Chapter Twelve

Amass of thick, black storm clouds roll across the sky, devouring the sun's light whole.

More shouts ring out above the clashing swords when the battlefield goes dark, then is set alight with a tendril of lightning. Another bright white bolt flashes, and an orange glow sparks before beginning to spread. The second tendril strikes less than a hundred feet to the left of Risian's forces atop the hill.

And then, amidst the agonizing screams and flailing limbs, it stops. The sheets of pounding rain slow to a drizzle. The clouds dissipate, leaving overcast skies in their wake.

Turning my head and scanning the battlefield, I begin to understand the destruction I'm capable of. Remnants of what was once pink flesh are charred and reduced to nothing more than ash and bone. It's a gruesome sight. One that I should be horrified to witness.

Instead, I frown in confusion. Although I'm unsure how to wield my powers, and my magic is unpredictable at best, a larger area should have been affected.

To add to my list of growing issues, when I scan the dead earth that makes up the peak of the once luscious, grassy hill, I find that the mirror of my soul no longer sits atop it. Instead, he charges his onyx stallion into the center of the battle. I need to get closer.

Stepping off the outermost edge of the parapet, I turn and snatch the first abandoned cloak I catch sight of. I give little care to the blood that seeps into the material or the terrible stench it carries as I pull it over my shoulders and raise the hood over my head. I pull harder when it snags on the crown that rests atop my brow.

Alexander is at my side in a matter of seconds. "My Queen, you cannot go down there. Please, stay here with me," he pleads, reaching for my hand.

Death laces my tone as I whirl on him. "I need to be close to him. Should you try to stop me, you'll meet a similar end."

Stunned silence descends between us. While I've never spoken to the General in this manner, he's also never given me a reason to be so cruel. In this moment, my soul tells me that no casual fling is more important than reaching the King of Risian.

Love reflects back in his honeyed gaze that flickers over my face. Whether it's his love or the remnants of my magic that taste bitter on my tongue, I can't be sure.

"Don't follow me." I give him my back without another word.

The remaining archers that are too weak to carry a sword pay me little mind as I pass. With the guards having abandoned their posts, I descend the winding staircase that leads to the parapet without further interference. The thud of my footsteps reverberates off the cavernous walls that stretch high and wide above me.

"My Queen!"

It's much too late by the time Alexander's brisk, heavy footfalls echo behind me. I pick up my pace, my legs carrying me through the raised iron gate of the gatehouse. The pressure in my head increases with the fluttering tempo of my heart. Debris swirls in the blood-tinged air, ensuring each breath I draw is ragged.

Though I have a narrow waistline, I'm certainly not a small woman. While I take walks during the late evenings at the Amber Palace, the path I follow now is a different matter entirely. A path I'm determined will aid me in evading the mirror of my soul.

My feet guide me past healers kneeling on the ground. Two women use a tourniquet in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding of one man's nearly severed leg. Bodies of soldiers in silver and crimson alike scatter the battlefield. One of the healers looks skywards, her lips moving in silent prayer to the stars above as she places her palm on the forehead of a ghastly, pale older man.

Slick, wet mud squelches beneath my boots as I reach the edge of the scarlet stained warzone. Terror clings to my muscles when a gray stallion gallops in my direction. Its rider's frame is limp and lifeless, the arrow that protrudes from the apple of his throat telling me he's no longer of this realm.

Warmth rushes through my chest as a deep, commanding voice seems to call out in the distance. I take a large step to the side and miss being trampled by a narrow margin. I can't stay here.

Catching sight of what was once the makeshift stables, I start to run. Although I'm a queen and am accustomed to making important decisions under duress, the emotions that consume my thoughts are anything but collected. The energy that courses through my veins is pure instinct, an instinct that will require me to keep my wits about me if I'm to survive stepping into the middle of a warzone.

Inhaling through my nose, I attempt to quiet my mind as I reach the stables and flatten my back against the wall. I clasp my hand over my mouth and wince when rough, sharp fragments of wood perforate the thin material of my tunic. Panting, my head thuds against the wall as I contemplate where to go next.

Once the pain in my chest reduces to a dull ache and I'm no longer gasping for air, I peek around the corner. Alexander's descriptor from earlier in the day echoes into my mind. Mayhem.

Golden shields are held fast into the ground. More of my men stand alongside them, raising their spears to protect the remaining lines in front of me.

The enemy's archers stationed atop the hill fire their arrows and reload in quick succession. While some of them meet their targets and strike my men, some find their way into the backs of their own brothers-in-arms.

