Wings of Lomay (21 page)

Jasmine cried out. The black shadow faded, revealing her true form. Her luxurious white silk-and-fur gown was stained with blood across the shoulder.

Jasmine’s followers edged away from the battle, leaving them trapped between Jasmine and the brink of the cliff. The silence of the crowd was absolute as they stared in open-mouthed wonder at the woman behind the shadow.

Kiora fired another shot. Jasmine’s hand whipped out and a shield the size of two castle doors appeared. Her green eyes blazed in fury.

We’re out of time,
Kiora thought.

There are a lot of threads here, Kiora. I am working as fast as I can.

Jasmine grabbed the wind, shoving it forward. Kiora tried to defend, but she wasn’t fast enough. The force caught Arturo, jerking him into a violent spin. They careened toward the ground.

Arturo whinnied, frantically trying to right himself.

Kiora grappled for control of the wind as they flipped. She shoved back at it, diminishing its strength, which allowed Arturo to right himself seconds before they slammed into the ground. His hoofs scraped against the dirt as he pulled back up. Kiora threw a bubble.

Expecting them to go high again, Jasmine sent out a sphere of magic that rippled across the sky.

Finished,
Arturo thought as they skimmed the ground, heading toward the mob crowded against the edge of the cliff.

“You checked everyone?”

Everyone I could. They are terrified of her,
Arturo said, referring to Jasmine.
But they hate you. All of them.

Kiora cursed. It was so reminiscent of home. Before that first battle with Dralazar, Kiora had been up all night, going door to door, checking threads. She had taken all who followed her to safety and left Dralazar’s followers there to suffer the consequences. It was Meros all over again—only this time, there was no one good to save.

They were taught to hate you. And you brought the Shadow back. They want you dead.

Arturo swooped in low, landing between Jasmine and her frozen followers. Jasmine put up her shield and Kiora put up one to match. They stood still, staring at each other through the slight distortion of magic. Kiora was again taken back as Jasmine’s eyes, which had been so filled with rage, now shone with amusement.

Kiora slid off Arturo, keeping her hand up to maintain the strongest shield possible. She dropped to one knee and touched the ground with her other hand, gently coaxing it apart. Her eyes never left Jasmine as small fissures shot through the rocky layers just beneath the surface. She nudged, carefully widening them as much as she dared.

Jasmine fired a shot. Kiora leaped backwards as some of the magic pushed its way through her shield. The attack slammed into the ground, connecting with one of the fissures—it separated several inches, racing across the surface.

Careful,
Arturo warned.

Kiora climbed back on him, using all her energy to reinforce her shield.

Arturo took off just as Jasmine fired again. The force rolling toward them was rippling black and screamed of death. It was the largest attack Kiora had ever seen, and panic rolled through her.
My shield won’t hold!

Hang on!
Arturo turned, heading straight up.
I am going to need help.

She dropped her shield, diverting all her magic to bring up wind behind Arturo. They shot into the sky, Arturo pumping his wings furiously. The magic passed beneath them, continuing over the heads of the enemy forces and rolling out to sea. It was now or never.

Kiora leaned over Arturo as he righted himself and sent down spires of white-and-green magic that connected with the fissured and broken ground. She fired as they flew, one shot after another, creating a line of impact that followed the path she had weakened in the stone.

The air rent with the sounds of popping and groaning—of earth separating itself. Then came the loud snap and groan of the cliff giving way, followed by shouts of panic from thousands as they slid toward the ocean. Two more shots and the massive chunk of earth detached, breaking into two pieces as it fell. The screams were horrific.

Kiora turned her attention to the sea and pulled forth a huge wave. She coaxed more water into the wave as it rushed forward. The water level at the base of the cliffs dropped, pulling those already in the water out to sea. The warships were pulled backwards, sliding up the front of the tsunami wave, looking like tiny dots on its massive surface. It roared forward on its mission of destruction.

