Page 97 of Of Kings and Thieves

It was all I could do. The pain was so intense that I knew if I quit singing, I would either die or pass out.

Col picked up his flaming sword. And though I had thought he was dead, Killian groaned and raised his staff toward me. Though the pain didn’t lessen, my voice grew stronger.

Moredanea sank to her knees, raising a hand as if to ward off the song and Col.

“Your power is taken from you,” Col said in the commanding voice I’d heard that night on the mountain.

With his words, Moredanea’s staff shattered into splinters, some cutting my face and arms. But the pain in my body vanished as though it had never been there. At some point, I stopped my song, suddenly out of breath. It was all I could do to gasp great lungfuls of air.

Moredanea’s pain, however, was only beginning.

I took a deep, gasping breath, and looked up at Col.

Col had changed. The balcony doors flapped in a sudden gust of wind that whipped around him. Raven feathers spun in a whirlwind, increasing in number this time instead of disappearing, his dark hair lashing his face.

His amplified voice echoed in the room. “For your treason and cruelty, justice will be served, Moredanea.”

The raven feathers blurred Col’s edges, as if the wind might dissolve his body. But his eyes and body radiated power and resolve like a god’s. I had never seen anything so mighty, and staggered to my feet, barely able to stand with the force of the wind in the room.

“Behold King Andris!” Killian cried. “The Iron Raven has returned!”

Col continued to blur around the edges, and he dropped the sword as giant wings sprouted from his hands and arms. His body turned into that of an enormous raven, the largest bird I had ever seen or imagined.

Moredanea croaked out a protest, and I snapped my attention back to her. She seemed aged now, her hands frail as she grabbed a vial from the pocket of her dress.

The alicorn horn powder. Time froze as she popped the stopper out and held it up. Her hand trembled, and as Moredanea went to turn it over into the gale, I realized she’d rather kill us all, and herself, rather than be defeated.

The only thing that saved us was her current weakness, brought on by my song and Col’s voice.

Ignoring my exhaustion, I lunged for the flaming sword at Col’s feet. In one fluid motion, with vengeance for my slain loved ones surging through me, I drove the sword deep into Moredanea’s black heart.

Her eyes flew wide in shock and agony. Her hand spasmed, the contents of her vial finally spilling. But instead of whipping through the chamber and turning us all to stone, it caught fire.

So did Moredanea.

The flames engulfed her body and spread rapidly, greedily consuming her flesh, her gown, and her hair, reducing the Deviant to a human pyre. Her piercing screams echoed through the chamber, a fitting end for one who had inflicted so much suffering. Yet the sight and sound gave me no pleasure, only a sense of grim satisfaction and justice.

At last, the sinister golden light in her eyes dimmed and extinguished.

Moredanea had lived a long life filled with cruelty and evil deeds. Now her reign of terror was at an end, her power broken, her life force fading as swiftly as the flames rose. The fire burned hot and fast, devouring her in a blaze of retribution that matched the intensity of her hatred and malice.

The flames were reducing Moredanea to ashes, even her bones, erasing all traces of the formidable Deviant siren who had stood ready to unleash the horn’s power upon us all.

I shuddered out a breath and collapsed to my knees in relief. Her final attempt at conquest had failed. The weapon she had hoped would cement her victory had instead been turned against her, dealing out a justice as swift and devastating as any she had meted in her long, wicked life.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Moredanea’s body burned long and hot, but not all the alicorn powder was consumed. The vial hadn’t burned, perhaps protected by some magic. The powder glittered inside long after her body had charred beyond recognition.

And though my vision blackened around the edges, I refused to faint. Clutching my belly where there were still vestiges of phantom pain, I supported myself on an overturned table.

The raven that was Col had changed back to the man I loved. The wind still whipped around him, swirling those feathers until there was a crown of them on his head, spiking up just as the real crown had done. He looked fierce and tall, and I wanted to hold him except my legs were shaking with the effort of standing.

Then Col caught my eye, and the unearthly light in his eyes dimmed just a little. The wind stopped, his hair falling around his face in a disheveled mess, and the feathers began to fade away.

“How?” I asked. But I barely croaked it out. My body felt more drained than it ever had and as I sank back onto the floor, Col was there, cradling me in his arms.

“Because of you,” he said.

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