Black Crown FINAL Kobo Page 22

  Thud thud thud goes my heart. Panic sets in, and I feel the old me rooting to the spot, too cowardly to act. I cannot stand here and watch her do this.

  The red swirl grows, and soon Mae will be by its edge. Thud thud thud. This is it. I cannot let her do this. I run. I take a leap, throwing myself ahead of her. But as my feet touch the red swirl there is resistance to my descent. I’m hooked onto a sharp object. My shirt is caught in Mae’s hook, and she clutches my hand with hers. She is on the floor, with her eyes wet with tears. I try to wrench my fingers from hers, but she holds me fast.

  “Let me do this,” I say, pleading her with my eyes. “The world can be changed by Mae Waylander. It cannot be changed by me.”

  “You’re wrong.” Her chin trembles. It’s the second time I’ve watched her heart break; the second time I’ve witnessed the depth of her love.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Mae pulls me towards her, but the gateway is greedy. I sink lower. Mae’s eyes widen with terror.

  “Let me go,” I say.

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You’re the only one who can stop him.”

  She swallows, and fat tears roll down her cheeks. I long to wipe them away. I long to kiss her one more time, to hold her in my arms, my vulnerable, broken, strong, and courageous Mae. She is worth a hundred of me, and the world knows it. This is the right thing to do.

  It is the right thing to do. The prince is right.

  The low, booming voice echoes through the temple. Mae lifts her head to the fake clouds above her.

  “Avery?” she says, a little louder than a whisper.

  I told you this destiny would bring loss.

  “Not him,” she pleads. “Not him.”

  “Mae, look at me,” I say.

  She shakes her head. My hand is already slipping slightly from her grip. She tries to tighten her hold, but the gateway is too strong. Finally, she looks at me, and I memorise her face: the soft skin, deep set brown eyes and full lips; the short chin, wide cheekbones and thick eyebrows. The face she has always thought plain, and yet it is extraordinary in the way imperfect faces are.

  “Let me go.”

  “I love you,” she whispers, crying now.

  When she closes her eyes, she releases the hook from my shirt so that I hang down from her hand. Below me, the swirling red pulls me under, and the first slither of fear makes its way to my heart. I ignore it. For once, ignoring it is the strongest thing to do.

  “I love you too, White Hart,” I say as she releases my hand.

  The gateway pulls me down, and the darkness fills my mind. My last thoughts are of the faces of those I love: Mae, Mother, Finan, Erian, Beardsley, even Sasha and Ellen. And then Mae again. I remember the moment we first met; when my horse almost trampled her into the dirt. The dirty urchin girl who insisted she owned a stag and demonstrated the worst curtsey I’d ever seen. She had a defiant chin and she teased me about the girls in Halts-Walden. She walked alongside my horse wearing a dress too large, tripping in the mud…

  *

  Mae

  The gateway closes and the five point symbol re-emerges. I lift myself onto my knees and stare at that symbol, watching my tears hit the stone. A pure sacrifice. Of course it was Cas. It was him all along—my good-hearted prince now lost to the world. His goodness wasted at the whim of some immortal tyrants.

  Not wasted, Avery booms through the temple. His sacrifice was needed, for you and for Aegunlund.

  “Get out,” I say through gritted teeth. I turn my head up to the clouds, addressing Avery, despite her lack of form. “Get away from this place. I never want to hear or see you again. GET OUT. I’m done with my destiny. I’m done with it all.”

  Power stirs inside of me. I feel the darkness of the Ember Stone oozing through me. I lower my head onto my drawn up knees and sob. Why would Avery do this to me after everything that has happened? Well I have finished with the Gods. They won’t take anything else away from me.

