As Lucian dug his phone out of his pocket, I launched myself. There was a brief flare of magic, a moment of resistance, and then I was free and running. He looked up and swore, the phone smashing to the stone floor as he brought his sword up. Steel clashed with steel, and Amaya screamed, the sound one of fury.
Magic, she screamed. Burns.
I guess it was no surprise that Lucian had a weapon prepared against Amaya, given he was well aware I never went anywhere without her.
I pivoted and lashed out with a booted foot, hitting him square in the chest and forcing him backward. He laughed—laughed!—then brought the long knife down. I jumped back but not fast enough, and the knife slashed through my boot and into flesh. The warmth of blood began to flood my boot, but I ignored it, ducked under another blow, then thrust upward with Amaya. He twisted out of her way, but not fast enough, and her sharp steel skated along his ribs, instantly drawing blood.
More, she screamed, her noise within my head and without.
Lucian’s eyebrows rose. “It talks?”
“Yeah,” I bit back, “and she’s eager to drink in your death.”
He avoided another blow, then lashed out with a clenched fist. I ducked but not fast enough. It skimmed my chin and rattled teeth, and I almost missed his follow-up. I jumped over the sweep of his legs, then raised my sword and brought her down hard. He twisted, so rather than splitting his head open as I’d intended, it hit his shoulder. A shudder ran through her steel; then blood sprayed and his arm was swinging uselessly from the few remaining bits of flesh and tendons that Amaya hadn’t severed.
And just like that, all his amusement was gone.
What remained was anger. Anger that was deep and dark and utterly, utterly inhuman.
“For that, you will wish you were dead.”
“You can’t kill me,” I retorted. “You can’t find the fucking keys without me, remember.”
“I never said I would kill you,” he replied softly. “I merely said you will wish for it.”
And with that, he attacked, a whirlwind of power and speed and sheer, bloody force. I weaved and dodged and blocked, using every skill, every instinct. Amaya was a blur in my hands, her flames sparking off every stone and her fury stinging the air itself.
But as fast as I was, as fast as she was, he was faster. He was also bigger and heavier, and his reach was twice that of mine.
It was inevitable that some of his blows would get through my defenses; one slashed my hip, another my thigh, but I was still upright, still mobile, after several minutes of heavy fighting. And he was hampered by his useless left arm and was now bleeding from wounds on his chest and legs. It enraged him further, as I’d hoped it would. I needed him reacting, not thinking. It was only through blind rage—his, not mine—that I truly had any hope of winning.
He came at me again, a blurring mass of muscle and sheer bloody anger. I spun and kicked. Lucian sucked in his gut, and my blow missed. Not so his knife. It sliced across my foot and sheared the end off my boot. Only quick reactions on my part stopped my toes from joining it on the stone. But it was the same foot that had previously encountered his blade, and without the boot to restrict it, blood began to flow more readily and pain surged.
I jumped back, limping now.
He laughed, the sound a weird mix of anger and amusement. “The first of many, dear Risa.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Lucian,” I said, catching the edge of his blade with Amaya, holding it still as her flames leapt from her steel to his and she screamed blue murder. Nothing happened. The knife didn’t melt. Amaya’s flames died even as I added, “Because as an aunt of mine has been known to say, a condemned man should always enjoy his last meal.”
He merely laughed and attacked. Again and again. I dodged, attacking him when opportunities arose, taking more and more hits but unable to find a way through his defenses. In the end, I knew there was only one way I was going to get the upper hand.
Do what must, Amaya said.
Do what must, I repeated grimly, then lowered her steel and stepped into his next blow. His blade punched into the middle of my stomach and right out the other side. As his fist came to a rest against my skin, I swung Amaya low and hard. Her blade reverberated as she hit flesh, but then she was cutting, sawing, burning her way through his legs. He barely had time to open his mouth when he dropped, dragging his long knife from my stomach as his body went one way and his legs the other.
I swung Amaya again, removed his good arm, then dropped to my knees and pressed one hand over my stomach, vainly trying to stop the flow of blood and gore as I stared at the man I had all but beaten.
His expression was one of utter amazement. There was no pain, no sense of loss, just sheer disbelief I’d done what I’d done.
Kill! Amaya screamed. Finish!
Not you. Me.
And with that, I released her, and with my now free hand, I dragged myself forward.
