Page 153 of Vicious Is My Throne

65

RAZIEL

We all felt better once the box was retrieved and we ensured the knife and the amulet were both intact.

Bexley went back to puttering, stopping every so often to listen, though he was now a part of this, so I didn’t get the need for sneaking around.

“I lost the keystone.” Anaria’s shoulders sagged. She was on Zor’s lap now, his wings folded protectively around her, a fact I found worrisome, given they were sharp as knives, but she didn’t seem to mind, running her fingers through them while Zor beamed.

“As it turns out, that one belonged to the Oracle, just another one of her little games to fuck with me. Typical.” She slanted me a look, pouting slightly. “So I have neither a fancy box nor a magical stone of power like the rest of you.”

“Bex.” The mage’s head instantly snapped up. “Did you bring the other stone? The loose one?”

“I barely got yours in time before you were devoured alive by those…things,” he muttered tartly. “No, I did not bring any extras. Sorry to disappoint.”

“What about this new magic?” Anaria asked. “Can I still use the knife?” She hadn’t moved to touch the weapon, and since the damn thing would pretty much kill the rest of us, that lid had remained closed. There was a collective intake of breath when Bexley, of all people, flipped the box open.

“You have all the magic you need to kill Corvus. As for the weapon, pick it up and see.” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Maybe it was my imagination, but the mage was acting…off.

Guilty, almost.

“Are you sure?” I asked, doubts raising their ugly heads over his increasingly odd behavior.

“Pick up the weapon, Anaria. Remember our exercise with the flame?” Bexley smiled faintly when she nodded, sliding off Zor’s lap. “This is the same thing. You need to train yourself to use the blade, become a conduit to the magic instead of fighting the effects.”

I was lunging forward, a shout of warning on my tongue, when Anaria’s pale, delicate hand wrapped around that ancient handle. Her expression changed the second she touched the metal, like a shutter had been drawn. All traces of softness melted away, leaving her face a blank mask.

But within that stony coldness, her eyes burned. Defiant. Raging.

“It’s…it’s…”

I was still staring when I doubled over from a brutal, demanding yank beneath my heart. Like someone had dug their hand between my ribs, grabbed a fistful of muscle, and twisted. I wasn’t the only one. Tavion gasped, Zorander groaned, Tristan sucked in a ragged breath.

Power whipped around the room like a raging wildfire, igniting us each in turn, Anaria’s newly forged magic fueling that spark at our core like a match to dry tinder, and we burned at the command of our queen.

Like some avenging spirit of old, Anaria hoisted the knife over her head, white hair tangled around her beautiful face, dressed in a blood-splattered shirt, her legs bare, and never had I beheld such indominable power.

My legs shook, everything inside me demanding I fall to my knees and bow.

A brilliant aura of pure, undiluted magic glowed around her, so blindingly bright that I blinked the scene back into focus, finally seeing what I’d missed before.

A star hung suspended in the empty place within the blade, gleaming with the same iridescent light spilling out of Anaria.

Blaring in power, the star exploded through the shredded room, plaster and wood sundering around us. I tasted blood. We all did, a rivulet of red tracking down Zor’s face. Tavion’s.

Tristan was doubled over, panting, shuddering beneath the onslaught.

Hang on, her voice echoed in my head. Hang on a little longer.

Oh gods. This punishing onslaught wasn’t meant for our mortal bodies to withstand. Wasn’t meant for flesh and bone to hold. This was like trying to cup a thunderstorm in your palms. Impossible.

But then Anaria lowered her hand, the weapon winking out. The storm passed, leaving a kernel of raw power burning at my center. Not hot, this fire burned glacially cold like the center of a dying universe.

Like our old, lifeless world we’d left behind, nothing but a barren rock.

I didn’t know where the thought came from, only that I knew it was true.

“The knife was never the weapon,” Bexley murmured, carefully setting down the books. “Anaria is. You are. Your magic is the catalyst; she’s the conduit, channeling all your powers to form that star of pure magic and become the spear that slays the monster.”

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