Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

I had said no more strays . I thought I'd been pretty clear. And yet here she was, bringing back another mud girl. At least I recognized this one: Mari, Shava's friend from the mud quarter who I'd knocked out and left in the tunnels.

By the look of awe on Mari's face, she didn't remember any of that.

Good.

Like Shava, she'd survived her reaping. I supposed she could stay. What harm could one girl do, anyway?

* * *

I stood in the desert surrounded by refugees, glaring up at the cave where I knew Zariah and Zion were holed up with Mari.

What fucking damage could one girl do, eh?

The entire kingdom was about to implode because of one goddamn girl. She'd tried to kill me in my own domain and had threatened everything I'd worked so hard to build.

Everyone else was happy–ecstatic, even. The dragons had flown far and wide and brought back food. Meat. A giant bonfire blazed and Mari's people from the mud quarter danced with the exiled Nobles, everyone happy and free.

I was furious.

"Here they come. Bitch."

Shava patted me on the shoulder as a dragon glided down from the cliff, the other twin and Mari on its back. I turned and busied myself with distributing the remaining food, only turning when I heard the crowd behind me. At least Shava understood. She was the only other one angry at the meddling mud girl for attempted murder. To make it worse, Mari knew my secret.

She had to die, and quickly.

"Here. Don't think I forgot about you."

Zion took a giant drumstick from me and handed it to Mari. She grasped the greasy meat in her fingers, frowning at it.

"Where did Zariah get this? The land around here…"

The tips of Zion's ears blushed red. "It's … well, there are kingdoms far from here that aren't so far for a dragon. And their farms are large, with huge herds of prey—I mean, animals. Trust me, they won't miss these."

I rolled my eyes and sat down next to the fire and Shava.

"Sit and eat," Zion insisted. "Everyone else has. It's your turn." Zion guided Mari down to sit in front of the fire, next to me and Shava. Shava ignored Mari.

Time to get in her head.

"Do you know I've read books about witches?" I asked her.

"Witches?" she replied dully, not really interested.

"Yes, like the one that laid this curse," I confirmed. "They come in different kinds, I guess. Each represents an element like air, water, fire, that sort of thing."

She stared at the remaining meat in her hands.

"It's fascinating," I continued, my enthusiasm not in the least bit dampened by her aloofness. "There's also different kinds of magick: black and white."

Her head perked up. "Like good and evil?" She asked.

I scoffed. "No, not at all. Different kinds of energies. Good and evil is subjective, anyway. Did you think mercy killing the demons was evil, or a ‘good' thing to do?"

She squirmed under his intense stare. Good.

"My point is, they're just different types of energy. The books say magickal creatures can harness both, but it's horrendously difficult. Most pick one or the other. Neat, eh?"

She blanched and I drew back, hands flexing on my knees. "I thought you'd be more interested."

Her shoulders shrugged. "Aren't any witches around here, are there?"

I gave her a look before I could help it. I just couldn't pretend to be nice to her.

"Well …" she said, "what kind of witch do you think laid the curse?"

I perked up immediately. "Ah, now that is a worthy question. It's hard to say. Cursing a bloodline to be dragons hardly fits a particular element, does it?"

"Maybe fire," she suggested half-heartedly, tossing the remnants of her bone into the large fire. It sizzled where it hit the flames, the last scraps of meat and juices hissing and burning up.

"Zephyr," she began quietly, so as not to attract anyone else's attention, "while I appreciate you volunteering to lead the refugees to a better home, you know you can't do that. What about the …" she gestured vaguely to my sleeves, under which we both knew my demon transformation was already beginning.

Fuck her.

I smiled widely. "Ah Mari, don't worry about that. I've found a solution!"

Her lips parted in shock. "To stop the change?"

My smile hurt my cheeks. "I have you to thank, really. You said ‘we don't have magick'. Do you remember?"

She clearly didn't. Oh well.

"Anyway, you were half right. Humans don't have magick. But those with noble blood do, you see? The witch gifted it to us along with the curse. We can't change into demons without some kind of magick in our veins, can we? I'm so thankful to you for this realization, I am willing to drop our little feud and lead your little muddies to freedom."

Mari nodded dumbly.

I kept my tone light. "Well, as I lay there hoping I wasn't bleeding internally, I realized that if I had magick, maybe I could try some of the white and black rituals written down in the book. So you see, our little squabble was necessary for the greater picture."