More of the cliff crumbled away, taking with it those who had avoided the first major collapse. The screams, mixed with the rending of the rocks and the roar of the ocean, were deafening. They tore at Kiora’s soul behind the wall she had erected to keep it safe. She faltered, her wave dipping slightly in the middle.

Kiora.

That was all the reminder she needed. She could not win this war with the numbers as they were. The enemy was too great. The final pieces of the cliff gave way and the remainder of Jasmine’s followers tumbled to their death. A handful of enemy threads were fleeing while the Winged people fluttered above in the dust, not trying to save anyone and yet unable to tear their eyes away from the spectacle before them.

The wave she had pulled in was hundreds of feet high and getting taller as she continued to feed it water. It reached up as if it had fingers, slamming into the Winged people and dragging them in. Having finished what she came to do, Kiora pushed the wave down. The full force slammed into the base of the cliff. Spray plumed into the air, drenching her and Arturo with freezing salt water.

A swirling liquid torrent of death spun in the ocean beneath her. Pieces of broken warships stabbed upwards before being sucked underneath. Kiora continued to pull the water in all directions, ensuring there would be no escape from the thrashing sea.

The threads were silencing rapidly and the anguish she felt was at bitter odds with the rush of magic igniting every part of her. As the final threads faded, the sound of laughter rose above the sounds of destruction. Kiora whirled, her chest heaving and her cheeks flushed.

Jasmine floated a few feet above the ground. She looked into the waters below. Her white dress twisted around her body in the wind like a blood-stained cocoon. She looked triumphant as she inclined her chin, her eyes glittering above a self-satisfied smirk. Kiora released the waves, and they fell back into their normal cadence. Jasmine laughed again and then vanished.

Kiora stared at the empty air. That look of self-satisfaction should have been the last thing on Jasmine’s face. Every look Jasmine wore tonight was not what it should have been. Nothing made sense.
She could have killed me,
she thought to Arturo as she put up a bubble.
So why didn’t she?

I don’t know.

Arturo turned, heading toward Lomay’s. As they crossed the barrier, Kiora saw through the window that the center foyer was filled with slaves. Some were celebrating; others had their faces pressed against the pane, looking at her in awe. She couldn’t go in, not right now. Not when the sudden void of threads around her was still in stark contrast to the numbers that had been here mere minutes before. Evil or not, they were dead at her hand.

“Take me to my balcony, please.”

Arturo obliged. He hugged the outside of the house as he flew to prevent them from getting caught up in the magic and transported to the other side. He then hovered above the balcony. She slipped off his back.

You did a good thing,
Arturo thought.

I know that. It had to be done. I just . . .

Wish it was not you who had to do it,
he finished her thought for her.

She nodded.

The slaves whose lives you saved will forever be grateful.

And I will forever be grateful I did,
Kiora thought.
That is my solace.

Try to get some sleep. Those you saved will be anxious to speak with you.

Good night, Arturo.
Kiora gently ran her finger over his nose, offering a weak smile. She made her way stiffly inside and lowered herself to the edge of her bed. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to do anything. Reaching out a shaking hand, she started a fire in the fireplace and stared numbly at the hypnotic flames.

***

ALCANDER PUSHED HIS WAY through the celebrations of freedom—the joy at seeing their Solus stand against the undefeatable foe. He stopped next to Emane, who anxiously watched the door for Kiora’s return.

“She’s upstairs.”

“Thanks,” Emane said. “Did she tell you what she planned to do?”

“No.”

“You should probably go check on her,” Emane’s hand ran repeatedly over the hilt of his sword. “I am going to go stand by the back doors to make sure no one goes outside and upsets the foxes.”

“They can feel the foxes’ threads, you know,” Alcander said. “You don’t need to warn them.”

