge and blur. I had my sword, but I preferred to make a path forward with my shield.

Men collapsed in my wake, stunned and breathless, emitting cries that made the hair rise on my arms. But I did not stop. Not until the wind suddenly changed its course, snaring my attention.

I lifted my eyes.

Shale, I thought, my heart leaping. He had come at last to aid me—or so I thought until I felt the merciless cold bite within the gale.

The sun began to dim, like a veil of dirty clouds had draped over it. The scent of rot became overpowering. Decay and dark places and damp stone that had never seen the light of moon or stars.

It was the rogue eithral. She gleamed like a distant jewel in the sky. A white blot against the tapestry of blue, flying directly for the bridge.

From the highest tower in the fortress, a warning bell began to toll.

My mind went quiet in awe before it flickered with dangerous possibilities. My blood stirred, but it was not with fear or dread but something darker.

“Oh gods,” Nathaniel panted. His eyes widened, his sword lowering as he saw the wyvern’s approach. I could nearly read his thoughts: How would we fight another foe? One made of wings and talons and shining teeth?

Bade also had gone still, his jaw clenching. I touched his arm, drawing his attention back to me.

“Protect Nathaniel,” I said, my voice low, hoarse.

His frown intensified. “Where are you going?”

“Stay with him,” I insisted.

Before Bade could protest, I slithered my way forward through the throng.

He called for me, my name sharp in the air.

To anyone else, he would have sounded furious, but I heard his fear.

It cut into me like ice. He did not want to lose sight of me, but I did not have time to reassure him, to look behind.

I made my way to the knights’ shield wall and slipped through it.

Maiden Tower loomed before me, hazy in the smoky light.

I ran to it, keeping my eyes on the sky and the eithral’s steady approach, counting the beats of my heart.

Into the tower shadows I went, brushing shoulders with archers and warriors preparing their defense.

I raced up the curling stairwell, my breath burning like flame when I reached the roof of the tower.

Archers were stationed here, their eyes also on the new terror of the sky.

They were hunched in their armor, watching the eithral’s approach, preparing to shoot.

Their arrows would do nothing. They could not fight this beast with flint and fire, and I realized the moment I needed was imminent. The eithral was so close I could feel the churn of the wind beneath her wings. I had one fleeting, precarious moment to make contact, and I needed to be alone.

“Leave me here,” I commanded.

The archers turned to look at me, at last noticing my presence. They hesitated, frozen, watching my hair whip in the wind, my chainmail drenched crimson with mortal blood. I sheathed my sword and my shield. I removed my helm.

“ Go! ” I called again, harsher, and they scattered like chaff in the breeze, running to the stairwell until I was the only one standing on the roof of Maiden Tower.

Alone, I walked to the parapet’s edge, drawing cold air through my teeth. I stood and waited for the beast. The eithral continued its approach, wings scintillating in the light. The gusts churned fouler, icier as she soared closer.

I did not move.

I kept my eyes fixed upon her, my magic slipping from me as a plea, a whisper.

Come closer.

I had never dared to do this. I had never risked the Skyward secret in such a bold way. But I would do it for him. I would do it for Vincent, and his brother, and the innocents who dwelled here. For their home on the river. For the prayer I had never answered.

Come closer.

The eithral continued to fly, and whether she was drawn to the shining rapids of the river, or the chaos on the bridge, or the proud height of the towers, or my whisper of magic… I would never know.

But I waited for the perfect moment. The moment when the eithral’s shadow was about to spill over me, the wind from her wings snarling my hair, driving me to my knees.

When she was close enough that I could see the iridescence of her scales.

How they boasted every color beneath the sun.

How they mirrored the luster of every gemstone.

Lend me your sight?

I held my breath as the eithral’s crimson eyes met my gaze. Her body roiled in the air above me, slithering gracefully, like a snake amongst clouds.

Lend me your sight?

I asked a second time. There was a moment of immense silence, so heavy I felt like I was drowning.

As if my lungs had collapsed, and I could not draw air.

But then the tempest within me silenced.

I felt decay sting the back of my throat; I felt weight gather in my bones as if they had been pulled longer, stronger.

I exhaled, and felt my skin grow calloused and cold, covered with scales hard as iron that could never be melted.

I blinked, disoriented, as if I had just been borne into the sky. But then the world undulated beneath me. It came into sharp relief, brilliantly detailed. Brimming with colors I had never seen.

I saw the world through the eithral’s eyes.