  When two strong arms pull me onto my feet, I let them. Through a blur of tears I see Treowe’s face, freckled and pale. His mouth is a line. He turns me to face my friends, Sasha, Ellen, Mushtan, Aliyah. Sasha’s tears wet her face. Ellen stares down at the gateway, her chest rising up and down in a rapid, panicky motion. I touch the ring on my finger with the tip of my thumb and let my eyes roam across the broken temple. The soldiers—Mushtan’s men, Sasha’s Borgans, and Cas’s soldiers—stand with their shoulders slumped. One of the king’s men wipes a tear from his eyes. Anger rises within me. I want to scream at him. What are you crying for? It’s me who has lost everything. Cry for me. But I don’t.

  Treowe helps me walk towards the table in the centre of the room. His hands stay on my shoulders, which is good, because I could fall at any moment. The strength has left my knees.

  “I am very sorry, Hada-Ya,” Mushtan says. “He was a good man. He saved you and saved us all.”

  I don’t want to hear it. I turn my head away from him. I bite down on my lip until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone, and now the light in my life has been permanently extinguished.

  There’s a tug on my pocket, and the dark energy of the Ember Stone fragments stirs. But this time it doesn’t come from inside me, it’s in the air like an impending storm. The temple stirs—from the ashes of the Sihrans, to the marble dust where we exploded the statues with the power of the amulets—creating a haze of white powder.

  “What’s happening?” Sasha says, following my gaze.

  The Ember Stone amulets escape from my pocket as though an invisible force is tugging them away. I try to catch hold of the strings, but they are too quick. They fly through the air into the centre of the temple, floating above the stone table. Soon there are almost a dozen of the small amulets making their way to the centre of the room. They float around each other like a swarm of bees. The air crackles with energy, making my arm hair stand on end. After the fragments come together, the strings fall from the diamond shards to create one beautiful, plum-sized gem. The group remain transfixed, staring with a slack-jawed gaze as the stone stops spinning and falls onto the table with a thud.

  Sasha speaks in a rushed tone. “Mae, take it. Take it now.” Her eyes travel from the Ember Stone to Mushtan, and the men behind us.

  “No,” I say. Behind me I sense movement. The men draw a little closer, moving towards the diamond that has caused so much trouble already. “That thing is a murderer. Cas would still be alive if it wasn’t for that thing.” My voice wobbles and I stop talking.

  “If you don’t take it, they will.” Sasha tilts her head to the back of the room.

  “She’s right, Hada-Ya.”

  I wipe the tears from my cheeks and shake my head, backing away from the Ember Stone. The air throbs with new heat. It’s as though the desert sun has made it through the layers of sand and magic to beat down on me. I can’t go near it. I won’t go near it. Before I know it, I’m back on the gateway, and my knees collapse beneath me. When I hit the hard stone floor, I trace the five pointed symbol with my fingertip.

  Come back to me.

  But of course he won’t.

  With me away from the group, the hungry-eyed men approach the Ember Stone. The same men who were wiping tears for my fallen husband snarl at each other, brandishing their weapons. They see nothing but money and power when they see the Ember Stone. They see their bountiful futures in its gleaming facets.

  Let them, I think. Let them fight between themselves. Let them kill each other for money and power. Let all the world fight.

  Mushtan and Treowe stand between the Ember Stone and the men, battling them away. But the fighting becomes too intense, and the two men are forced to stand aside or be killed. One determined Borgan holds a soldier from the king’s guard with a knife to his throat. Sasha turns to me and yells for me to do something, but there is a fog
on my mind, and my limbs are a deadweight dragging me down. I try to mouth to her to tell her that I cannot stand, that my legs won’t work, but somehow the words don’t come out. Instead, I touch the ring on my finger. I should have given it to Cas for protection.

  But as the chaos continues, something bright catches my eye. It isn’t the large diamond on the stone table, it’s pale gold. There is something about the way the fake sunlight falls on the metal which makes it glow. I push myself up with my good hand and stagger through the fighting to see Cas’s sword on the ground, bloodied from the blow he delivered to the Sihran. I lean down and place my hand over the hilt, touching the metal he touched. It’s a heavy sword, but I like that. I like the pull on my muscles. It’s good. It should hurt. I should feel it. I wipe the blood on my britches. If only I had his blood. I have nothing of his body, nothing to mourn over. Then I turn back to the idiots fighting over the Ember Stone. The sword imbues me with lightness. Perhaps it is hope, perhaps it is Cas, I don’t know, but before I know it, I have the sword tucked into my belt, and I stride towards the table. Ignoring the fighters, I pick up the Ember Stone, attach it to the broken chain, and loop it around my neck.

