Page 153 of Between Wrath and Mercy

Declan rambled on, casually leaning against the wall of the battlement as he held Thyra by the braid, talking about what would happen once he killed me, how he would be the one to fulfill the prophecy. I didn’t care about the gods forsaken prophecy, if he was the one it spoke of or not. Accursed or not, he’d want to kill me either way, so I needed to be smart. I stared between the two men at a loss. And then Declan’s sword, the sword that called to me, that sang a song and filled a void, that same great and dreadful sword lifted to Thyra’s neck, and he issued a command.

“Take your dagger out, and slit your own throat.Now.”

Thyra’s eyes were wild and frenzied, horror crossing her features when she saw me reach for the blade. I couldn’t let her die. I wouldn’t look at my protector, my friend, my training companion, as the life ebbed from her eyes. I lifted the dagger to my throat and saw Cyran’s eyes widen in a panic, begging me not to do it. And I decided to trust my instincts, trustElora’sinstincts. To trust this prince, who I only hoped loved her as much as I thought he did.

Not sure if it would work, I grasped my dagger by the blade and tossed it, sending it flying end over end toward Cyran, toward the ground at his feet. At the same time, I sent the last of my divinity toward Declan, a white burst of light and heat making him and Thyra fall to the ground. I had hoped in the frenzy of the distraction, Cyran would use his sword against his brother, or somehow free Thyra from his grasp.

Cyran scrambled for the dagger, but Declan was already standing, brushing his pants off.

“Did she miss you, brother?” I didn’t have a chance to hear Cyran’s reaction before shadows were shooting at me, and I was defenseless. Cyran held my dagger, staring between me and his brother, and I realized I’d forgotten one, simple thing.

Blood.

Whether Cyran wanted to see his brother fall or thought he was morally incapable of good, Cyran couldn’t be the one to kill him. No matter how much love he might have for my daughter, how much pity he might have for me, Declan was his blood, his brother. It was too much to ask, and I’d miscalculated. It was when my arms and legs were moving of their own accord, the shadows latched around my ankles and wrists, around my neck, around my waist, that I finally realized what was happening. I was a puppet, a marionette on Declan’s strings. I reached for my divinity, that empty well of power, and found nothing. If only I could reach my white-hot light and bring it to the surface, surely the shadows would fall away. I frantically searched the bond, grasping at Rain’s divinity, attempting to utilize it somehow, but it was just out of reach if it was there at all. I was climbing the parapet, facing the dark, deep water, unable to even look down below me, fully controlled by the shadows detaining me. Just before I stepped off the ledge, I heard the rift. Rain was too late. His shout tore through me as I jumped. I didn’t feel fear at first, the sensation almost like flying. But when I plunged down, down, down to the flaming platform floating on the surface of the water the terror flooded my veins. If the wooden bottom didn’t break the moment I hit it, sending me into the inky black drink below, I’d break bones and be unable to heal, my divinity completely tapped.

When I hit the platform, it was sturdy. It hadn’t burned yet. And it was for that reason I was able to hear the startling crack as the back of my head slammed into the wood. Seeing stars and barely breathing, I lay there. I felt the pure pain and anger coming down the bond, and I heard Rain’s roar. I couldn’t feel my divinity, but I hoped maybe I had a small amount. Just maybe I’d be able to heal myself. I reached for that well again, finding it empty once more, not enough of Rain’s to risk taking from him. I didn’t sit up, worried my skull was fractured or my neck broken.

I was in and out of consciousness, unaware of how long I laid there before one of the rungs from the platform shifted and fell down into the hollow where I lay. I looked up, staring at the small square of blue above where the sky peeked through when the man bent over me.

The bronzed man, handsome and scarred, terrifying and strong, bent over me and studied me. Where had he come from?

“Whose side are you on?” I murmured, almost hoping for a mercenary, hoping he would end my misery sooner, rather than one of my soldiers risking themselves to rescue me. The idea of someone pulling me out and dragging me up the platform was not an appealing one. He chuckled, though, crow’s feet wrinkling at his eyes.

“I haven’t decided yet. You’re definitely making it interesting, little one.”

And then he pushed two fingers to my forehead, and I heard a voice in my mind.

Get up.

I blinked, and he was gone. As was my pain. The thrum of my divinity was back, stronger than ever. I reached into the well of power, and I realized with a start that it was significantly deeper than it had been. I offered up a silent prayer, closing my eyes and breathing deep, understanding with an unsurprising surety who had just saved me and blessed me with an unfathomable gift. Hanwen had turned the tides, granting me unimaginable access to my divinity.

I slowly stood, and I delicately examined the back of my head, right where the braids ended and my hair hung down freely, feeling blood on my fingertips. There was no wound, but my hair was wet and sticky, matting together. Another rung broke free from the platform above me, the fire-covered beam coming dangerously close to my head. I was going to have to climb out of here, climb through the fire. I set my jaw and shimmied through a gap in the side, carefully tiptoeing the edge of the platform while keeping my hands out of the fire.

