The Wizard's Heir (34 page)

He looked over to the body of his father, a man he’d always hated but never known. Once he’d learned that Aja wasn’t the cause of the Fracture, he’d nursed a desire so secret he’d barely acknowledged it.

He wanted to know his father.

After all those years he had family again, but now he was alone once more. It didn’t matter how many times he killed Rowan—it didn’t snuff out his loss, and it didn’t extinguish the hate. He stared back down the hole, his hands clenched so hard at his side that blood dripped through his fingers and splattered at his feet.

“Tybolt!”

He turned to see Auriella standing at the door with Alistair at his side. She stared at him in silence, and he wondered what she saw. A wizard? An enemy? Could she still see him through it all?

Asher started coughing, and for the first time Tybolt realized the room was full of smoke.

“The village!” Asher cried, still pinned beneath the candelabra. “It’s burning to the ground!”

“Asher.” Tybolt ran for him. He crouched and wrapped his fingers around the metal ring. He hefted, but he could barely lift it a few inches. Asher yelled and then grunted, biting down on his fist. Before Tybolt could call for help, Auriella was there, lifting with him. “Push,” Tybolt panted. They both leaned into the candelabra and slid it across the floor until it was clear of Asher, whose leg was clearly broken in at least two places.

Auriella grabbed Tybolt’s arm. “I’ll stay with him. You have to call rain—nothing else can stop this fire.”

Tybolt could feel the color draining from his face. Yes, he had power and some instincts—but when he thought about calling storms, it was nothing but a blank slate. “I don’t know how,” he whispered.

“That’s why I brought Alistair.” She ran to Asher, falling at his knees. She immediately began examining the leg.

Alistair? Tybolt vaguely remembered seeing him next to Auriella, but where was…he looked over his shoulder.

Through the smoke, he saw Alistair kneeling next to his brother. His hands went out several times, almost touching Aja’s face, hair, the sword protruding from his chest. But Alistair pulled back each time, hands shaking. Tybolt wanted to give him time to mourn, but there wasn’t any. He ran over.

“Alistair,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

“What happened?”

“He killed himself to give me his power…I think.”

Alistair nodded. “That sounds like him.”

“We can talk about Aja for as long as you like after you help me call a storm. Please, before the entire village is lost.”

“I don’t know if I can help you, but I’ll try.” He got to his feet, not bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Try?”

“It’s all I can offer.” He looked deep into Tybolt’s eyes. “There are no incantations for weather magic. Nature responds to its master. The trees already have chosen and bow willingly. The weather must do the same.”

“But…”

“Close your eyes, boy. Think. Feel.”

Tybolt did as he was asked, but inside was a raging torrent of emotions he’d never dared release. It was all he could think of, all he could feel. The fire increased, and he opened his eyes to see flame dripping from his fingertips once more. It was the most horrific, all consuming feeling he’d ever experienced, and he understood for the first time how hate turned men into monsters. A tear dripped down his cheek, evaporating before it reached his nose, and he looked to his uncle. “Help me.”

“You must release it.”

“I don’t know how.” Images and pictures flashed through his mind, and fury roared in response, churning through his stomach.

“You have to want to return to yourself, Tybolt. This is not you. You have to see the hope and beauty you always saw. You have to find your humor. It has saved you before.”

Tybolt took deep breaths through his nose, sorting through his own mind, trying to find something to hang onto. He needed a raft, a savior, something to pull him from the depths of despair—the immensity of which he hadn’t known existed.

His understanding of his fellow Hunters finally came into realization, and he took a calming breath. Through everything he’d experienced, he’d never understood his own kind, no matter how many times they’d explained. But now he felt compassion. They lived with these feelings and yet somehow rose above them. Some even learned to let go. He looked over to Asher and Auriella. Their own goodness had overcome the dark.

Love burst through the flames, and his heartbeat slowed.

“You’ve found it,” Alistair whispered.