  The men stop fighting and turn to me with desperate rage in their eyes. But I am ready for them with my powers, and it takes little more than a flick of my wrist for wind to knock them back.

  “You should all be ashamed,” I say, my voice shaking with emotion. “I knew you would betray me. I knew you all would.”

  I turn my back on them and walk out of the temple. It’s only when I begin the dark ascent back to the desert that I realise I am a widow, and that Aegunlund has lost two princes. When I kill the king, there is no one left to rule.

  Part Four

  Chapter Twenty-Nine – The Gifts from the Gods

  It’s getting late. I have to get back to the hut or Father will be angry. Worse, I have only a small handful of twigs and some berries. I made a stupid mistake by felling a rotten tree. All that time wasted and for naught. Sensing my bad mood, Anta nuzzles against me, pushing my side with his nose, telling me to quit my moping in his unique, animal way.

  The sunset is upon us. My favourite time of day. There are bright-winged moths gathering at the edge of the woods. One of them lands on my shoulder, batting its multi-coloured wings so that the hair on my neck prickles. In the west, the sun peeks over the tall trees of the stretching Waerg Woods. The sky is red tonight; a pastel blue-tinged crimson. The sight of it makes my stomach tighten as I think of another crimson sight—a crimson swirl, like stirred blood.

  Anta snorts and I pat his shoulder as we walk slowly past the farms, and through the village of Halts-Walden, to my father’s narrow hut. Summer air washes over me with fragrant floral scents. For a moment, I want to lie on the ground, and let it bathe me. I want to feel the earth on my skin, and listen to the heartbeat of the world.

  Listen to your own heartbeat, White Hart. It is still there, pumping your lifeblood. You are alive and well and you will keep going, my strong, craft-born girl. The strongest of all.

  There is something about the voice that makes me angry. It is low and booming with power. I hate that voice, even though the words are so comforting and beautiful. I shake my head and carry on, but Halts-Walden is gone. I’m stood in the middle of a desert with the sun now high in the sky. My eyes hurt from the bright sky. Anta glows sparkling white, like he used to when I would play with my craft as a little girl. I brush his coat, watching it shine like diamonds.

  Diamond.

  The word makes me angry. A painful squeezing of my heart forces me to double over, hugging my body. Anta nibbles at my shoulder, like he does when he’s worried about me.

  “You cannot run away from this.”

  I snap up my head to see a sensual naked woman standing before me. Her dark hair is so long it covers most of her breasts, and her hips curve out before sloping into long legs. I recognise her immediately, and her presence brings a searing rage rushing through my body.

  “How dare you come to me?” I snap. “After everything you have done.” Without thinking, a ball of flames emerges from my hand.

  Avery frowns, lifts her hands, and two bright red fireballs form. We stand opposite each other, wielding flame.

  “You’re the Queen of Fire,” I say. “I should have known all along. Have you sent me on this mission so you can get back your Ember Stone? Was it all just a trick?”

  “No, dearest Mae,” he voice is soothing, but low and powerful. “I called on you to end what I began. The stone you uncovered could bring misery to this world. I could not let that happen.”

  “But you let Cas die. You let the one hope this world has die, and you didn’t even leave me his body. I have nothing to mourn, nothing to say goodbye to. It’s cruel. This world has been nothing but cruel to me. Why should I care anymore? Why should I stop the misery you say will be unleashed by the Ember Stone?”

  “The world is bigger than you, craft-born. You should know that by now.”

  Hot tears well in my eyes. “It’s a little difficult to imagine when so much is taken away from me.”

