Page 73 of The Sundered Blade

What? What had he done? Apprehension rose like bile in Vaniell’s throat, but he did not understand. What was happening?

“That’s right, my Raven. I want you to kill them. Kill them all, except for my wayward child. I want him to watch, to see what he’s done, and to experience the full agony of his failure again and again andagain.”

And to Vaniell’s utter horror, Kyrion turned to obey.

One step, and then another. Though he fought the compulsion with every muscle in his body, still he moved across the floor.

And then Vaniell finally understood. A wave of bitter recrimination and despair washed over him as he realized what he’d done. What he was still doing, even long after he’d repented of his actions.

The gem he’d given Leisa all those months ago had forged a permanent connection between her and Kyrion, one that did not fade with time or distance. It had been a misfire on the part of Vaniell’s own work, possibly due to the fact that he’d believed her to be a mundane and magic-less human.

And the gem he’d given Modrevin must have done the same—forged a permanent bond between the king and the Raven that lingered even when the enchantment was gone. Because like Leisa, Vaniell had not yet understood Modrevin’s magic or his identity when he created the enchantment.

And now Kyrion would pay the price for Vaniell’s failures and hubris, just as he had always done.

Vaniell cursed himself with every epithet in his vocabulary, but it was too late to change it. Too late for everything. He should have guessed. Should have kept Kyrion miles away from this place, but he’d failed, and this was to be the cost. To watch as his friend was forced to do unspeakable things, compelled and betrayed by Vaniell’s own magic…

Unless he could find a way to break this terrible link.

“Kyrion, no!” Vaniell broke through the paralysis of horror that gripped him and planted himself directly in the night elf’s path. “You don’t have to do this. I will find a way to break it. Remember, the gem is gone. The armor is gone. Whatever is happening is only an echo, and it can be defeated!”

But in Kyrion’s silver eyes he saw only a vast chasm of pain and betrayal. He’d gone back, somewhere in the depths of his own mind—back to a time when his will was not his own, when he was never alone in his own head, never permitted to sleep or to deny his master.

He was fighting, but the battle was with his own memories, and Vaniell did not know how to help him. In other moments of crisis, he could enchant his way out, but there was no enchantment here—only the memories of magic, and he did not know how to fight those.

And then he heard laughter.

Modrevin—a man who rarely showed emotion of any kind but for anger—was laughing at the spectacle of Kyrion’s pain.

“For a moment, I believed all was lost,” he said in between chuckles of mirth. “But I have snatched my victory at the final hour. With the Raven on my side, even a dragon will stand no chance against us. Even the Empress herself…”

He rambled on, but Kyrion was still advancing on the terrified men and women he’d been ordered to kill, and Vaniell continued to stand in his way as he searched desperately through his memory for something… anything…

It was as if he balanced on the edge of a precipice, about to fall, when the air beside Kyrion began to shimmer strangely, wavering like a heat mirage on a hot summer day. The ripples grew violent just before they were slashed by a line of light, so bright that everyone but Kyrion was forced to shield their eyes.

The light faded. Vaniell dropped his arm, and then his jaw fell open with stunned disbelief.

It was… Leisa?

The familiar red-haired woman stood at Kyrion’s shoulder, but it was not Leisa as Vaniell remembered her. This Leisa’s blue eyes glowed with the same inner fire as Kyrion’s, and every visible inch of her skin bore shimmering silver patterns that marked her as not merely human…

Leisa was part fae.

And just like that enigmatic people, she had somehow learned to walk between worlds. When she disappeared from the dungeons, she must have entered the fae realm, only to reappear at the time and place of her own choosing.

“This ends now,” she said, her voice resonating with an uncanny echo of power.

In her hand, a small silver box unfolded to reveal a curved mirror that flowed and shaped itself to suit her needs. She turned slightly, tilted its glimmering surface, and every visible weapon in the room simply… vanished.

Several of the servants began to weep and slumped to the floor, hands empty, faces stark and drawn with the echoes of terror.

Kyrion’s broadsword, too, was gone, but when Leisa turned to face him, it quickly became evident that the battle was far from over.

“Kyrion, love, what’s wrong?” She stepped in front of him, reached up to cup his face in her hand, and Vaniell watched as the night elf gazed down at her with tears in his eyes.

“Leisa, you cannot be here,” he said hoarsely. “You must go, now. Take these others with you, but do not stay.”

Her only response was to plant her feet. “I’m never leaving you again,” she said stubbornly. “Whatever we face, we face together.”

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