Page 81 of Heart Cradle
“But you didn’t,” she spat, driving her elbow into his jaw so hard his head snapped sideways.
Runes flashing white, she flung him backwards with a blast of wind so strong he crashed through the burning frame of a house. Flame licked at his armour as he rolled to his feet, coughing and staggering. “There she is.” He grinned through the smoke. “The killer you were always meant to be.”
“I’m not like you.”
“No. You’re worse, because you lie to yourself.” He stalked towards her again. “I became what they made me, you’re still pretending you haven’t.”
They clashed again, this time with less finesse and more feral rage. Nolenne’s sword locked against his, their faces inches apart, sweat and blood mixing. “You killed our brother,” she said, voice shaking now. “You killed him and then you willingly served the monsters who made you do it.”
“I survived,” Davmon growled.
“Then I’ll make sure you don’t survive this.” Tears of fury wetting Nolenne’s face.
With a scream, she released a pulse of raw magic. Fire and wind force all at once, blasting him off his feet. He slammed into the scorched dirt, body skidding, armour cracked and blood dripping from his mouth. She stalked towards him, sword raised, breathing ragged.
He laughed, bloody, broken, triumphant. “There she is.”
She stopped above him, sword poised to strike.
“Do it,” he whispered. “Be what they made us.”
Nolenne stood, trembling, blade shaking in her grip, then she did the one thing he didn’t expect and dropped her sword. “I’m better than what they made me,” she said. “You don’t deserve my rage, just pity.”
Behind her, soldiers rushed forwards, enchanted rope and shackles at the ready. Davmon tried to rise, but his legs gave out. He fell hard, gasping. Nolenne turned her back, as for the first time in years, she felt powerful, not because of what she could destroy, because of what she chose not to.
Nolenne’s heart dropped into her stomach as she heard Aeilanna shriek, not from fear, but with a sound that tore across the battlefield like a war-horn’s cry. It was pure and incandescent rage. A howl of ferocity born from witnessing the woman she loved fighting her own blood, and from the devastation they’d both stepped into. Nolenne turned in time to see Aeilanna slammed sideways by a brute twice her size. Her body skidded through soot and rubble, but she rose before the dust even settled, hair wild and eyes alight with searing, untethered rage. Threads of light surged from her fingertips, curling up her arms like living ink and she wove. Sigils flared around her as she moved, one burst to shield, another to sear. Her blade sang through the air, slicing a soldier’s arm clean through as a ribbon of magic spiralled out to lash the next. She spun, her dagger burying deep into a throat, and the magic licked out from the wound, dragging flame in its wake.
Nolenne didn’t hesitate, she scooped her sword from the ground, feet already moving, breath catching in her throat. She ran to her, blade met blade as she reached Aeilanna’s side. They fell into rhythm instantly, back to back, their bodies moving with the unspoken familiarity of lovers and warriors. Every time one struck high, the other struck low. When one turned, the other covered her blind side, sparks burst around them, blood sprayed the air, and still they fought.
Melrathen soldiers surged behind them, rallying to the rhythm of their blades and shouts of, “to burn and to shield!” echoed through the mêlée.
Aeilanna and Nolenne moved like wrath given form, one cloaked in flame and steel, the other in light and spellthread. Aeilanna lifted her hand mid-swing, and golden sigils erupted in the air around her. Her magic flung forwards, woven tendrils lashing like whips across the battlefield, catching blades mid-air and yanking them from Avelan hands. A wave of burninglight fanned from her palm, knocking back a cluster of soldiers with a crack like splitting stone. Spellweaver magic snapped outward in lines of heat and light, ribbons flitted, coiling and lashing like serpents. She caught one blade mid-air and ripped it free from its wielder, the metal molten and melting. Another thread wrapped a soldier’s throat and wrenched him back into a waiting blade.
Screivens shrieked overhead, their shadows gliding through smoke. They plunged down with talons outstretched, tearing through Avelan lines in bursts of steel and sinew. Dragons circled beyond, flames sputtering in great burst of heat. An enemy battalion broke formation as one dragon unleashed a column of fire that engulfed a siege beast whole. Smoke rolled thick across the scorched earth, drifting in waves of white and ember. Fighters squinted through the haze, weapons raised and eyes burning.
Nolenne drove her sword through an Avelan’s gut, kicked another to the ground, and parried without missing a step. Aeilanna spun beside her, her magic lacing through the battlefield like a loom of war, binding, burning and breaking and she wove again, this time a shield of braided light, just as a volley of dark magic struck. The threads shimmered, absorbed the impact, and detonated outward in a pulse that shattered stone. A wave of burning energy fanned from her palm, clearing the space ahead with a sound like cracking thunder.
?????
The sun sank behind the hills, but the battle raged into dusk. Victory wasn’t swift, but it was earned, inch by inch that they clawed from the burning wreckage. At last, the final enemy fell, his scream cut short as his body collapsed beside the scorched well and silence bloomed in the aftermath. Aeilanna staggered to Nolenne’s side, both of them covered in sweat, blood, and soot, breathing hard but still standing. Their hands found each other without words, fingers entwining through grime and ash and Nolenne leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “You fucking maniac,” Nolenne rasped, voice rough with smoke. “You had to wait ‘til I was losing my mind before you began showing off.”
Aeilanna gave a broken, breathless laugh, then kissed her, desperate, black-streaked, all teeth and salt and relief. When she pulled back, her voice shook. “You didn’t lose your mind, you tore it down.”
Nolenne huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you, or I’d be furious.”
“Bullshit,” Aeilanna muttered, and kissed her again, softer this time, just a press of lips amid the ruin.
Together, they limped towards the newly secured camp. The Emberwick, Solirra, lay outside the command tent, her great head resting on her forepaws, and one massive gilded orange back paw was curled, unmistakably consciously, over a body sprawled beneath it.
Davmon, unconscious, bloody, beaten but still alive.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated in Solirra’s chest. Protective and possessive, she didn’t look at Nolenne or Aeilanna. Her slitted eyes were trained on her captive, a silent warning to anyone who dared try to move him. Nolenne came to a stop, she didn’t speak and she didn’t move. A weight settled on her shoulders, part relief, part mourning, part something she didn’t have words for.
Her brother.
Her enemy.
Aeilanna squeezed her hand. “He won’t hurt anyone else,” she said softly.