  “But you have been given so much as well.” Avery extinguishes her flames and approaches me. At first, I back away, lifting the fireball, and fixing her with a glare as fierce as the flames in my hand. But she pushes her arm out and presses her warm palm against my belly. “You have been given so much.” Her brown eyes hold mine. For the second time in my life I see a future. My future. The first time I dared to let myself see a future was at my wedding, when I imagined growing old with the man I love. This is different. There is a reflection in Avery’s eyes of a girl with pale eyes and olive skin; with dark curly hair and a calm smile. She is so real I almost reach out to touch her. The flames die in my hand.

  I gasp, staggering back. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because it is the truth,” she says

  “I still have a part of him?”

  She nods. “This was the only way. His death will strengthen you for the power you must wield to defeat the king. It will help you control the darkness in the Ember Stone. I will not lie, craft-born, there is still much to be done. You will face a battle—a hard and exhausting battle. But you must fight. You must do it for the future of Aegunlund. For your daughter’s future.” She smiles kindly and backs away. “You’re special, Mae Waylander, whether you want to believe that or not. I have seen many craft-born girls face fewer tragedies and crumble under pressure. You have been dealt more in less than a year, than most have in a lifetime, and you are strong.”

  Before Avery begins to fade away, I rush towards her. “How do I destroy it?”

  But she only disappears into the shimmering desert sun.

  *

  I wake in Esther’s house with a stomach that rumbles with a new appetite. I had thought that my nausea had been caused by the stress and fatigue from the desert, from fighting the Sihrans, and of course losing Cas. Now, though, I wake up from my dreams and know it is something more, and my first instinct is to lean forward, put my face against my blanket, and weep for a strange combination of sorrow and joy.

  A daughter.

  The next craft-born. Suddenly, I sit up and examine my arms. There are scars all over them, some ragged and ugly and barely healed. There are a jumble of memories in my mind as we travelled through the desert back to Esther and her villagers. That blurry, grief stricken time had been spent riding numbly on Adil, eating food with no taste, and cutting into my arms so I could feel something again. Now that Avery has shown me my future, the scars bring me shame. How could I do that to myself?

  There’s a rustle of the door latch and Esther steps into the room, moving as a woman of immense internal power does, through long, confident strides.

  “And how are you this morning?” she asks, raising one eyebrow. She pulls a chair over to the bed and passes me a mug of tea.

  I take a sip. Mint. Not unlike the tea Father would make from the herbs
in the garden. There is also a hint of a spice akin to cinnamon but stronger and with a kick.

  She chuckles at my reaction. “Yota. The soldiers drank it in the war to keep awake, Hada-Ya. It’s strong stuff.”

  “Indeed.”

  Esther settles into her chair. “It’s time.” She pats my hand kindly.

  There’s no need for any other words. I know what she means. It’s time for me to regain my composure and retake some responsibility. The longer we stay in Asher, the more chance the king will ransack their village again, and I can’t bring that on them twice. I came back to find a very different Asher, a subdued, quieter, stiller village, where the people put back together their homesteads, and swept away the remnants of the attack. I know they lost people, not that Esther would tell me. I see it etched in their faces. I know that expression. I wear that expression. Even though I struggle to meet the eyes of these people, we have something to share. We are the same now.

  “I’ve said this before, but I am sorry about what happened to your village. I tried to stop the fires—”

  Esther raises a hand to cut me off. “Hush. You did not bring the torches or the men. You did not light our roofs on fire and kill our brothers. You were in the desert for a noble reason.”

  I nod. “But you’re right. It’s time for me to move on.”

  “But first you say goodbye.”

  I half smile, thinking of the woman I’ve come to know as a friend. “Of course.”

  But Esther shakes her head. “No, not to me. To your prince.”

  The smile fades from my face. “There is nothing to say goodbye to. There are no bones. No body. No funeral pyre. I don’t even know if his soul passed on. He was sucked into some gateway.” Without realising, I’ve balled the blanket up into my fist, and my last words are broken by the sudden rawness in my throat.