59. Declan

Chapter 59

Declan

“ E veryone around you dies, Declan Rea.”

My head snapped up.

“Yes, I know you, Pretender of Magic. Death is your shadow. It is your cloak,” Irina needled. “First your mother was swallowed by the Well, now your old Mage fell by his own folly. Who is next? Who is left for you to lose?”

Her voice inched closer with every word.

My heart leaped into my throat as anger seared through my mind.

I wanted to squeeze the life out of this woman with my bare hands, watch her struggle for air and fall limp as Atikus just had.

Rage had never felt so intense, so powerful.

It consumed me.

The column behind which I hid shuddered. Stone rent against stone.

She’s going to bring the Temple down!

In a blink, I was behind her, casting my own wave of fire and air, using magic as a bellows to nurture my ire.

Without turning, Irina raised a palm, and a massive wave of water fell from above, extinguishing my flame and dousing us both.

She yanked the column she’d cracked and hurled marble toward me.

Two columns, not one, thousands of pounds each, blasted where I had stood. A crater gouged into the floor where they struck, and a plume of dust and debris rose into the air.

Irina waited, and so did I, for what felt like forever.

There was no sound, no movement, beyond the clattering of falling stone and settling of debris.

Eventually, Irina breathed deeply and wiped her brow, adjusting the crown.

When the point of my dagger tore out the front of her chest, she looked down, confused, as though her laces were in disarray.

Then blood flowered across her dress.

I withdrew the dagger, then dragged it across her throat.

She gasped for air.

Her hand flew to her throat and came away slick with blood.

Life poured out of her weakening body.

I tore the crown from her head as she fell to her knees, then stood above her, crown in hand.

She looked up. Pain and fury flooded her eyes.

I closed my eyes, opened them, then nodded once.

Eyes wild, Irina looked about for what had changed—then screamed at the gold and silver lines emblazoned in the marble surrounding her.

Terror added its thrill to her bellows.

Then I did the unthinkable.

I placed the crown just inside the outer circle, and, using Enhanced Strength, I shattered one of the bloody diamonds.

Irina’s eyes widened as the form of a man rose like mist from the shattered gem. He lunged at me, but the circle flared, and the man’s hands slapped against an invisible barrier.

I stepped into the circle and crushed a second stone, releasing a woman in tanned leathers. Her form flitted about the circle, confused, pressing palms to the invisible wall, a prisoner trapped in yet another cell.

Again, I smashed.

Another spirit appeared.

Four, then five, six, and finally the seventh.

Prince Justin’s innocent face glowed with ethereal light as he drifted to stare down at Irina’s bleeding form. The other spirits joined him, forming a circle around the broken, bleeding woman.

The man, the first to emerge from his stone, turned a wretched gaze toward me.

“What do you want from us? Set us free!” His voice was metal against stone, a screech of pain and loathing.

In that moment, I knew this was no longer a man but a fiend bent on hatred and vengeance.

“I grant each of you rest,” I said, my voice that of steel, folded and strengthened by fire and mallet. “But only if you help me banish this abomination. Until she is vanquished, no one will be free.”

The spirit laughed. “Why would I care if you’re free, boy?”

My tunic flared to life.

The Phoenix leaped from my chest, an apparition of the mighty bird swelling until it filled the chamber. It turned its beak toward the spirits and roared so loudly I fell to my knees and covered my ears.

“BECAUSE I COMMAND IT!” órla’s voice shook the already shattered hall.

Waves of Compulsion magnified a thousandfold by the Phoenix flowed from my core.

Seven spirits streaked toward me and crashed against the barrier of the circle. They clawed and scratched.

They wailed in anger and pain.

I lifted my chin, and Light burst from my chest. It felt as if my own spirit had joined the fray. Shimmering magic cloaked the spirits, transforming each into a beacon of white.

The rage fell from their faces.

Their heads lowered and stilled.

I drew my will into my Light and cast it into each of the seven, commanding them, Compelling them into action.

As one, they turned and encircled Irina.

Each spirit placed an ethereal hand on her body, and their energy flooded into her. The seven’s images dimmed, and Irina’s form grew brighter and brighter as they poured their essence into her.

When the spirits had faded to reflections of themselves, and Irina glowed so intensely it hurt to look upon her, each phantom released their touch and shattered before my eyes, sending specks of brilliant light in every direction.

Irina thrashed and screamed as her spirit was expelled from its mortal shell.

The body that fell to the floor transformed, its hair turned from black to silver, its skin wrinkling, until Larinda’s kind eyes looked up. She smiled as her Light faded and her own soul drifted into night.

Irina’s spirit, now ethereal, raged against its confinement, but the circle would not yield. Its lines blazed like the sun each time she tried to penetrate its borders.

I braced myself for the jolt I knew would come, then began the incantation my mother made me learn before I lost her in the Well. The words were foreign and meant nothing to me, but their invocation stirred ancient magic to life.

Irina’s spirit writhed as she fought my commands.

She darted around the circle, thrashed against its shield. She screamed every curse a thousand years of life had taught her.

Yet nothing would stop the unshakable force of my will.

As I uttered the final words, Irina’s spirit howled one final time and shattered into brilliant points of light.

When the chamber dimmed, nothing remained of the great Empress Irina.

I slumped to my knees and hung my head, exhausted.

One spirit, barely visible in her faded blue smock, floated to hover before me. I looked up, and we locked eyes.

As the wind whispers across a winter field, her voice drifted across my consciousness.

“Tell Keelan thank you for trying to save me. He is the best of us.”

Tiana’s form scattered, sparkled like shimmering snowflakes, then winked out.

I snatched up Irina’s ruined crown and ran to the end of the chamber where Atikus lay unmoving. Blood no longer leaked from the cut on his forehead, but it pooled beneath his neck.

There were even more cuts on his hands and face.

A trickle dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes stared into nothing.

“Atikus, look at me! Please, if you can hear me, open your eyes,” I begged.

Nothing.

“Atikus, don’t you die on me. You hear me, old man. Don’t you dare . . .” Tears streaked my dust-covered face, and a swell of panic threatened to overwhelm my senses.

But Atikus needed me.

This, I could do.

I steadied myself, then placed both palms above the Mage’s chest. Brilliant Light flared from my palms and flowed into Atikus. I found internal damage—so much damage—and broken ribs, one now piercing the Mage’s lung.

Hour after hour, I poured myself into the Mage. Stitch by stitch, his body mended.

The building trembled, and stones fell from above.

As badly as Atikus needed rest, we could not remain, lest we win one battle only to lose ourselves beneath its rubble.

I grabbed the staff, hooked my arm through the crown to carry them both, then returned to grip the Mage’s arm and Traveled to the refuge of the Queen’s Palace.