Chapter 64

We landed together, gripping our keystones, magic flooding the palace courtyard. Bexley scampered out of the way the second his feet hit the ground.

"I'll be right over here," Bex called. "Waiting for your signal when it's safe."

I hardly blamed him.

We didn't look like much, dressed in tattered clothes and foppish hand-me-downs, but magic flayed the air around us, the front of the palace shuddering against our combined power.

Tavion froze in place, his nose held high in the air. "I smell blood. Anaria's blood." We thundered through the front door like a pack of feral wolves, because beneath our queen's clean, flowery scent lay another one—ancient and reeking and utterly bankrupt.

We stormed past Bexley's former laboratory, embers still burning in the fireplace, where Anaria's scent was strongest, poisoned with the overpowering stench of blight.

Tavion charged toward the room that spanned the gorge, boots sliding through broken pottery and glass and wood. We fought against a frozen wind howling with the scent of Anaria's blood, black, rotten blight, and something evil.

Were we too late?

The question built with every echoing boot fall, every panicked breath, that smell growing stronger the closer we got to the blown-out cantilevered room.

Tavion went through the door first, Zor beside me as we breached the threshold together, one of his deadly-as-fuck wings nearly putting my eye out.

Anaria and Tristan lay tangled together in the center of a dried pool of blood, looking for all the world like they were floating on a crimson cloud, surrounded by long, sword-like slivers of glass.

They were both smeared with blood, pale beyond measure, and half dressed in the still-freezing room, though magic sealed the room off to the elements, a ward that tugged at my skin like soft, inquisitive fingers.

My heart cracked when Anaria lifted her head and smiled.

A tired, exhausted smile, but the most beautiful thing I'd seen in my life.

"Fuck," Zor muttered. "Fuck, I thought…" He stopped and scrubbed his face. "She's alive. That's all that matters."

"I know," I muttered. "I know." I blew out a long, shuddering breath, clenching my hands to stop them from shaking.

Tavion swept her out of Tristan's arms, leaving the wyvern alone on his back, whiter than I'd ever seen him, probably because most of his blood was spilled across the floor. While I wanted nothing more than to get my hands on Anaria and make sure she was alright, Tavion wouldn't let any of us close until he'd checked her over first, the jealous bastard.

I offered Tristan my hand to lift him to his feet. "Give me a minute," he muttered, breathing hard, squeezing his eyes closed. "More than a minute, actually."

"You look like shite." My gaze flicked to the long shards of glass, tips stained red, testament to the Oracle's sadistic cruelty.

"Lucky for you we brought something to help." I crouched down beside him and slapped his keystone into his open palm. Tristan's body torqued up off the floor, light glowing from between his clenched fingers, his muscles shuddering as magic thundered through him.

Overhead, the already-cracked ceiling rattled, bits of plaster raining down, and the shield keeping the wind out faltered, a cold wet gale shrieking through before the air settled back into place.

Tristan opened his eyes, red flames burning so brightly they canceled out the green.

"Yeah, welcome to the keystone club," Tavion called from the doorway. "It's a real rush, isn't it? Wait until we all use them together. We are going to fucking kick Corvus's arse."

"What is this?" he asked, his jaw clenched tight, tendons and muscles straining against the influx of power.

"Don't fight it. The truth is…we don't know. Except, when we're all touching our stones at the same time, there's some kind of power exchange that happens. We get stronger. Faster."

I grinned up at Zor. "Apparently, we can tap into our past selves and learn to fly."

"This all yours?" I studied the blood, calculating how much Tristan had lost. The numbers didn't add up, so despite the fact his magic was off the charts, I blanketed him with a layer of healing magic, color flooding back into his face when my magic took hold, the light from the stone ebbing to a soft glow.

"Yeah, it's mine." He took a deep breath. "That bitch pierced every major artery and vein, nearly bleeding me out. Then she vanished."

"She's gone? You're sure?" Zorander scowled at the blood, the glass, and the blown-out windows, those wings rising up behind him. Those would definitely take some getting used to.

"The bitch got what she came for," Tristan said slowly, his eyes narrowing on those wings before slipping closed. He'd lost an incredible amount of blood. Enough he shouldn't be talking. Shouldn't be alive.