"And did you try any rituals?" she asked, clearly wary.

I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. "Not this specific type. There's a lot you need to do a ritual. I will, though. I need a special … ingredient."

"And this … ritual … will keep you from changing?"

I only grinned, gave her a patronizing pat on the head, and walked off. Shava followed behind me, glaring at her former friend.

* * *

Shava and I only managed a few stolen moments together before the ground shook, and the air filled with screams of terror.

"Oh for fuck's sake," I spat out, pushing Shava off me and yanking my pants up.

"I thought you said the queen wouldn't attack?" Shava asked, frowning as she set her own clothes right.

"I said she wouldn't attack yet, " I replied, irritated. Was every woman conspiring against me as of late?

The screams intensified as we stumbled out of the small crack in the side of the cliff, running back towards the refugees. The thundering in the distance and the accompanying wave of dust could mean only one thing.

"She's attacking with her army! What a cunt!"

I echoed Shava's thoughts in my head. Attacking unarmed refugees seemed a bit much, but I already knew she was a heartless, crazy bitch.

I learned that the day my mother died.

"RUN!"

People shouted and stampeded as the queen advanced, barking out orders. We made it to the edge of the crowd before Shava was seized by a frantic woman.

"Shava! I can't find Poppy!"

I growled in annoyance. We were supposed to care about one stupid little girl ahead of the entire camp?

"Was she playing near the tunnel again? It isn't safe with the dragons nearby!" Shava insisted. The woman's face went white, confirming that the girl was likely down in one of the tunnels.

Shava took off, leaving both of us behind.

I sprinted after her, catching up just at the tunnel entrance and grabbing her arm. "What? Absolutely not!"

Shava turned on her heel, fire in her eyes. "She's a child ! How can you sentence a child to die?"

I didn't like the disbelief and disgust in her voice.

"A child will have a much harder time surviving in the desert. I don't care whether the child lives or dies. You help run this entire camp. Everyone looks up to you and trusts you in a way no one else does, even that Mari girl. Everything would fall apart without you. The risk is not worth it." I paused, unsure whether it was wise to say, but I had to use every weapon in my arsenal, no matter how vulnerable it left me.

"I don't care about the child. I care about you ," I whispered vehemently. Her eyes widened with momentary shock, before the anger settled in again.

"I suppose that's as sweet and sugary a declaration of love as anyone could get from you," she sniffed.

I reared back, shocked. Love? Who said anything about love ? She was raving, stark mad, and—

"SHAVA! SHAVA!"

Shava ran deeper into the tunnel as the little girl's shrieks pierced the air, the ground rumbling under our feet.

"Son of fucking …" I grit my teeth and went after them both.

"SHAVA! WHERE—"

My shouts cut off as part of the roof caved in, missing my head by an inch.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. "

Tiny arms found my leg and dug in with fingernails like claws. I almost kicked at it on instinct before realizing it was the little girl. As the walls shook around us, I peered down at her.

"Where is Shava?" I demanded.

She cried noisily, burying her head into my leg.

Seeing there was nothing for it, I slung her over my shoulder like a sack of wheat, ignoring how she screamed and kicked, banging her little fists against my back. Did the little whelp want to be saved or not?

Without flourish I raced back to the tunnel entrance and dumped her. To my relief she immediately ran off, no doubt in search of her mother or someone else a bit more sympathetic to her big doe eyes than me.

As I turned back, one of the large wooden support beams holding up the mine entrance cracked, and the entire ceiling buckled.

If I went in now, I wouldn't be coming back out.

Shava's words rang in my ears.

" I suppose that's as sweet and sugary a declaration of love as anyone could get from you."

"No, it's not," I argued to the crumbling tunnel. "This is."

I dove in.

* * *

Love is stupid. Love is a distraction. Love turns you from your goals and dreams and turns you into a spineless worm, incapable of rational thought or emotions. I don't love her. I'm simply obsessed with how my cock feels inside of her, of how wild her eyes get when we fight, when—

The internal chant kept up as I dodged and weaved between falling rocks and growing debris, coughing and putting an arm over my face to save my lungs.

I went deeper and deeper, unable to find her.

You wouldn't find your nose in this mess. How much further will you push it?

Every footstep brought me closer to death.

Just a few more steps.

Just a few more steps.

Just a few more—whumpf.

I tripped over something lying in the middle of the passageway—something soft and warm. And not breathing.

"Shava! Shava, you must get up!"

