Page 53 of Vicious Is My Throne

I dug for that memory, peered into the deepest parts of myself, but only darkness peered back.

“This world will never be free so long as Corvus and the Oracle exist,” I begged, torn between leaving the sword behind and going to save our friends.

“This cycle will repeat itself, over and over again, until there is nothing left. If the knife…the Aetherial can stop them, then let me wield it. Let me try to stop them.”

Ophelia’s eyes raked over me, her smile matching her brother’s. “After meeting the Oracle in the flesh…you’re too weak for this task. We would be better served to choose a new champion.”

“There is no time,” I hissed, temper snapping. “If she is free, we are all going to die.”

Tristan shifted behind me, close enough our bodies brushed. Close enough to snatch me up and transform to fly me to safety. But for those precious seconds, he’d be vulnerable, and if my magic failed for even an instant, if these two managed to overpower us…

“What price do you want for the knife?” I looked at the untouched, deserted village around us, the leering gargoyles overhead. “Surely you can’t mean to stay here. We could get you out. Take you south to safety.”

Providing we survived what waited for us at the palace.

“Anaria,” Tristan hissed. “We have to go.”

“It is not for me to demand payment for such a weapon. The Aetherial commands a high cost of those who dare wield it.” Ophelia’s sour expression told me I didn’t quite live up to those expectations. “That is price enough.”

“Then give it to us and let us be gone.” Tristan’s demand tore through me, every bit of pretense stripped from his voice, leaving only raw terror. “These games are…” His words trailed off, blood draining from his face as the siblings attacked.

Magic cleaved the air apart, an onslaught that would have—should have—decimated us both.

But I was ready.

Power swelled inside me like a symphony, blowing Ophelia and Gideon through the open doors and flattening them against the far wall, shock written on their bloodless faces, their magic locked down beneath a layer of my own, vicious and unyielding, no matter how hard they fought.

“These games were a distraction while the Oracle breached the palace. Find the knife,” I ordered softly, stopping Tristan with a hand banded around his wrist. “Not you. Them.”

I pictured the knife in my head, held out my hand, palm up, and sent liquid shadows slithering across the floor like living ink, fanning out in all directions, the temperature inside the room plunging. “Find this knife called the Aetherial. Bring it to me.”

Gideon and Ophelia’s eyes flared. In fear or surprise or both, I didn’t care. Tracking the shadows as they disappeared into the building and tangled around each other in their haste to obey my request.

I felt lighter without them, as if shadow and magic carried a great weight. I blew out a long breath and watched Tristan tuck the vial of blood back into his pocket before he stepped beside me.

“You could have survived this.” My voice rang through the cavernous room, lined with torches, a fire burning in the great hearth. “We would have carried you to safety, you could have joined the rest of your coven, but that is not how today will end for you two.”

“You’re too soft to allow us to die,” Gideon sneered. “A little girl pretending does not a queen make.”

“Who says I’m pretending?” I stepped closer, the strong smell of burning pitch and smoldering wood filling my nostrils. “You only know me by the name I was given at birth. But I have another. One that is far older. Amalla.”

Gideon’s malicious glower faltered; Ophelia’s eyes widened. “I did not come to this world for conquest. I came because my sister dragged me through a portal and trapped us here. And I never lied. My sister betrayed us. But this ends now. I will use your weapon to free this world.”

“You are not strong enough to bear such a weapon. Not since its forging has anyone been strong enough to bear the Aetherial. The weapon demands too much magic, too much strength of will.” Spittle gathered at the corners of Gideon’s mouth, his eyes blazing with malice. “Merely touching that blade will kill you. Nor will you discover where it is…”

The shadows spun back into the room, eagerly bearing a silver box like an offering.

“…hidden,” Gideon finished lamely, eyes bulging out of his head.

“Thank you, my lovelies.” I reached down and stroked my fingers over the sea of frozen shadows writhing at my feet. They quaked in pleasure, lifting the box up into my waiting hands.

My breath caught when I flipped open the lid, the silver knife—smaller than I’d expected—gleaming softly beneath the flickering torches. The engravings on the handle glowed softly, not reflections, but with some inner light.

“Let’s go. We got what we came here for.”

“What should we do with them?” Tristan asked, not a flicker of warmth on his face.

“We’re leaving you here.” I spoke directly to Ophelia because fuck Gideon and his sneering arrogance. “I hope your wards hold out long enough for me to stop this blight. If they fail…” I shrugged. “Maybe the Oracle will swing back through and save you, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

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