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  “Where is your rage?” he asked, hammering both claws down at her. Bree had no choice but to block. Her knees and elbows shook at the impact.

  “Where is your fire?”

  Three claws sliced across her arm, easily parting the fabric of her coat to cut the flesh beneath. Blood sprayed across the floor as Bree screamed in pain. Johan immediately followed up with another cut, this one across her chest. The buckle to her harness cut loose, her wings collapsed to one side, her shirt ripped open. Blood flowed from a trio of cuts from her collarbone to her waist. Bree dropped to one knee, gasping in hurried breaths as she fought against the shock. More blood spilled with every heartbeat, staining the carpet crimson.

  A sharp edge pressed underneath Bree’s chin, gently guiding her upward. She moved slowly, meeting Johan eye to eye as she rose to her feet. The shadowborn was toying with her. His smile relished her vulnerability. She dropped both of her swords to the floor. A mouse in a cat’s paw. A dangling piece of meat before a hungry lion. Johan soaked in every bit of her fear, feeding on it like the demon of hell he was. The edge cut in deeper, a fresh stream of blood trickling down her neck.

  “You want my fire?” Bree asked through the pain and tears. “Then take it.”

  He stood in a pool of her own blood. Scarlet drops covered his claws. Little rivulets trickled down his wrists. With but a thought, she set it all aflame.

  Johan cried out, whether from surprise or pain, she didn’t know. The great gout of flame billowed up from his feet, setting his entire lower body aflame. Bree swung her right hand forward and spread her fingers wide. All she had within her, she released. Regardless of how much blood she had already lost, she would drain the prism dry. Her fire washed over Johan’s upper body, eliciting a monstrous scream. He turned away from her, clutching at his seared face. His body trembled, and his robes became something not quite solid. Bree grabbed one of her swords off the floor and rushed for the kill.

  He spun just before she thrust.

  “Please, don’t!”

  Kael’s face, tears in his eyes. Bree hesitated, not long, not even for a full heartbeat, but it was enough. He pointed toward her, his eyes vibrant orbs of white. The entire room darkened. Invisible claws pulled at Bree’s arms and legs. Johan’s aura was absolute, a pool of emptiness and abandonment drowning her, suffocating her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Johan stepped closer. The skin on his hand peeled back to reveal shadow, which peeled back again to reveal another hand, this one small and frail and paler than marble. Bree tried to move but could not. She tried to scream but could not.

  The thin, shriveled fingertip, like a bone covered with thin burlap cloth, brushed her cheek in a loving gesture. Only her paralysis held in her scream. Her skin crackled and blackened, dying at his very touch.

  “Again you impress,” he whispered. “Perhaps I will let a few of you live on, nurtured under my care. The blood of the eternal-born might yet elevate your existence. What might you become without your gods and scriptures, and instead my touch to guide you?”

  Tears trickled down Bree’s paralyzed face. She sensed the rest of Johan’s image loosening. The shadow was peeling back from his hand, his arm, and his face, the enveloping darkness giving way to the truth that lay beneath. Never before had she so desperately wished to leave her body and fly far, far away. That singular stroke of bone-flesh across her cheek left her blood chilled and her innards twisted into knots.

  “Get away from her, you goddamn lunatic!”

  Kael barreled in, his shield a shining white missile. Bree felt the light pass across her, banishing the invisible hands that held her. She dropped to her side and rolled, making way for Kael’s charge. Johan cried out, shadow lashing from his hand. The attack crumbled against the brilliance of his shield, flaring away into mist and air. Kael’s shield never connected with Johan’s body, for the shine of its light alone flung him against the wall as his illusion of flesh roiled like a disturbed lake surface. Bree craned her neck to see, praying against all hope that the hit had been lethal.

  No. Not lethal. Johan shoved Kael away with strength far beyond human. Her brother slammed to the ground and then rolled onto his shield. The disturbed shadow hardened around Johan’s body, but it didn’t look quite correct. His clothing appeared faded, his skin burned. Many parts were missing entirely, little swirling swaths of shadow where there should be flesh and cloth.

  “You think you can hurt me?” he said. His voice rumbled, deep like stone, far deeper than his Johan persona had used before. Darkness pooled at his feet, seemingly made up of his own essence. “You think you can endure what I possess?”

  The shadowborn’s entire being exploded outward in a rolling wave of materialized hate and anguish. Bree gasped against it, her eyes slamming shut against their will. Foreign thoughts and desires assailed her. The wrongness of it, the violation, sickened her to her core. She felt hatred toward those she loved most. She saw faces of family, friends, and wished them mutilated and dead. All of it at a distance. All of it falling away from her, leaving her in a solitary pit of abandonment and isolation.