My voice got lost as the tunnel groaned and rocks shifted. My bloodmagick flashed against my skin as I called whatever strength it could give me as I hoisted Shava across my back. She was thin like all mud girls were, but long and lanky as I dragged her through the rubble.

Or tried to.

Was she even breathing? Debris fell faster and harder. I fought for every inch of ground, not entirely sure I was even fighting in the correct direction. It was so dark, and I couldn't breathe.

I tripped over a boulder I couldn't see and went down with Shava on top of me. Rocks and dirt went under my nails, in my hair, and coated my lungs.

This is where you finally die.

"Shava? Shava."

My bloodmagick flared weakly and faded back into my skin, giving me only a brief glimpse of her slack, unmoving face. I put a finger to her neck, trying to feel for a heartbeat.

It was there, but weak and unsteady. I had to get out before it stopped completely.

Blood sluggishly poured from a wound at the back of her head, coating my thighs and knees. That same rush of power and purpose that I'd felt with the dying Fireguard filled me. Golden lines exploded across my skin, dissecting it like liquid lightning as my frustration and rage fueled my body's fire.

"No, not going to do that. That's for Nisar. Not Shava. Not …"

She's dead anyway. So are you.

"No. NO."

I could protest it as much as I wanted, but I couldn't ignore how shallow my breaths were, indicating just how quickly we were both running out of air.

Assuming she wasn't dead.

I felt her neck again, but this time couldn't find her pulse. Wait. There it was. Weak and barely there.

Panting, I tried to settle her into a comfortable position and make my way out.

Only to find it blocked. Hard, unyielding rocks met my fingertips no matter which direction I turned, my scrabbling getting more desperate as I tried not to step on Shava in my panic to get out.

No way out. No way out.

"Don't panic. There's always a way out. Always."

Not this time.

The odd energy around Shava was building. Did it have something to do with her impending death?

You can't save her. Either you both die or you try something new.

I only had a mild sense of what to do, but the magick called to me. Settling back down next to Shava, I withdrew my blade. My bloodmagick hummed happily in my veins, pushing at me.

Do it. Plunge it into her chest, and feel her life blood spurt between your fingers. Just like the Fireguard, but this one will mean more, because SHE means more.

Were they my thoughts or the magick consciously imposing its will on me? It would be easy to blame an extrinsic force, but I couldn't deny my own need. Desperately, I wanted to know what would happen if I completed this new kind of ritual. Shava was dead anyway. There was no sense in both of us dying, right?

Do it. Hurry while she's on the brink, and not yet dead. Then it won't work. It has to be your hand.

Says who?

Still, the knife hovered over her chest, tantalizingly close to grazing her skin. I had to keep my other hand on her just so I knew where I was. I couldn't see my own nose in the total darkness.

It's just one strike. She's so close already she won't feel it .

I hoped so. My chest heaved with the exertion of trying to pull air into my lungs.

Survival. It was always about survival, whether it was with the queen, the dragon, M, the stupid mud boys, or anyone else.

Survival mattered above everything. It had to. There was nothing else, was there?

Love.

The small, tiny little flicker of something stayed my hand.

Love … love ? Like my mother's love for me; a bastard child foisted on her? Like the queen's love for both her boys, one doted upon and spoiled, and the other kept outside like a dog?

Love didn't make sense to me; it was an abstract concept that wasn't tangible! And yet I'd felt it warm my chest, and seen it clearly in my life and in the twins.

"Z …"

The knife nearly clattered to the ground as Shava's hand grasped blindly for my wrist and weakly clasped it.

"We are trapped, Shava. We are running out of air. Don't speak."

"You came back for me."

Her voice had a small tingle of surprise and wonder. It didn't offend me, because I was still in awe and wonder about it myself.

"Use your magick?" she croaked out.

How was I supposed to explain to her that the only way was through her death? My magick wasn't the magick of fairy tales and epic stories. My magick was raw, and dangerous, and brutal.

"Shava, I—"

Her hand trailed up my arm, across my chest, and down the other arm to wrap around the hilt of the dagger.

" ‘S ok. You think I don't know what you did with the guard that day? Or Nisar? I went back with Cerys and Zariah. We saw the body. Cerys got freaked out. She begged Zariah to roast you until your bones turned to ash."

I expected disgust and horror. Instead, she sounded … understanding? And yet … that bitch Cerys. I knew she'd had it in for me.

My lips pinched together.

