CHAPTER 30

AUREN TURLEY

My breath plugs in my chest like the stopper on a vial. I watch the gold figure stand there, and seeing her makes a jolting, harrowing flash of a memory erupt. I see Emonie in the cell. How her face dripped away like wax, melting into my own appearance with gold skin, gold hair, gold eyes.

Right before she passed me the ring that's stuffed in my pocket.

Wick's ring.

"Here she is," the fae announces with a sweep of his hand. "Their very own Ly?ri Ulvêre. Except, she was never the golden one gone. She has been here with us all along!" he says with a grin. "She is no rebel. She does not lead them or stand by them. She has been here with the king! And to prove it once and for all, she is here to bow before the Stone King and show everyone in Annwyn that this mockery of a rebellion is over . All hail King Carrick!"

The crowd titters back, a frenetic excitement filling the air.

Emonie gleams in the sunlight, dressed in a provocative gold dress. It cuts down into a V, past her breasts and below her navel, the skirt splitting up both sides of her thighs. The crowd leers at her with incomprehensible shouts.

It makes me feel vulnerable. As if everyone's eyes are on me . Leering at me . The rot through my puddling gold pulses as if sensing my emotions.

Around Emonie's wrists and ankles are stone bands, and though they seem to be mere jewelry, I can't help but think that she's wearing them for a more sinister reason. Can't help but wonder if they're shackles instead.

My gaze darts to the so-called Stone King. He watches her with victory cleaving through his expression, and anger heats my face.

"Here is this Ly?ri that the Vulmin have claimed. The one they say leads you. She does not! She is no rightful heir. Auren Turley will bow to the true king with you all here to witness!"

With her chin up, eyes straight ahead at King Carrick, Emonie does exactly as he said. The crowd shouts wildly as she bends one knee, and then the other, until her legs are curled beneath her. Then she lowers even further, until her arms are outstretched, palms and forehead kissing the ground.

More magic spurts from my palms, landing in aggressive splatters at my feet.

The volume of the spectators is so loud it thrashes my ears. I glance around, skipping over those who cheer, instead focusing on the ones who don't celebrate.

I take in the ones who look on with visible anger. Or confusion. Or misery that they can't seem to hide. One female fae has tears slipping down her cheeks. The sunlight glares on a single button sewn into her shirtsleeve, and I notice the broken-winged bird sigil melded right into it.

Seeing that button sends me another flash of memory.

People surrounding me, crying, smiling, celebrating and believing—believing in a movement that was bigger than myself.

But then I hear those cruel words again? except this time, I see it too. See King Carrick glaring down at me. Hear that other voice speak.

Don't give them a martyr. Give them a mockery.

That other person's face slowly comes into focus. One eye, strong jaw, a sneering mouth. In my mind's eye, I stare at him as if he's standing in front of me, the vision taking over everything.

I hear screaming. Feel power rippling. My hands pour out gold, and the ground quakes with massive roots of rot. There's a woman standing beside the male, and I feel such suffering fear from her that it cripples me. Steals away my breath.

The vision is abruptly yanked away, like a rope tugged out of my hands. I lose my grip on the flashback, nearly losing my footing where I stand too. Beneath my armor, my ribbons ripple, my spine slicking with gold.

I just barely catch the end of the announcer's words. "…with her aid. Because of Auren Turley's loyalty to the crown, we have these traitors to present before you. She has led the rebels to their penance!"

The Vulmin in the crowd—because that must be who they are—they look tormented. The rest of the audience roars with a fervor.

My own fervor is an inward intensity that's ready to boil over.

I watch as soldiers drag people out from behind the stage. People who are gagged and bound. They're forced to stand in a line behind Emonie, and she sits up from her prostrate position, eyes widening when she sees them. She says something, but I'm too far away to hear. Too focused on the fae male just beside her.

It's Wick .

I remember his name, his face, a flash. It's enough to fill me with dread for him and Emonie both.

"Good fae of Lydia, you will stand witness! These Vulmin traitors will be whipped and hanged for their crimes against the crown!"

Frenzied cheers blare in my ears, while my fury takes flight.

They absolutely will not .

"Listen to me!" Wick shouts, his voice cutting through the arena. "The Vulmin aren't traitors! We believe in treating our fellow fae and Oreans with respect! We believe in a leadership that doesn't drain us dry with taxes and punish us for differing views! We can do better than this! We can demand an Annwyn of peace! A land that doesn't rule by greed and cruelty! We can do better !"

His voice is loud and holds the unmistakable edge of both determination and desperation. But most of the people just continue to shout and curse, fists raised in the air, calling for blood. The sound crescendos just as I let my ribbons unwind, falling loose and free from beneath my cloak.

A hooded fae walks on the stage with a long, spiked whip in his grip.

More gold collects in my hands like lumps of clay, and I roll them between my palms. Then I reach forward with my ribbons and shove apart the spectators around me like curtains.

