Page 70 of Of Blooming Embers
Gavrel spun at the sound of stomping boots, his sword slashingand clanking against another. A second guard jabbed his blade at him, and he lurched backward just in time, knocking his weapon off course.
Frozen by the combat, I watched his skirmish unfurl. The sense of impending doom skittered over my scalp. Like it had during the final Winnowing Trial.
From every corner I beheld, limbs and blades thrashed, flaming arrows whizzed overhead, and gleaming energy flashed.
A streak of russet caught my eye, and I glanced at my cousin as he spun gracefully, his staff sweeping around him in a wide arc.
A brutal grin spread over his teeth; I didn’t think I’d ever seen him as delighted. Another of Breena’s heated orbs slammed into the warrior Marek had smashed, and he scowled at her as the guard fell to his knees. She tossed him a jaunty smirk before twirling and slicing her curved blade through another opponent’s neck.
Rhaegar and Gavrel’s tattoos were brilliant shooting stars, tracing intricate patterns as they expertly swung and thrust their blazing weapons in combat.
Gavrel had once shared how these mystical symbols heightened their strength and agility, but witnessing their prowess in battle was another thing altogether. They moved with the swift precision and force of at least two or three warriors, effortlessly dodging and striking with otherworldly grace.
My halo sputtered around me, the patterns along my arms blinking. But I couldn’t feel it. Numbness saturated my very soul.
Fuck.
I wasuseless.
It was happening again.
Each clash of metal clanged against my skull.
Gavrel blocked and lunged, alternating between the two guards he was fighting. The first guard jabbed, and the commander swiped sideways, knocking the sword from the man’s hand. Gavrel rammed his boot into his stomach, and as the Draumr fell backward, Gavrel spun to the second guard just in time for his sword to clash against the other’s blade.
My ember sent a surge of heat through my spine, and I staggered on the planks, electricity zapping through my fingers and toes. Suddenly, I remembered how to move my limbs.
From my side, a guard rushed toward me. As I pivoted on the balls of my feet, I flung my arm out, my blade sinking into her neck.
With a look of stunned terror, she fell to her knees, and before her hands could clutch her split throat, I called my dagger back to me. Revulsion and pride burrowed into my chest as I spun to Gavrel in time to see him and the other warrior retreat from one another.
Before either could deal another blow, Gavrel dropped to one knee and drove his blade into the space beneath the other man’s ribs. Wide-eyed, the guard responded with a gurgling death rattle before crimson spilled from his mouth. Gavrel tugged his sword from the Draumr’s body.
Satisfaction scurried through me. I wasn’t sure if it was me or my ember, and I no longer cared. We were the same, weren’t we?
I called upon it, weaving a twisting orb between my fingers. At the buzzing caress, a smirk plucked at the corners of my mouth. The glow reflected in Gavrel’s eyes as he looked at me with pride.
There was movement behind Gavrel, and in the next moment, I lobbed the weaponized radiance over his shoulder. It was the guard he had kicked. The man’s broadsword clattered to the wood at Gavrel’s heels as my energy smeared over him, flashed outward, and contracted as if his body were absorbing the light.
With terrified eyes and mouth agape, his limbs flung out, and his back arched. With a final flash of brilliance, his form combusted. Ash and glittering mist were all that remained.
I cried out, horror and fascination lining my features. It was odd that killing someone with my ember was more distressing than doing so with a blade. I shoved the thought away as three guards froze in their tracks and whipped nervous looks toward me before scurrying in the other direction.
Good. I was a bloody monster.
As Gavrel gathered me in his arms, I choked on my words. “He … he was going to … going to kill you.”
“I know, Little Star. Breathe. It had to be done.” He kissed the top of my head as I set my jaw, nodding, finding the truth in his explanation.
We turned, arms around each other’s waists. The battle roared, and fire licked at the wooden bones of the city. A deep rage boiled within my belly at the sight.
The city burned like a field of scorching wheat, the smell of charred wood and flesh sinking into my lungs. My eyes darted between the blazing infernos and my kin as they fought against the Elders’ legion of warriors and enforcers. Yellowish putrescence pulsed behind each Akridai’s neck hieroglyph, making it look as if a plague of inky locusts was swarming Helos.
People—the Ravens—were who mattered.
People could rebuild cities from the ashes and lift one another after the fall. And they’d rather raze Helos to the muck than let the Elders take their home.
My home.