Craning my neck further, I look past the fighting that ensues in search of the Risian King. Terror clasps a vise-like grip around my throat when a flaming arrow whizzes past my cheek, so close that I'm branded by the heat behind it. Panic arises once more and my gaze gives a final sweep of the chaos. I can wait no longer. Wherever he is, I must find him and put an end to this.

Reaching into the depths of my being, I command all the courage and strength I can muster to rise to the surface. Wiping a fine sheen of sweat from the space between my nose and mouth, I push off the wall that provides my only shelter and sprint toward the center of the chaos.

Determination swells in my chest as I skirt around the mounted knights engaged in combat. The heel of an ally soldier lands on top of my boot and I stumble backward. He blocks my path and a flaming arrow strikes him in the side of the neck. Stunned, he drops to his knees, departing this realm with a final, shuddering breath.

Moving to step over him, I glance at the silver longsword his fingers are curled around. A whisper of apology passes from my lips, and I pry the sword from his grasp. With the next thud of my heart, another enemy soldier charges forward. I raise the sword in front of me. My muscles scream in protest with the movement, though the adrenaline flowing through my body sees all thoughts of weakness fade.

Planting my feet and widening my stance, I prepare for his attack. Though I'm no warrior, to be sure, I am a woman ruling a kingdom. My father had the foresight to understand that defending myself would be a necessary evil during my reign.

When an enemy soldier eats up the distance separating us in two long strides, I lift my chin. A smirk plays on my lips when I raise my free hand and tug the hood of the cloak back. His eyes fly to the top of my head and he stops mid-stride as the rubied crown glints beneath the dying sunlight.

Just as I predicted, the enemy soldier makes no move to advance further. His sole movement is to angle his head in confusion. My smirk stretches into a wide grin as hooves pound against the earth behind him. One of my men's swords finds purchase along the back of his neck, a hair's breadth from detaching his head from his body.

"Ellesandra!"

Seeing that none in five centuries have dared to address me by the name I was given at birth, I whirl on my heel. The General's frantic gaze scans me from head to toe as he sprints toward me. In all my time as Queen, I can't think of a time I've been so grateful to see Alexander Soldato's face. Soot and sweat streak across his cheeks. The relief that smatters across his features is palpable when the distance between us is reduced to mere feet. Thick blood runs down the blade of his longsword, and blotches of crimson streak down the legs of his breeches.

Horror drenches me when I look past his shoulder and find an onyx stallion galloping in our direction. The identity of the soldier who guides the mount seeps into my bones. The battle fades when I see eyes that rival even the bluest seas. A steady hum reverberates through my ears as the bond searches his fiercely burning gaze, demanding answers for the thousands of moments that have passed without its mate.

A strong tug in my chest almost brings me to my knees when my senses return, and I attempt to warn Alexander of the danger that looms over him.

"My Que—"

The warning turns to ash upon my tongue and I stumble backward. The silver tip of a blade protrudes through the back of the General's mouth, ensuring his words end in a gurgle. A small twinge of pain lances through my ribcage when he coughs, choking on his own blood. I force my eyes to the marred earth beneath my feet as he drops to his knees. Although I hadn't loved Alexander in the depths of my soul, the grief I suffered long ago rises to the surface.

With a deep, rattled exhale through my nose, I lift my head. Felix pulls on the reins to slow his mount. A mere arm's length of distance is all that remains between myself and the enemy. His face and armor remain pristine. The bright red streaking down his black leather gloves is the sole, ominous indication that one has met death at the end of his blade.

Though he doesn't speak, I have no need for his words. The thread in my chest is frantic, screaming, bellowing, bleeding me dry of any thoughts of resistance with each moment we continue to stare at one another.

A half-mournful, half-relieved cry ricochets through the darkest depths of my soul when he slows his mount beside me.

I'm forced to crane my neck upward as he leans over. The bond is mesmerized as he raises a gloved hand and sweeps a stray chocolate curl from my brow.

"No one will touch what is mine again," he murmurs. "I made you a promise, Lumina."

My brightest star.

Though my mind screams at me to turn and flee as the heat of his breath coasts across my forehead, I lean into his touch. Staring into the deepest azure depths, I know my opportunity is slipping away. I won't be afforded this closeness again.

The malevolent darkness behind his gaze pierces my soul. While I can't explain the sensation, I'm sure he knows of my plans. I wait for him to inch closer and wrap his hand around my waist to steal me away. To do anything except continue to stare at me.

Even though he's my greatest enemy, I'm lost to the stars when he does nothing of the sort. Gooseflesh erupts over my arms when his thumb swipes across my temple in a featherlight touch and he straightens. With a final lingering glance from him, words evade me as he gathers the reins in his hand and snaps them forward, commanding his mount into the heat of battle.