  Bree clutched for anything that was separate from the invasive foulness. Something to anchor her to reality. The cold steel of her swords. She could feel it against her fingers. It would have to be enough. She remembered its touch. She envisioned the fire burning, and she let that fire encase her mind. Flames hid the images of death and despair. A roaring inferno drowned out the words of hatred and ugliness. She pushed away the horror. She denied the disease eating at her mind. Warmth flowed across her skin. The image was no longer merely mental. Her sword blazed before her, pulling her back into the throne room, carrying her mind into her body and unifying it under her own control.

  Eyes opened, sword aflame, Bree stood alone and faced the shadowborn.

  “I’m still standing,” she said with labored breath.

  Johan knelt before her, hands holding himself up. The shadow retreated into his body, swirling back into him and forming into pieces of cloth, hair, and flesh. All of it looked hazy, as if he were hidden behind a faint fog. The blue of his eyes had turned black, the whites rippling with a gray liquid like smoke.

  “You fight a mere pittance of what I am,” he said, rising to his feet. His upper body sagged. His left arm clutched at his chest where the light of Kael’s shield had seared a permanent black scar across the illusionary form. “I am the shadow that swallowed the world. You fight but an echo. Your frail defenses mean nothing to my combined might.”

  Bree refused to break his gaze. No one else had endured the explosion of shadow. The rest of the Seraphim lay upon the floor or against the walls, still writhing, incomprehensible mutters and denials escaping their lips. If she broke now, all of them would die.

  “Come prove it, then,” she said, lifting a flaming sword and pointing it toward him. “Break me if our defenses are so frail.”

  Bree tried to read the furious expression across Johan’s face. So much of it was rage, but she saw, or at least hoped she saw, an inkling of fear hidden behind it.

  Johan let out a guttural scream. Bree braced for battle, but he charged for the door instead, smashing it open with a strike of his hand. Bree watched him go, the fire about her swords rippling in great waves. The moment he was gone she banished the flame, unlocked her joints, and collapsed.

  I am the shadow that swallowed the world, his voice taunted inside her exhausted mind as she lay there on the carpet. You fight but an echo.

  The rest of the Seraphim and soldiers stirred, distant conversations starting up as Bree’s mind and body finally relented to the damage Johan’s shadow had dealt to her.

  Perhaps, Bree thought, and she closed her eyes to the inevitable sleep. But your echo fled, you bastard. You fled, not us. Not us …

  CHAPTER

  27

  Kael slowly weaved back and forth through the perfect row of trees lining the exterior of the mansion, enjoying the fresh air, when Clara found him.

 
“You have a hard time relaxing, don’t you?” Clara asked, her black dress a somber contrast to the pleasant weather.

  “It’s felt like time hasn’t paused to take a breath since the day Marius burned down the Academy,” Kael said, accepting Clara’s offered kiss on his cheek. “Two days of quiet? This is just weird.”

  “Well, maybe we can put an end to that,” Clara said. “My mother wishes to speak with you.”

  “Am I in trouble?” he asked.

  Clara offered him her hand.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Let’s find out together.”

  It seemed her mother had similar ideas about relaxing, for she was not in her throne room but instead in the larger garden at the far rear of the holy mansion. She lay barefoot on a long white chair, two servants on either side of her ready with a platter of drinks and fruits. Unlike the formal wear Kael was accustomed to seeing her in, she wore a simple pair of pants with a short-sleeved blouse, their colors muted in mourning for her slain husband. She kept her eyes closed as she rubbed her temples with her thumbs. A pile of documents lay beside her on a small table. Kael snuck a glance at a few and saw a mixture of troop reports, supply tallies, and communications with the Archons of the other minor islands.

  “We’re here, mother,” Clara said.

  The Archoness sat up and retrieved a full glass from the servant beside her.

  “Give us a moment of privacy,” she ordered. The servants bowed stiffly and left. Avila slowly rose to her feet, the pink liquid in her crystalline glass gently swirling.

  “How is your sister?” she asked Kael.

  “Fairly well, all things considered,” he said. “She has some nasty stitches, but her strength is returning, and Bree insists she’s already strong enough to fly again.”