"Walk us through what happened," Zor said quietly, squatting down, gripping the shifter's shoulder tight. "You brought Anaria to safety, even with your depleted magic. That's more than any of us could have done, Tristan."

"Thanks." He swallowed. "The Oracle was already here, waiting for us, I think. Snatched me as bait then drew Anaria here where she took back the Fae magic." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She claimed Anaria owed her."

Tristan's eyes flickered open, sharpening when they found my face. "She's headed for Blackcastle. Said she'll burn the city to the ground."

Bexley skidded into the room, gripping the front of his robe, eyes wide as he took in the utter destruction before his roving gaze landed on Anaria, something like relief softening his drab features.

She was weeping angry tears, from the way she kept swiping her face, Tavion holding her gently, but his expression told me he was minutes away from hunting down the Oracle and tearing her limb from limb.

"She took back the Fae magic? All of it?" Zor was asking. "You're sure?"

"Every last drop. Anaria gave her power willingly; I thought the castle was going to collapse around us." Tristan's throat bobbed. "She made the trade to save me, even though the Oracle never meant to keep her word then left us both here to die. I think…"

Everything else faded away and I rocked back on my heels. This was over, then.

Suddenly every bone in my body felt weary, worn down, like I couldn't take another step.

Even with the keystones and our boosted power, success hinged on Anaria. She was our fulcrum, connecting us all together. Without her, we were too damned weak.

"The weapon won't work without magic," Zor said quietly, his bleak gaze meeting mine as he realized our fight was finished. "There's no other way to stop Corvus."

And without the weapon…That knife had been our ace in the hole. The leverage we'd been counting on ever since we'd discovered its existence. Taking the knife out of the equation…I shook my head.

Our offensive maneuver had become a desperate retreat.

"We need to get Anaria out of this realm." I was already calculating timelines and how much money we'd need to grease palms along the way.

"The way I see it, we'll head south to Meridian Bay and buy passage on a boat to the Elisian Chain, or go back to Varitus, booking a ship from Mariner's Cove to the Ascher Islands. Zor will fly to the Havens and warn Torin of the danger. But we have to get Anaria away from here.

"The Oracle won't let her live. Once Gelvira realizes there's even the slightest chance Anaria might still be a threat…she'll kill her." The last of my adrenaline drained away, the awful words whispering past dry lips.

Zor checked his weapons. "I can get to the Havens and back in a couple hours. You make preparations. If I'm not back by dawn, head out. I'll catch up."

Tristan looked at us like we were mad. "You really think our princess will run away from this?" He pushed up to his elbows. "After everything that's happened, Anaria will go north to face him. She's ready, Raz. She's strong enough."

"Not without magic, she isn't." I spooled my anger back in. "This is over, Tristan. Surely you see that, even if she doesn't. Our only duty now is to keep her safe, and that means putting as much distance between her and those fuckers as possible. The other side of the world might not even be far enough."

Besides, I'd promised her sandy beaches and blue skies, and the Aschers fit that bill to a tee.

"Who said she doesn't have magic?" Tristan asked, head tilted to the side.

"You did. You said she gave it all back to Gelvira."

"What I said was…" The shifter straightened, looking pleased with himself. "Anaria gave Gelvira back the Fae magic. Every last drop, per their bargain, including whatever power she got from dropping the Varitus ward." He sat up with a groan. "But that wasn't all of her magic. In fact, that wasn't even most of her magic."

I dragged my hands down my face. "It's been a long fucking night, and I'm not in the mood for games. What are you talking about?"

"Anaria is a child of two worlds, Raz. She inherited the witch magic. All of it, from what we can tell. I don't know how she managed, but Anaria concealed that power while the Oracle was siphoning off the Fae magic. This fight isn't over. This is just beginning."

Over on the other side of the room, Bexley looked away quickly like I'd caught him eavesdropping. My gaze fell on his hands, picking nervously at the front of his robe. He'd been acting strangely for days now.

Well, stranger than usual.

Zor scanned the room, his eyes landing on the wyvern shifter as he asked urgently, "Tristan…where's the knife?"

"Anaria hid the box beneath one of the busted statues by the fountain. In case that fucking bitch showed up."

He managed a savage grin. "And she was right, as usual."