"Cleary, he didn't, " I breathed out, using precious air.

"He … owes you much. We owe … you much. Least we could do. Least I can do."

It made sense logically. I helped to establish the network of tunnels, and bring in materials to feed and clothe everyone, and make life bearable. I used my connections with the Fireguards to keep us safe and supplied. This entire operation would collapse without me.

And yet … was she giving me what I thought she was?

Could I take it?

The second question was far easier. Yes, I would take it. Because that was the only way you got ahead in life—by taking. No one would give you anything, and if they were foolish enough to do it, well then, who was I to disrespect their choices?

So … what is this, then ?

I hesitated further. I didn't enjoy doing anything I didn't understand and this? This was … complex. If I was on death's doorstep and our positions reversed, would I do the same?

I couldn't quite say. Logically, I knew it made sense for one to give up their life to save the other. No sense in both of you dying, after all. And yet … until I was actually dead, could I give up the fight to live?

I wasn't sure I could. Or would.

So what was her motivation?

You don't always need to know or understand everything. Time is running out. You will asphyxiate. You both die, or only she dies.

I had taken care not to love at all in my life. I'd loved my mother, but that had brought me nothing but agony and pain. I refused to love Clover, or dote on any of the kitchen girls.

But Shava? I had let her in. She'd wormed her way into me, and look at me now; indecisive, afraid, and unsure.

Shava truly cared for me, and did so more deeply than I did for her. I was possessive towards Shava, but to give my life for hers? I couldn't. Why could she?

Why?

Love.

Stupid. Nonsensical. Ridiculous.

I was at a crossroads: a turning point of oblivion. I'd done rituals so far and had kept from getting too addicted to how it made me feel, and to keep from reveling in the pain. It had been easy to keep myself emotionally distant and control the magick. Could I continue to do so?

"Zeph—yr. Do it for others. Or I don't want it …"

I lost the last bit of what she said, the air almost non-existent. Her hand went limp, fingers slipping off the handle.

Now or never.

"You want this," I argued to no one, and brought the dagger down as hard as I could into her chest before I could second guess it.

The last remaining bit of air left her lungs in a choked gasp, her lips quivering and twitching as her body tried to unconsciously suck in air that no longer existed. Magick spiked and swarmed around me, thick and potent.

Take the heart. The one she loves you with, mocked my inner dialogue. Or was it the magick that already coursed through my veins from the other rituals?

This magick was living, breathing chaos; a force that reflected everything back out with violence. Love was stupid. Love was weak. Love brought nothing but pain and hardship.

Her eyes rolled back in her head. She was about to pass out. That wouldn't do. This magick relied on the pain of others. The more potent, the better.

Pain I would have to cause Shava.

She couldn't pass out.

Chaos.

White magick.

Two coexisting branches of bloodmagick that balanced each other made perfect sense. I would have to write a treatise on it.

Assuming I survived.

With a grunt, I pushed the knife down vertically, creating a large gash in her chest. She couldn't scream, she couldn't cry out, but her eyes shot open in silent agony.

You have to do it.

Yes.

Fuck love.

Something twisted and broke inside of me.

I ignored the ache, cutting deep horizontally and severing tendons and muscles. I kept my eyes on my work, clinical and detached.

But I wasn't detached, not at all.

I was dying inside.

Agony shot through my chest, eclipsing any pain that had come from the botched ritual on my leg. Shava's hands fluttered weakly around my shoulders, grazing gently along my arms and neck. Gently, because she had no strength. If I didn't have a blade and was systematically carving out her heart, it could have been a lover's caress, like we'd shared so many times before.

Turn yourself off, or it will kill you.

Naive. Dumb. Survive.

I cut downward, then a final horizontal cut. Ripping open my robe, I cut deep enough to bleed on my chest in the same configuration. Sheathing my knife, I reached into her chest and felt her still beating heart against the pads of my fingers.

And ripped it out.

Magick exploded from my skin, burning gold fire up and down my body.

I couldn't scream, because there was no air. My mouth opened in a silent contortion of agony.

Just like Shava.

But it wasn't agony, was it? It was the most glorious holocaust of burning and power and destruction and heady pleasure that defied description. My body burned and ached, and I gathered all of it to me greedily, sucking it in like I'd never feel it again. The pain numbed gloriously like I'd had a drug or too much wine.

"Thank you," I sobbed. "Thank you!"

I took the power, and threw it outward.

The world exploded.