Page 155 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“Where specifically outside Clearhill, you pungent ass.” Lavenia was growing increasingly impatient, and I didn’t blame her. I released him so he could speak.

“Near the shore.” Lavenia sighed, about to continue her line of questioning.

“That’s enough. Raj, if I rift us to the horizon toward Clearhill, will you be able to get me there?” He nodded slowly, an appraising look on his face. Olag made to move, and Thyra’s dagger was on his neck in a heartbeat. I decided not to risk anything when it came to him, and I closed my hand in a fist, suffocating him until he went limp, his enormous body a pile on the ground, heartbeat slow. I turned to Thyra.

“He’s all yours. Do what you think he deserves but show him no mercy.” She nodded, watching me with narrowed eyes, clearly suspicious of what I was about to say. “Raj and I are going to go get Elora. I don’t want to do it without Rain, but since he left . . . well, I have no choice.” The captain nodded, and I was surprised by his instant approval as he crossed the room to stand beside me.

“Your Majesty, I am your Second. I must go with you.” Thyra appeared stricken, torn between hurt and hesitance, glancing between Olag’s limp form and me.

“You’re my Second, Thyra. That means you obey me.” I shook my head stiffly, the motion shutting her argument off at the stem. I would not rob her of this revenge. “Come,” I nodded to Cyran. “I’ll lock you in a cell before we go, properly kidnapped.” The boy balked, his face falling as he took a step toward me.

“I have to help Elora. Please, Emma. I can help with my father.”

He looked as if he were about to cry, and I watched him for a moment, contemplating. King Dryul would have to leave this encounter dead. If he didn’t, his father would know Cyran had helped us, and the boy would be viewed as a traitor. It was a risk for him to join me. And his expression when he asked me, the way his voice cracked when he said her name, all of that told me he was being honest. If he didn’t love her yet, he was close. He was a child willing to risk his safety for her. A small part of me still felt I couldn’t trust him. Folterran royalty had never been known for their trustworthiness. A vision of her clinging to him in the illusion made me push that aside. She’d trusted him, and I’d seen love light up her eyes. She was young, and he could break her heart, but I’d recognized the look. It was the same look I gave her father.

“Alright, princeling, let’s go.”

Therewasnosignof Rain. He wasn’t in the field outside the fortress, wasn’t anywhere I could see, and I could barely feel his emotions at all. I was angry and worried. What if Declan had gotten the upper hand, and that man who burned bright, who destroyed me and put me back together, was dead or dying? Kingdoms and years and utter devastation. Is this what he unknowingly meant? Was this utter devastation?

The three of us stood on the battlement above the gate. I picked a tree on the horizon, hoping and praying to the gods I’d be able to form the rift. I didn’t want to push through the men who were still outside, fighting to the death in the field below us. It took me three tries before I was finally able to form something. Peering through, it appeared to be the right place, and Raj confirmed it, walking through first. Cyran and I followed. The sound of battle shifted to behind us rather than around us, and we started on a run toward the town and the shore.

“There, I see the crest.” Cyran pointed out a spot of red in a sea of brown tents where the Folterrans had camped the night before, waiting to give the Cascade the chance to surrender. It was a vast green field marred by tents and supplies, but I could see hints of life, flowers growing in between them. “Rift there and wait. I can go in and distract him while you two rip open a slit in the back. Once you get away, I’ll try to hold him off for as long as I can.”

My eyes narrowed on him; this child was willing to risk his father’s wrath for Elora? King Dryul was no stranger to filicide. It was death that waited for him if he tried to fight his father. “I think I’m distraction enough. You stay with Raj and get her out. I’m not leaving him alive, Cyran. Besides, you said he wanted to see me. Let’s give him what he wants. I don’t see any other soldiers, do you?” Though I didn’t hear any heartbeats aside from the two in the tent, Raj did a cursory sweep, assessing with his captain’s gaze before confirming what I’d said. I could tell Cyran wanted to argue with me, wanted to sacrifice himself or prove himself to Elora. It was a death wish, and I wouldn’t allow it. I wouldn’t allow the boy she might love to die in front of her. And I trusted the two of them to get her away safely before she could possibly witness what may happen to me.

But I wasn’t afraid. I was blessed by three of the gods. I’d seen Dryul’s strength, heard the rumors of his divinity, but I still had confidence mine was stronger, especially in his frail and deluded state. I had the absolute certainty my need for vengeance was stronger than anything he could do to me.

The rift spat us out on the side of the tent, and Cyran and Raj circled around to the back as I went straight to the entrance. I hesitated for a moment before I pushed through, almost blind.

“At least one of my sons still has respect enough for me to send you here. Was it Cyran? Declan didn’t seem inclined to wait.”

It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t going to adjust to the dark. I’d thought it was due to the red material of the tent, but I soon came to the conclusion it was dark because of his shadows. I couldn’t see a thing. I waited, not sure if my divinity could cut through and shed light upon us, but I listened for the voice, sounding eerily similar to King Soren’s.

“I’m here, what do you want?” I didn’t bother to pull out my sword, knowing his well of divinity was untouched. There would be no time or need for weapons. I heard a gasp toward the back of the tent and a muffled cry ofmamawhich made my heart soar and plummet at the same time.