I step forward and glare at the stage below while fae stagger beside me, questions and gasps forming on their lips, gold splashing beneath their feet.

I barely pay them any mind.

The whip wielder steps up to Emonie, and my entire body tenses as he hands her the weapon. She's standing now, but Wick is kneeling beside her, held down by a soldier. The rest of the Vulmin are all kneeling too, soldiers in a row behind them. I recognize the same cuff I wore on my ankle is also on Wick's, the gray band suppressing whatever magic he has.

Emonie, however, wears the stone shackles, and when she hesitates, I see her arm jerk forward, fingers fumbling before she takes hold of the whip. Her entire body is tight and stiff, but I instantly know—the Stone King is using his magic. The cuffs around her wrists are forcing her jerky movements.

Anger locks in my jaw, and the bulge of veined gold continues to gather in my hand.

Give them a mockery.

Use her.

Make it a spectacle.

Snippets of memories flutter behind my eyes, and I've had enough.

"Let this be a lesson to anyone who thinks they can go against the king! Watch this Ly?ri do his bidding and end this false rebellion once and for all!" He turns to Emonie. "Begin!" he shouts at her, and I see her arm lift despite the stricken look on her face.

" Enough !"

My voice rings out through the arena as I shove back my hood and reveal my face. Emonie spots me instantly, her wet eyes widening as she looks up. Exclamations erupt in the air as gold pours from my hands and drips down my ribbons, encasing my legs in armor and covering my feet in gilded boots.

"My name is Auren Turley, and I am the true Ly?ri Ulvêre," I call out, my voice lashing against the steps, echoing through the entire arena and snatching every single person's attention. But my eyes find the king's. "I am not gone, and I do not bow ."

My cloak rips off with a shove of my ribbons, and gold shoots forward, the liquid metal clotted with veins of black. I race down the steps of the arena toward Emonie and Wick, and people scream as my gold streams with me, but I'm not here to hurt innocents.

I'm here for the guilty.

They tried to erase me, but they didn't succeed. They tried to say who I was, but I'm going to show them.

Guards surround the king and clunkily move him away at the other end of the viewing arena. At the stage below, Vulmin prisoners struggle against their bindings and try to get away.

Cords of gold split off and circle the soldiers like caught livestock. Every single one of them gets cinched inside my molten rope and yanked away from the Vulmin.

I make it to Emonie and Wick seconds after my gold does. My magic already cutting through the Vulmin's bindings.

"Get their weapons!" Wick shouts at the others as they stagger to their feet, and we all jump off the stage.

"Attack!" I hear the king roar from behind his circle of guards that are leading him back down the steps.

The stone beneath our feet cracks violently and starts to lift from his magic. Before the chunk can toss us on our asses, my gold solidifies the foundation we're standing on.

I whip around to face the king, and his expression is incensed. "You Turley filth , I should have slit your throat!"

Rage seeps out from my molten expression. "Yes. You should have."

"Kill her!" he barks out as more soldiers stream toward us.

I lunge a wave of gold toward him, but before it can hit, he pulls stone from the stair in front of him. It lashes up into a barrier, making my liquid metal splash against it. Behind me, the Vulmin are fighting against the soldiers, and the spectators are screaming and running.

But some people from the crowd are rushing in , taking up arms. Not against the Vulmin, but helping .

Someone from a rooftop shouts, "We rise with the dawn!"

Answering calls pepper the air, and I'm stunned as fae leap from rooftops and appear through the trees. They sprint down the steps, rushing down into the square to help the other Vulmin and join the fight.

Dozens of them. More than I can count.

And it's suddenly clear. This is why they tried to make the Vulmin a laughing stock. Because if there are this many ready to risk their identities and their lives in the capital city, then how many more are there throughout all of Annwyn?

There's fighting in the square and on the steps, the clash of soldiers and Vulmin ringing out all around me. It's a crescendo of violence in the ruthless song of battle, and the beast inside of me sings.

Another contingent of soldiers rushes in to defend the king, trying to cut me off from him. I hold my hand out and gold pours down, forming a sword just as the first soldier lifts a weapon and swings it at me. My metal hardens in an instant to meet the attack, and our blades clash.

The soldier's sword shatters on impact, and shards go flying off. I raise my weapon and slam it into his neck, slicing right through with the sharpened edge.

More soldiers rush at me, so I call to my saturated ribbons. With a dozen on each side, they bend before me like layered ribs, and then fling back with amazing strength. It sends four soldiers flying.

The others coming in to attack me don't get as close. I've pooled gold at my feet, and I waste no time using it. It rises, like a tidal wave against a beach. The soldiers freeze, staring up at its swell before they try to turn and run back. With a mighty force, the swell crashes down over them, knocking them off their feet, their armored bodies swept away.