Icy, hot rage returns when the haze of my mind lifts as the distance between us grows. Disgust settles into my depths when it becomes clear I've lost what was likely my sole opportunity. Turning heel, I order all thoughts of the mirror of my soul to be cast out of my mind.

Scanning the battlefield, I sprint toward the flashes of crimson nearby. While the delusional being that takes up a host inside me refuses to harm its mate, my magic will turn the tide of this battle.

My true identity is now on full display for all to see. I draw gazes from friend and foe alike. One soldier, who withdraws his sword from an enemy, wipes the blood on the knee of his breeches, looks up, and meets my eye. Despite the loathing plain in his eyes, he simply turns on his heel and engages with another enemy when I pass.

The singing of steel against steel crescendos as I descend further into the chaos. Side stepping two men in combat, I come a hair's breadth from being trampled by the remaining soldiers that hold the lines below the hill. Risian soldiers advance with their spears in an attempt to break the line. Though several of my men hold firm in their positions, I'm knocked to the ground when one of them stumbles backward into me.

A fresh wave of pain sears through my joints when I land on my palms. The crown topples off my head with the movement. Rubies the same shade as the blood-soaked battlefield dance in the sunlight as the crown lands between two men whose swords collide mid-air. Enough. With a final mournful glance ahead, I scramble to my feet and leave the mud-coated crown behind.

One of my men shadows my steps. When I turn and glance at him, he nods and engages with the enemy ahead, clearing a path to the front lines. Cool metal brushes against my skin as I weave through the brunt of what is left of the Minalese and Brealan forces. Even without the crown, men step to the side, realizing the determination behind each of my long strides.

To my surprise, some step forward to form a protective circle around me when I push past the final soldier that blocks my path. The corners of my lips lift when I see that less than a hundred feet of scorched earth separates me from the enemy. The enemy soldiers who carry spears with shards of obsidian decorating the tips reel backward when they come to understand who is before them.

Allowing myself to be consumed, I lift my hands and become a vessel for the hurt, betrayal, and grief that have been tucked into trunks within the darkest corners of my mind for five centuries. Albeit sluggishly, the well that houses my magic is emptied, and crackling energy rushes through my veins. When the tips of my fingers start to tingle once more, I channel all the strength that remains in my body and imagine a vortex that will sweep them away.

Horses whine and bodies thud to the ground. I close my eyes and imagine a wall of white noise in my mind, tuning out anything that does not serve me or my magic in this moment. Just as before, the wind picks up speed. The hair that is secured in a knot at the back of my neck loosens, stray pieces whipping around my face. Trees in the distance rustle their leaves, whole branches kneeling over to follow the direction of the wind.

Blood dribbles down my chin when I push my magic further, commanding more to be done, even when my lungs burn. The pressure in the air rises and all goes still. No sound is to be heard, the clashing of swords fading into the distance as the wind barrels down. Opening my eyes, I'm awestruck to find rotating, funnel-shaped clouds descending from the sky above me. Twisting my hands, tears form in my eyes when I reach into the well inside of my soul and pull the last drops of my magic to the surface.

A scream born of pure resolve escapes me as I thrust my palms out, driving the vortex forward. Morbid fascination stretches through my chest when the vortex barrels ahead, swallowing anything in its path. Spears and longswords are wrenched from the soldiers' grasps, and then my creation takes the enemies themselves. Men are hoisted into the air, screams dying in their throats as the treacherous winds toss them about like a child's dolls. All manner of dirt and debris join the fray, wooden boards and large boulders rotating within the vortex.

Dizziness washes over me and my vision becomes a blur as I turn my head to the left. Swaying slightly, I shake my head and narrow my eyes to focus on the midnight-colored horse that is fast approaching. Although each muscle in my body screams in protest, I don't allow the tension to ebb away from my spine. I know it's a miracle of the stars themselves that I'm still standing when a light tug reverberates through my chest.

The mirror of my soul swings his leg over and dismounts before his horse comes to a full stop. Laughter bubbles in my throat when my mind conjures his wide, blue eyes and trembling hands. Pushing a stray lock from my brow, I free my amusement with breathless laughter. Stopping with less than an arm's length of distance between us, Felix stares at me for several long moments before he speaks.

"I never took you for a fool, Ellesandra."

Cold sweeps over me and I feel nothing as I drop to my knees. I feel nothing when my gaze lands on a crimson vambrace that covers a severed arm. I feel nothing as the scent of ocean and pine fills my senses, and strong arms band around my waist before I descend into the darkness.