Page 12 of The War of Wings
No more thinking. No more worrying.
I held my sword to my face again, staring into the glow of the rubies. That crimson light stoked my fury, the hum reverberating through me. Even though I had no form, no body, I felt it in every single one of my bones. With my blade in one fist and the other clenched at my side, I stalked forward. Back toward the light, toward my one pathway to get to Petra. My shoulders were tense, my jaw tight as sheer determination roiled through me.
“You can’t do it,” the Occulti jeered. “You’ll never get to her. You’ll spend forever right here.”
Every taunt pushed me further, every tease served as kindling on the fire burning in my chest, until at last, I stood before the light once again. And with no other ideas, without the slightest clue what the fuck I was doing, I raised my sword.
Agony pierced through me as I swung for the light. There was resistance, as if I were slicing through water, and sparks skittered over my skin. I gritted the teeth I didn’t seem to have, felt the invisible veins in my neck and temples pop out with exertion as I swung and sliced and fought. The Occulti were a hurricane of activity behind me, their high-pitched trilling growing more frenetic with each swing of my blade. And with every swing of my blade, the pain worsened.
I managed one step into the light, then another, quieting every instinct telling me to stop. Every second that passed was an eternity. Every swing of my sword was agony. I was burning alive. Cracking open. Imploding. Exploding. The Occulti grew louder, swarmed faster. The edges of my vision went black despite the light that was glowing brighter and brighter the deeper I moved.
A little further.I had to be seconds away from breaking through. That’s what I told myself.A few more seconds, and you can find her.
The Occulti behind me seemed to slow for a moment, their frenzied energy dimming into something different as I took another agonizing step. Agitation radiated from the swarm, theirhigh-pitch, excited hisses giving way to sharp-edged snarls. I didn’t know what it meant — wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I fought for every step. I fought to keep conscious. I fought through the torture to get to her. To warn her Malosym was coming, that she hadn’t escaped him yet.
The invisible force was wrecking my consciousness, and I wondered how the fuck it could hurt so badly when I had no body. And still, it ripped me apart. Would there even be anything left of me by the time I made it through?
“No,” the Occulti hissed behind me. “No!”
Almost there, so damn close, so…
My limbs flailed as I fell through the air, the blue sky the last thing I saw before everything went dark.
Chapter 4
Petra
There was no wall constructed around Soren’s castle to keep the commonfolk out. No guards stood sentinel atop the rosy marble steps. And when I raised my fist to knock on the grand wooden door that was carved with flowers and leaves, I met no resistance. It swung open as if on a soft, invisible wind.
“Hello?” I called, peering in as the door slowly opened. Tentatively, I took a step through the doorway, Larka and Da trailing close behind. We found ourselves in a foyer with walls so high, the ceiling might as well have been the sky itself. Everything was made of the same swirling pink marble, from the floors to the walls to the arched doorways lining the foyer and the towering staircase looming toward its far end.
“You look just like your mother,” a soft male voice breathed, and I whirled to find a man standing in a doorway to my left. But even before I beheld his round cheeks and glittering amber eyes, I knew who he was. His presence was stamped on amemory that had been stashed away long ago. A plump hand gently covered his mouth as he stepped forward, his ornately embroidered white robes swishing against the floors. The smile that split my face was involuntary as I beheld the man.
Soren, Saint of Heaven.
“Hello,” I said quietly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He reached for my hands, folding them into his and squeezing gently. Being at the receiving end of his gaze made warmth bloom in my chest. It was like finding something I never knew I’d lost, something that was so integral to my soul I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to live without it all this time.
“We’ve met, dear,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. My own eyes widened in surprise as his face softened even more. “You’d just been born. It was… Well, it was a stressful time. I am delighted to see you, Petra,” he whispered, tears pooling in his gaze. “Delighted.” Soren pulled me to his chest, resting his smooth cheek against my head. Tears sprung from nowhere, and I wiped them away as he pulled away to look at me again. “You can come out now,” Soren called over his shoulder. “It truly is her.”
All at once, three figures appeared at the stop of the staircase, where apparently they’d hidden themselves away. They glided down the steps, each of them possessing an otherworldly, ethereal grace. And just like I knew it had been Soren, I knew who walked toward me now. Their joyous energy grew warmer as they neared, coming to a stop before me with clasped hands and beaming faces.
“This is Tolar,” Soren said with a flourish of his hand.
“Saint of Wealth,” I murmured, taking in the tall, lean, middle-aged man. His deep brown eyes crinkled as he smiled, and even deeper creases bracketed his mouth.
“Oh, but you do look like your mother,” he whispered with a smile, leaning in to fold me into a hug. I had that same feeling again, like a part of my soul was being pulled from the depths and laid in the sunlight for the first time. Like a part of me wasshifting into place after being dislodged from its rightful spot for so long. Like a part of me was home. Tolar pulled away, his hands on my shoulders as he took me in.
“Stop hogging her!” a high voice scolded, and suddenly Tolar was being pushed to the side by a petite, ivory-skinned woman. “Hello, Petra,” she whispered, tears flooding fine lashes that were the same silvery sheen of her hair. As she pulled me to her, I was hit with the smell of spring, when the air was finally mild enough to open the windows after a long, brutal winter. “I’m Aanh, Saint of the Home. Are you well? Have you eaten?”
“I-” I stammered, surprised. “I’m well, thank you.” Though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, food was the last thing on my mind. But my answer seemed to satisfy Aanh, and her smile grew impossibly wider. I turned to the last figure, patiently waiting. “And you must be-”
“Onera, Saint of Miracles,” the woman answered, her deep brown skin highlighted in gold in the soft light of the foyer. Gold strands were woven into the braids that hung over her shoulders. She seemed to glow from within, as if her very soul was made of light. A true miracle incarnate. Her embrace was warm, and I was sure if I could look into my own soul right now, it would be sparkling.
Onera pulled away, a perfectly soft palm resting against my cheek. “And they’re right. You do look just like your mother.”
