Page 70 of The Mirror in the Mountain

“An absolute menace,” Bash said, with that crooked half-grin that never failed to make my heart flutter. “But I’ve known that from the moment I met you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I gathered that from the nickname.”

There was a yell from the doorway as more guards rushed in, fire igniting from their outstretched hands as they came at us. More traitors, both against their kingdom and their realm if they believed in the sort of future Aviel promised.

With a smirk, Bash raised his sword, running toward the wall of flame rushing to meet him. His shadows streamed out of him, more pulling from the corners of the room before slamming into the flame with a sizzle, extinguishing it with half a thought. Then his sword met that of an oncoming guard, Rivan engaging another.

I couldn’t look away from Bash as he fought. That easy, vicious grace, the power behind each movement. His muscles bulged against the finery he was wearing—the thin tunic clingingto his frame as sweat plastered it to the defined muscles of his back. A warrior incarnate, the sight of him heating my blood in a way that was entirely inappropriate.

His blade went straight through a guard’s heart, before he spun around, his voice gravelly as he said, “If you keep thinking those thoughts, I’m not going to be able to focus.”

I winked, then ran forward to where Yael and Marin had joined Eliav and Noam and the remaining traitors closing in. Marin’s dual blades moved so quickly, I paused for a moment to admire her speed and skill as she dispatched one opponent, then another. Yael shot me a knowing look, the circle of guards around her clutching at their throats in unison before they fell to the floor.

Noam had an arm wrapped around Eliav’s waist. Holding him up, I realized, as I rushed to his other side.

Eliav waved me off. “Take one of them alive. I want answers.”

Indeed, the remaining traitors seemed to realize there was no hope for anything other than their own escape. My remaining darkness wrapped around the feet of one who had turned to run, and his flames lashed out blindly. Darkness engulfed his hands, his feet, smothering them as they held him tight.

For one brief moment I saw those shackles that had once bound me.

Then those tendrils dragged him forward, his eyes narrowing in hatred as my magic held his own power in check.

“Why?” Eliav demanded.

The traitor let out a cold laugh, then winced as my darkness bit into his skin. “You chose wrong when you didn’t ally with the True King the first time. And now you would have us back some untried girl? We weren’t about to wait for you to make the right choice.”

Eliav sighed. “How unoriginal.”

“He will not be stopped,” the traitor laughed, staring directly at me. “The King will not be?—”

Blue flame consumed him, my darkness dissipating as his screams quickly cut off, leaving only charged silence.

Eliav sagged, and Marin rushed forward. Healing light spread from her fingertips to treat the burn across his thigh, so deep I could see flayed muscle and charred white bone.

The Eastern King’s eyes met mine, barely a hint of the pain that I knew must be unbearable reflected in his gaze. “Return to Soleara and begin your trek north. I’ll see to securing your castle.”

“My…”

Eliav smiled, the first one I had seen from him that felt real, before dropping his chin in the slightest of bows. “Morehaven, Your Majesty. Stop that bastard from claiming your crown, and you have my word your throne will be waiting for you.”

Chapter 31

Adrian

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

We both said it at the same time. Estelle’s face broke into a smile I couldn’t tear my eyes away from, even with the gravity of my news. She looked worn out, drawn despite her beauty—the face of too many sleepless nights as we faced a realm at war. But her smile faded too soon as she sensed my trepidation.

Her throat bobbed. “Bad news first then.”

A distant bout of thunder rumbled as if on cue, the clouds in the distance dark with impending rain. I often found myanimaseeking solace among the plum trees that lined the courtyard of our home, though her meditations had given way to pacing more often of late. The blood-red leaves rustled in the wind, a few of them whipping into the air. One fell upon the neckline of Estelle’s black dress, catching in the intricate beading above her heart.

I hated how much it looked like blood. Like her own heart had been ripped right open.

But I didn’t waste time with platitudes, not when I knew she would want me to be direct. “The battle was lost. The first of the survivors are just now returning.”

She reeled back slightly, then straightened, obviously about to run to help—to give aid wherever she could. I took both her hands in mine, softly adding, “Your father is dead.”

---