“My queen!” It was Thyra’s voice, shrieking from the battlement. I called out, unsure if she’d even be able to hear me as I started climbing, carefully choosing the placement of my hands. With the well of my divinity full again, I considered trying to put the fire out with the water below us, but I was scared to use it, wanting to save it for fighting Declan if it was needed. I didn’t know exactly how deep that well went, but I didn’t want to find out if I could avoid it. Thyra called for me again, and I bellowed at the top of my lungs, hoping she’d know I was alright, that she’d tell Rain somehow. The desperation and rage coming from our bond told me that he might not know I was alright or even alive. I hadn’t felt him the entire time I’d been at odds with Declan, and I wondered if we were distracted or overcome, we wouldn’t be able to sense each other. I struggled to control my emotions, trying to let my love flow through me to him, but it was laced with so much fear, so much worry that he would fall to Declan, that I was afraid it could have been confused for the dying thoughts of a woman who loved him. A moment after I yelled, I nearly lost my footing at the cool sensation of relief flooding through me from Rain.

A loud thump above me shook the entire platform, threatening to splinter it into ashes. Looking up, I saw Raj, bleeding from his ear and the wound on his chest, but alive. Conscious. He laid down and held his hand out, reaching for me.

“Can you put out the fire?” He called down to me, and I noticed his arm being licked by the flames, and I grimaced, not wanting him to get hurt for me. I picked up my pace and focused, willing the air to leave the fire, to suffocate it. I thought it might keep it a bit safer for me to climb than just dousing it. The water on the charred wood would make it soggy and slick. I kept climbing and was disappointed the flames didn’t snuff, but I did notice they were smaller, at least. Easier to avoid.

Finally, I reached the captain’s hand, and he pulled me onto the platform before turning back to the ladders leaning up against the battlement. I saw Rain then, a flurry of movement, and the clang of his sword told me they weren’t fighting with their divinity. Relief soared through me, knowing Declan’s divinity was almost as strong, maybe stronger than mine. Though I knew his shadows came from Ciarden, I wondered if the god had perhaps bestowed a more formidable blessing upon him as well. If he was fighting Rain with his sword, maybe he’d drained himself of his divinity. I saw the golden-blond head turn toward me, and I ducked, pushing myself behind Raj, hoping Declan wouldn’t see me, hoping he’d be distracted enough for Rain to get a maiming blow.

I saw Thyra then, struggling to stand against the wall, but with her arm wrapped brutally around Cyran’s neck. She knew about his role in our plan, his supposed alliance, and his feelings for Elora. I was confident she wasn’t actually hurting him, but I was glad for her to keep up the ruse for Declan. Even if Cyran had betrayed us, I needed to be sure before doing anything to him. I watched, frozen, unsure of what to do. To stay on the platform would be catastrophic if the flames continued, but to climb up might distract Rain.

Declan decided for us when he faltered, spotting me standing tall on the platform to his left. And that’s when Rain acted. He threw open a rift behind Declan and tackled him into it, letting it close behind him. I screamed his name and started scrambling up the ladder, my body moving into action before my mind even comprehended what he’d done. I had no idea where he’d gone. I knew he did it for me. He wanted Declan as far from me as possible, and he might have just gone to his execution for it. If Declan was god-blessed by Ciarden as I suspected, who knew if Hanwen would help him too? He seemed to think he was the Accursed. Had he already been blessed by Hanwen? His divinity might come back stronger and faster than Rain’s, and then he’d be dead.

That gods damn stubborn, stupid, stupid man.

I clambered over the wall and screamed, sending all my rage and terror through the bond. Let him feel. Let him know if Declan didn’t kill him, I would.

Thyra released her hold on Cyran as I rounded on her. “Did you see where the rift opened?”

She shook her head, and the grief tore through me. My heart was pounding, and breathing was a struggle. I was going to lose them both today; I was certain of it. I might never even find Elora. Cyran slid down to the ground, his back to the wall with his head in one hand, the other braced on the floor next to him. In that moment, I didn’t care if he was practically a child; a child with an evil brother, a child who might have seen untold violence and terror, a child who might have loved my daughter. Declan’s words rang through my ears, telling me that using Elora as bait was his idea. If Declan had known Elora wasn’t the Beloved, had Cyran known? I didn’t care if he was innocent. I didn’t care about anything but the truth.

I took a few steps forward, crushing his hand under my boot, pushing down as hard as I could as I leaned forward. To his credit, he didn’t cry out, just bit back the pain with a grimace. But I wanted him weak. I wanted him sniveling. I wanted him to have a reason to fear me because I was dangerous—wild and on edge. I gathered my hand into a fist and pulled the air from his lungs. The hand that wasn’t under my foot went up to his throat, and his eyes were panicked when I spoke, low and deadly.

“Talk. Did you lure me here? Did you know she wasn’t the Beloved?” I released the hold on his air, and he took a deep gasping breath, glaring at me with watery eyes.

“He told me Elora wasn’t the Beloved the morning after the last illusion. He told Ismene before, but she couldn’t tell me. He made her swear a fucking verit oath, so she couldn’t outright say anything. I did give him the idea to lure you here because that wasour plan. I didn’t know you were—”

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