Tybolt closed his eyes and called out to the clouds, the wind, the rain. He begged and pleaded with the intent of saving all those he loved. There was a tug in his gut, reminiscent of what he felt when controlling the trees. The tug increased to a rush of energy, and then the thunder rumbled. Tybolt pushed harder, feeding energy and magic as he walked towards the window. The tree retreated and pulled to the side, seeming to know what Tybolt wanted to see.

Banks of purple clouds rolled in. His first instinct was fear, which was laughable as he was now controlling it. This was no longer a curse, but a blessing. No more Fractures, just life-giving rain. He imagined the moisture flowing over the island.

Soon after, the
pitter patter
of rain dappled the leaves on the tree, and then the downfall came. He called more and more, until it was a sheet of water so thick he could barely see through it. The cries outside turned to excitement and joy.

“That’s enough, boy,” Alistair said from behind him. “Release it. The storm will do what you willed, and then it will move on.”

“Are you sure?” Tybolt asked through deep breaths.

“I’m sure.”

The village had been heavily damaged, and rebuilding had only just begun. It would take months at least, especially now that trade had been cut off from Deasroc. A little physical persuasion of the captain on his next delivery gave Tybolt all the information he needed to know about Rowan and about the arrangement he’d made with the King of Deasroc.

But that wasn’t the important part. The important part was that his people had hope now, something they hadn’t had in a very long time.

Even better was watching villagers, Hunters, and wizards working alongside each other. Frequent spats had to be negotiated, but Tybolt felt confident that they would decrease in time and old prejudices would heal.

Tybolt had insisted that the Royal quarters be moved elsewhere in the castle. He simply would not stay in the same room where Rowan had murdered so many. He still had a balcony and now leaned over the rail, resting his elbow on the metal and holding Auriella’s hand.

Her skin was soft and her presence a balm, a balm he’d never known he was in need of. But after everything he’d been through, she was the only thing he wanted. He cleared his throat. “How’s your father?”

“Recovering.” She smiled softly. “It’s been nice having him so close. His blacksmithing will suffer without his finger but he says he’ll make due.”

“And how’s Asher?” These were easier questions than the one he really wanted to ask her.

“Same as when you saw him yesterday, hobbling around and cursing his leg.” She shook her head, and her dark hair moved across her shoulders. “I keep telling him that a week is not long enough to heal broken bones, but he seems to think that Hunter’s blood should be strong enough to make up the difference.”

Tybolt chuckled lightly, but his mind was elsewhere. “Coronation is tomorrow.”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

“Almost as strange as all the green.” He watched the beginning of new leaf growth wave in the breeze.

“I don’t know. A Hunter turned wizard being crowned as king—that might be stranger.”

He wanted to laugh, but his nerves bubbled up and cut it off.

She nudged his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I…I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

A bang sounded and they both jumped, whirling around to face the intruder. The wine he’d ordered ran across the floor and beneath the feet of a sheepish looking Malachi. “Oops.”

“I thought I moved you to head of the kitchen?” Tybolt sighed.
So I didn’t have you carrying things around anymore
.

“I know, but this was special. I wanted to make sure that…” He looked at the empty cups. “It was as special as it could be.” His shoulders slumped.

“Special?” Auriella raised an eyebrow. “What’s he talking about?”

Malachi’s head popped back up. “You haven’t asked—”

“Malachi!” Tybolt scrubbed his hands over his face, half laughing. “You can go now.”

Auriella turned to him. “What’s he talking about?”

Tybolt ran his hand under her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek. He leaned over and kissed her. His lips lightly brushed hers, soft at first and then more desperate. She took his bottom lip between her teeth, barely nibbling. He smiled and leaned back, taking a deep breath.

“I can’t do this alone, Auriella. I need…” He knelt and grabbed her hand. “I need a queen by my side. Auriella Doshire, I love you. Will you marry me and be my Queen?”

She stared at him for long enough that he started to squirm. “You do know that I always swore I wouldn’t marry the king?”

“I don’t recall that exact wording,” he stammered.

“I’m fairly certain.”

“Maybe, but—”

She held a finger to his lips and grinned. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

THE END