Emane clenched his jaw before leveling his gaze with Alcander’s. “Yes, I know. But I can’t go comfort the woman I love and am sending
you
instead. As much as I am trying to be gracious, it’s at times like this . . .” He ground his teeth. “She is hurting, Alcander—just go.” He jerked awkwardly forward as if being tugged by some imaginary string, and then made his way through the rebels.

Alcander watched him go before heading up the stairs. He knocked gently on Kiora’s door, but got no response. He pushed it open. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring into the fireplace. The light from the fire played off the white streak in her dark hair, making it look even brighter than usual.

She was delicate. Her frame, her face—her heart. And yet, so strong. It never ceased to amaze him how the two could live in one person. He crossed the room. Sitting next to her, he placed his hands over hers.

She didn’t move. Her face was abnormally impassive as she stared forward.

“Kiora?” he whispered, trying to gain some response. There was none. “Kiora, you promised never to do this to me again.”

She turned her head toward him but would not meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on his chest. He put his finger beneath her chin, pulling it up. Her eyes looked darker—haunted.

Sighing, Alcander pulled her onto his lap. She resisted at first, but then threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. He held her tight, not saying anything as she cried, letting her release the anguish that colored her sobs. He held her, his heart hurting at her pain, until she fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Motivations Revealed

KIORA WOKE TO MOVEMENT. She was still in Alcander’s lap with his arms wrapped around her. She lifted her head from his shoulder.

Alcander’s eyes ran over her face, appraising.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours.”

They were still sitting on the edge of the bed, right where she had fallen asleep. She slid off his lap.

He stood and groaned, rolling his neck.

“I can’t believe you let me sleep that long,” Kiora said. “Your back must be killing you.”

“What is killing me is Drustan.” Alcander grunted, twisting to one side and then the other. “He must have stuck his head in that door fifteen times to tell me that the slaves are requesting your presence.”

“Fifteen times, you say?”

“At least.”

Kiora laughed, running her fingers through her rumpled hair. She took a moment to feel the threads of the slaves. Having them here filled the emptiness with something she desperately needed—joy. It seeped in around her and she let it come, refusing to fight it with guilt, and she smiled.

Alcander dropped his arms to his side and stood straight, grinning back at her smile. “Are you ready to go meet them?”

Kiora took a deep breath and pushed off the bed, standing. She reached her hand out to him and he intertwined his fingers with hers. “Ready.”

The sound of voices carried up from the main foyer and they walked hand in hand down the hall. When they reached the top of the stairs, she looked out over the slaves. They were bruised, battered, and dirty, but they were free.

At the appearance of her thread, they all turned. Some of their expressions were glittering with excitement and relief, but many of the slaves retained the deadness in their eyes. If she looked closely, she could see a slight glimmer in the back—hope in its infancy.

They dropped to their knees and bowed their heads

Kiora’s hand began to rise to ask them to stand, but Alcander caught her by the wrist and pushed her hand back to her side. “Just let them,” he whispered. “It is their way of saying thank you. Don’t take that away from them.”

She headed toward the stairs, letting her hand slide out of Alcander’s. At the base of the stairs knelt a Winged woman with dingy and bloodstained wings and a jagged scar across her cheek. Kiora bent down, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. The Winged woman looked nervous and confused. Not knowing how to express everything in her heart, or where to even begin, Kiora smiled and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly.

The woman gave a sigh of surprise and appreciation. She’d not seen such kindness since being taken. Kiora pulled back, then turned to the others, motioning for them to rise.

She took her time, moving amongst them, speaking with each of them—holding their hands, accepting their thanks. But their eyes continued to distract her, revealing souls that were so broken inside, it hurt to look. She could not image what they had been through, but the attempt made her heart ache.

She came upon the Omelian who had been the first to heed her shouts to keep moving when it looked like there was no hope, spurring the others into action. She shook his hand. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “I just did as I was told.”

The Omelian’s feathers had turned gray with age, his skin wrinkled, his voice gruff and low. The years in the camps had not been kind to him. One of his toes was missing and his leathery legs were covered with scars.