“You killed my mother,” I said softly. “You raped my friend; you worked with a dark sorceress to steal the keys and threatened the safety of this world. You betrayed me in more ways imaginable, and for all those crimes, you must die.”
And with that, I dredged up the last of my reserves, called to the Aedh, and forced it into my arm. Then I shoved my fist into his chest and blew him apart.
Just has he’d blown my mother apart.
Chapter 15
It was over. I’d done what I’d sworn to do—found my mother’s killer and dealt with him. Without help, on my own.
There should have been a sense of victory. Should have been a sense of relief. There wasn’t.
There was only an odd numbness.
It was almost as if I’d given all there was to give and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—left inside of me. I raised my re-formed, bloody hand and, as if from a great distance, watched the bits of flesh and blood dribble toward my elbow.
Then, without warning, my stomach heaved and I threw up. The pain hit seconds later, and I was shaking and crying and wanting nothing more than to just let it all go. The pain, the horror, the guilt, and the expectations of others, just let it all wash away and become someone else’s problem.
Can’t, Amaya said sharply. Finished not.
Isn’t it? I wondered. I closed my eyes and fought the wash of weakness in my body, and yet I could not deny the allure of ending it all here and now. Why not let fate take whatever course she’d decided to take and no longer fight it?
Everyone would be better off without me. Everyone. No one could hold them hostage against my behavior; no one could kidnap and rape them, and—perhaps best of all—there would be no one to find the remaining keys and threaten the very safety of the world.
That alone was worth one life.
That alone was certainly worth my life.
Everyone not safe, Amaya said. I not. The life within not.
A life that might well be Lucian’s. God, he’d murdered my mother—how on earth was I to survive looking at his child every day and being reminded of his deed? How was that fair to the child? Or to me?
I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
The death I’d seen so long ago wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t going to die in an automotive accident. I was going to die here, underground, all alone except for a nagging sword.
My arms collapsed underneath me, and I fell face-first onto the stone. For several minutes I simply lay there, my breathing becoming more and more labored and my life leaking out through various wounds in not-so-slow rivers.
And wondered, just for an instant, where Azriel was.
Magic, Amaya spat. Stops.
It was a shame. I wouldn’t have minded seeing him just one more time . . .
No, Amaya screamed. Go not!
Must, I replied, the roar in my mind going stronger. It’s too late.
Not! she bit back; then she was in my hand. Power exploded around us, through us, merging steel and flesh with equal ferocity. It was a storm that tore my core apart, fiber by fiber, then pieced me back together, all within a matter of heartbeats.
Then it was no longer me, but we.
Die not, she said with fierce determination. Live must.
And with that, she forced my limbs into action, and I found myself crawling, slowly, painfully, past all the bloody, broken remnants of flesh toward two standing stones I hadn’t even realized existed. Only they weren’t just standing stones, but ancient, cuneiform-marked ones. Another gateway.
She kept me crawling, even though every movement had more blood pouring out and the pain was so intense I could barely even breathe. Energy washed across my skin, fierce and dark, but something was wrong with my eyesight because I could no longer see the stones, let alone tell whether they were active.
Not go! Stay!
I can’t—
She wasn’t listening. She never did, I guess. That surge of energy grew closer and closer even as my mind seemed to drift farther and farther away. It tore through me like a summer storm, sharp and electric, breaking me apart, then sweeping me away. I have no idea where it deposited me. I was no longer capable of caring.
My world was one of darkness and peace, and I smiled. Yes, I thought, I’m ready.
And not even Amaya’s howls of protest could stop me from stepping free of my soul.
Light flared all around me, light that was warm and golden and peaceful. The figure of a woman appeared, her face glowing and serene. I smiled, unsurprised that the image the reaper who’d come to escort me onward had chosen to wear was the countenance of my mother. Of everyone I knew, she was the one person I trusted utterly.
Though Azriel had come pretty close.
As my thoughts turned to him, the light around me seemed to dim. No, I thought with determination. I was ready to move on.
The reaper wearing my mother’s face smiled and offered me her hand. I hesitated and, just for a moment, thought of Tao and Ilianna, Riley and Quinn, Rhoan and his partner, Liander, and everyone else I was leaving behind. They would undoubtedly mourn my loss, but by my leaving, they could no longer be hurt by the madness that surrounded me.
And this was my chance, perhaps my only chance, to be with my mother again. I wanted that. More than anything, I wanted to see her, be with her, one more time.