A crackling in the air warns me of magic a split second before a flame nearly hits me. Gold brackets around my palm, elongating into a shield. I raise it just in time for the magic stream of hot fire to slam against it.

I'm not sure how my gold will hold up against the flames, but already, the scent of hot metal soaks the air. Before the fire can melt through, I call on the lines of rot instead, and they latch onto the soldier, choking him out with veins of black and sputtering out his flames as he perishes.

Vicious victory spreads through my expression.

There's a shout, and I look up to see King Carrick sneering at me. He has Emonie by her hair, and her face is a mixture of fury and fear that makes me pause. "You attack, and she's dead!"

My reply is a growl. "I think you've threatened me enough, Stone King."

But then, there's a rumble, like a quaking earth.

Everyone seems to still, attention jerked toward the city. Down the packed streets, people start to scream.

The sound makes my stomach dip right down to my toes.

Something is coming. Something big. Powerful. I can feel the magic in the air like it's brushing against my skin.

The king looks positively gleeful. "The Breaker comes," he says with a threatening twist of his lips.

My insides wring, mind trying to soak up the inherent fear and discover its meaning.

Who's The Breaker?

The pitted-out points in my head echo, reverberating with a single flash.

My bones breaking. Arm, ribs. Inescapable pain.

Then the cold, heartless face of the fae who voiced those ugly words. "Give them a mockery."

With fingers curling into fists, I look at the king, and he's waiting for my reaction, hoping I'll be afraid.

I'm not.

They've already tried to break me, but instead, I broke free .

Another fae lobs magic at me, and my ribbon extends, smacking the magic away in a spray of sparks that rain down. Someone else—a soldier to my right—slaps his hands together, and a cloud of magic bursts between his palms. It coalesces like smoke, maybe dense with poison based on the greenish tinge. My magic can't fight against air, so I melt down my shield and slam the thick cord forward.

It hits him and the soldiers nearby, knocking them off their feet before covering them with thick, syrupy strings that net around them and hold them down.

Then I go for the king.

Using the gold puddled at my feet, I send strips forward, thin enough that they dodge Emonie and wrap around Carrick's throat. But he retaliates before I can finish cinching. The stone beneath my feet cracks apart as it juts up and tries to dislodge me. I go falling backward on the tipping stonework, but my ribbons lash out, catching me before my skull can crack against the ground.

Leaping to my feet with frustration, I cast magic toward the king, but he tosses up a stone barrier again in front of him and Emonie.

My magic slams into it, clanging wildly, the metal denting.

Sweat drips down my temples, and I stagger, my body reminding me of how drained I already was. Worry spreads down my spine, but determination fills in the cracks.

I can't let him defeat me. I won't .

With another forceful shove, I push against him, but he pushes back. It's a battle of wills and magic, and I know he thinks his stone is stronger, that he's unbeatable. But I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes in determination.

Gold bends, but stone breaks .

Hand shaking, I push it forward, making more magic careen forward. It forms into a thick spear that hits his barrier right in the middle. The rock shatters from the impact, spewing chunks and dust into the air as it crumbles.

Victory and adrenaline race through me, and I rush toward him. The king's eyes widen. I see the panic that twitches across his face. See the moment where he realizes he can lose.

Then Carrick lets out a shout. "Brennur!"

That name makes a terrible feeling scoop into my brain.

Brennur…

My eyes shift. With my focus on the king, I failed to notice the old fae with the squared beard and clay-colored eyes behind him. Failed to notice the ring of grass growing up through the stone.

That terrible feeling grows.

"No!" Emonie shouts.

Panic booms in my ears, and I sprint toward them, legs pumping, ribbons outstretched, gold sloshing toward them as I push myself faster and faster—

I'm too late.

Right before me, their two forms are sucked away. Emonie and I lock eyes the instant before she disappears. I skid to a stop right in front of the grass, and I watch it wilt and wither. One blink it's there…

Gone the next.

With a growl, I spin, shoving magic at the older fae. Gold ropes wrap around him, pinning him in place, making him drop his cane with a clatter.

"What did you do?" I snarl, my pulse raging.

His eyes widen but his mouth stays shut.

"Where did they go?" I demand as I grip my sword, the gold shining with the glare of my fury.

He refuses to answer.

"Auren!"

I look over my shoulder at Wick's call just as he skids to a stop at my side. When he sees Brennur, his entire face creases with betrayal. "You! You traitor !"

On instinct, my ribbons block Wick before he can swing his sword at the fae. Then with the hilt of my sword, I land a fierce blow against Brennur's temple. He crumples to the ground, unconscious.

My ribbons drop away. "I need him alive," I tell Wick.

"I—" Wick's words are hacked off with a blunt sound that thrashes the air. The entire city seems to tremble.

Wick and I look at each other, and then we both turn and race toward the city. Toward the sound. Toward the screams.

Because the king warned us. The Breaker is coming.

But he won't break me .