“It seemed like an interesting bookend. I killed your sister, who we thought was the Beloved, so it only makes sense for me to kill you too.”

We acted at the same time. His shadows were twining, tightening on my body as my light exploded, burning the tent around us in a white blinding heat. I hadn’t intended for that outcome but knew it might make things easier for Raj and Cyran to get her out. Dryul laughed, a malevolent and vicious thing, as he sat down forcefully on a chair in the tent. I saw Elora, seated on a pillow with wrists fastened together, a chain made of obsidian wrapping them tightly. She had a rope holding her legs together and a cloth in her mouth. I felt the rage bubble up in me and wondered if Rain could feel it. Would it summon him?

I didn’t notice the men crouched low behind Elora until Dryul’s arm shot out, and shadows went flying, slamming Raj right in the chest. The captain fell to the ground, twitching, and I cried his name, hoping he was alright. Needing him to be alright. Listening for his heart, I knew it was still beating, and I hoped it would stay that way. I slowly approached the king, my hands raised and my divinity crackling between my outstretched palms, and I sent a burst of that fire toward him, though his shadows served almost as a prism, sending the white bursts of light in all directions, diluted. When Dryul looked at Cyran, his dry chuckle grew louder, even turning into a cough for a moment.

The tent was falling around us, pieces of cloth and leather falling down, and I used the wind, harnessing Rain’s ability as if it were second nature, to push it all at Dryul. More shadows poured out of him, wisping the debris away.

“My, you devious thing. This is the only time I haven’t doubted you’re mine.” The king watched his son with cold eyes as he laughed, echoes of a cough in the back of his throat. The son in question dove forward to Elora and began working on her bindings. She gazed at him like he’d arranged the stars into their constellations, especially for her. Hoping to catch Dryul off guard, I sent my light toward him, and it launched out of me like lightning. Gone was the holy fire, and in its place was a burning crackle that enveloped him.

Dryul projected shadows in response, and they dodged past my light. One wrapped around my throat and squeezed. I grabbed for it with my hand, stupidly, as I started gasping for air. Then my hand was glowing, lines of light erupting from my skin like scars. The white heat emanating from my fingertips touched the shadow, making it retreat, and I inhaled deeply before pointing my hand at Dryul, fingertips spread, and blew white-hot fire at him, like a dragon from a fairytale. His shadows encircled him, creating almost a black shell of protection covering his body. I groaned in frustration as I caught Cyran pulling the cloth out of Elora’s mouth. I chanced a look at her, my baby, my life, before she called out to me.

“Mama, watch out!”

Dryul was wrapped in his shell made of shadows, so I was confused when an arm gripped me around my neck, pulling me up, so the tips of my toes barely scraped the ground. I put my hand on the arm, light coming from my fingertips, and it went straight through, the shadow of a man disintegrating around me. I tripped as I dropped to the ground, but my attention was drawn back to the king as he rose from his chair, stumbling toward me, his shadows propelling him and giving him the appearance of floating. I pulled into the well of my divinity, trying to turn the dirt below us into some sort of rock I could launch at him, but I wasn’t there yet. I hadn’t had a chance to manipulate the earth, and it didn’t come to me as easily as the wind. The best I could do was make the ground rumble beneath us.

The moment I stopped, Dryul launched himself at me, his shadows propelling him forward. I was taken by surprise, not expecting him to move toward me so quickly, and I was barely able to grab my dagger from my thigh in time before I was pressed to the ground with the king’s body on top of mine. I heard Elora screaming at Cyran to let her go so they could help me, but he hadn’t gotten her wrists free yet. I was glad for it, I wanted her out of here. I didn’t want her risking herself to help me. Dryul’s sharpened fingernails dug into my throat, and I reached around, trying to bring my dagger down into his back. He was frail, skeletal, but I was aiming for his kidneys, trying to deal a killing blow. His shadows kept grabbing onto my wrist, keeping me from making contact. I felt my skin start to glow and heat emanated from me, pushing his shadows away. It was in my attempt to stab his back that I felt a sharp pain in my side, a deep searing ache telling me I’d been stabbed myself.

I vaguely heard Elora’s sobbing and Cyran’s comforting whispers as I reached up, trying to gouge the king’s eyes out. Not quite hitting the mark I wanted, I dragged my nails down his face, and the howl that came out of Dryul was animalistic and unearthly. The glow from my hands had faded, and I realized I couldn’t feel my divinity anymore. The hum stoppered and empty. It felt like I was in the cathedral again, that menacing building that suffocated and pulled, that repelled and nauseated. I tasted bile in my throat, and the pain in my side stung.

“I’m sorry.” Cyran’s voice was no longer a whisper but instead a loud commanding tone with just a hint of a crack in it as he pulled Elora to her feet. Barely holding Dryul at bay, I couldn’t focus. I saw her turn her head, gazing up at the boy in question, and I coughed, choking on the bile in my throat when the look on his face unnerved me.

“It’s alright, go! Get her out!” I pushed at the king, using my nails to dig into his neck.

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