Page 93 of Her Cruel Redemption

The storm bent to my will, the wind howling in my ears, the scent of burning wood and scorched flesh thick in the air. But it wasn’tenough. The power inside me surged, wild and insatiable, demanding more.

Lightning coiled at my fingertips. Magic crackled in my bones.Let it all burn.

A shadow moved through the rain. Heavy boots, sword raised.

Goras.

Not retreating. Not pleading. Advancing.

I tilted my head, barely recognising him through the haze of power. My magic pulsed, demanding violence, but he didn’t waver. He knew what I was now.

And he’d come to stop me.

He lunged. Faster than I expected for someone his size. His blade sang through the air, cutting straight for me.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate.

Lightning erupted from my hands.

It caught him mid-stride, slamming into him and sending him sprawling. The air stank of ozone and charred leather. He groaned, struggling to rise, but I was already moving, stalking toward him, magic licking at my skin like living flame.

He lifted his head, eyes hazy with pain but still fierce. Stilldefiant.

‘You’re a damn fool,’ he gritted out. ‘You’ll kill us all!’

I bared my teeth. ‘And you’redead.’

I raised my hands, the storm answering, thunder cracking overhead—

And then Daethie was there.

She stepped between us, arms outstretched, small and pale andin my way. The wind tore at her hair as she looked up at me. ‘Rhiandra,’ she cried. ‘Stop! This isn’t who you were meant to be!’

The words arrested me. An echo of Baba Yaga's voice simmered in my memory.Do not say I did not warn you.

My hands trembled. The lightning sputtered.

Daethie didn’t move. Rain streaked down her face, but her eyes were clear, steady. Begging me to see what I was becoming.

Goras coughed, struggling to push himself up as the magic inside me twisted and soured. The storm wavered, wind faltering, the firelight flickering in the rain. My breath was ragged, my pulse thundering.

I staggered back.No. No, no, no.

I spun before the truth could settle. Before I could see it reflected in their eyes. Before I could face the thing clawing at my insides, screaming its rage. I was doing this for all of us! I was going to win, and then everything would be clear, would make sense. Winning would make it all worth it. It had to.

Because if I stopped, if I let myself feel the weight of everything I’d done, it would crush me. If I let go of the fight, then I would have to reckon with the truth—that I had been the villain in someone else’s story, that I had made choices I couldn’t take back. And I couldn’t live with that.

So I had to keep going. I had to win to save myself. I had to defeat Draven because if I could, if I could break him, then maybe I could break whatever hold he had on me. Maybe I could carve him out of me like a sickness, and I would finally be free.

Something caught my attention on the water. Some of the ships out in the harbour were moving. The flames were guttering in sections, failing to catch at the sturdy hulls of the vessels pushing through. There were places where there was no flame at all, where the water was still black. The ships wouldescape. They’d slip through the mouth of the harbour and be safe. The wind was rising, tearing at me, and the rumbling, writhing storm above demanded satiation. Those ships weremine.They weren’t going to escapeme.

‘You can’t reach them,’ Daethie called. She had to call it. Because I was already moving.

My gaze tracked a ship as it soared past the island in the harbor, the lighthouse perched there momentarily lighting it up, and my feet were already moving, as though I was drawn towards it, magic singing that same anthem through my body.

Strike strike strike.

Because there was a bridge to that lighthouse. And I maybe I couldn’t reach the rest of the ships from here. But IbetI could reach them from there.

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