  “Good, good.” Avila gestured to the rows of flowers intermixed with fountains of angels flowing with water. “Among tragedy there is always beauty. When the demons fell we lost forests and fields, but this garden, a jewel of our island since the first days of Ascension, survived.” She took a drink from her glass and frowned. “But among beauty there is also tragedy. I’m beginning to see that now. What I thought were times of peace negotiated by my husband and I were only smoke screens against the building fire.”

  “No one predicted this,” Kael said. “The only one who did was the one behind it all.”

  “Johan,” Avila said. The Archoness spoke the word as if it stabbed her tongue upon leaving her mouth. “I’ve begun arresting members of his cult, mostly those too proud to hide or too stubborn to flee. I sent word to the other islands of Johan’s betrayal. Hopefully they will believe me and act accordingly instead of waiting to investigate on their own.”

  “What about Johan himself?” Kael asked.

  Avila took another sip and shook her head.

  “Given his … abilities, I doubt we will ever find him, assuming he’s even still on this island. No, the best we can do is minimize the damage he’s done and ensure he can’t make things worse.”

  The Archoness walked the long, winding stone path through the garden. Kael and Clara followed, still holding each other’s hand.

  “I’ve spoken with L’fae twice since our first meeting,” Avila continued. “With her help I’ve begun piecing together Johan’s influence, which is vast. He slew the angel inside Galen during our attack, sending it to the ground and leading to our occupation. The collapse of the dome protecting us from the fireborn was certainly Johan’s doing as well. His constant warnings of war and invasion only prepared our people to accept that exact outcome. There is no doubt he is guilty of killing Isaac and Argus. I suspect even my son’s death upon liberating the Crystal Cathedral was by his order. Always keeping us angry. Always convincing us peace could never be reached.”

  Avila stopped before a sculptured bush of white roses shaped like a long, feathery wing.

  “Can it?” Kael asked. “Everything’s been quiet at Center. Will we finally seek peace?”

  The Archoness took in a long breath. Whatever her answer would be, he could tell it pained her.

  “Though Marius’s crimes are many, I will not pursue war against Center. I’ve attempted to convince the other islands, but it has been no easy task. I fear it may already be too late.”

  “We’ll convince them,” Clara encouraged. “Give it time. No one wants to see this bloodshed continue.”

  “I hope not,” Kael said. “Is there anything you wish from me, my Archoness? Or did you just want to check up on Bree’s health?”

  Clara squeezed his hand painfully tight to show her disapproval of such a blunt request, but Kael couldn’t take the waiting. Avila chuckled, thankfully unoffended. Her smile quickly vanished, replaced with earnest gratitude.

  “Kael, the only reason I discovered any of this was because you forced me to face the truth. Despite my best efforts otherwise, you brought me before L’fae. Our island is indebted to you, as am I.”

  Kael felt his cheeks flushing.

  “I, uh, it was nothing,” he said. “Just doing what I thought was right.”

  “Then may we all do better at doing what is right,” she said, smiling warmly.

  One of the dismissed servants hustled down the path, head bowing the moment he caught sight of Avila’s glare.

  “My Archoness, Commander West brings a message she insists is most urgent,” he said.

  “Send her in.”

  The servant vanished, replaced by a frowning Olivia with a curled scroll in her left hand.

  “Reports are coming in from our men keeping eyes on Center,” she said. “The retaliatory strike has finally begun.”

  “Which islands?” Avila asked.

  “All three. It appears to be a coordinated attack on Center.”

  “Then my missives for peace were too late,” Avila said. “The other islands think only of revenge.”

  “Archoness, our Seraphim are eager for your orders.”

  “Whether we’re joining in, you mean,” Clara said. She looked to her mother. “Are we?”

  The Archoness looked away, her small mouth locked into a frown. Kael shifted his weight from foot to foot. He would accept whatever answer she gave, despite the dread that filled his heart at the thought of facing off against more knights of Center.

  “Any Seraph who wishes to watch the battle may do so, but I forbid them from entering. Weshern seeks peace, whether with the theotechs of Center or the new government that replaces it. Our island is done with war.”

  Oliva bowed low.

  “As you wish.”

  Was that disappointment in her voice, or relief? Kael didn’t know. No doubt a large number of Seraphim wanted vengeance for Center’s invasion. Hopefully the number tired of the death and loss would be greater.

  “I’d like to watch as well,” Clara said once Olivia left.

  “I understand,” her mother said. “Stay safe.”

  They hugged, and to Kael’s surprise, Avila turned to him for one as well. He accepted it graciously, for once feeling like he was part of their family. Not that much remained. Avila’s husband was dead, her two sons lost during the occupation. No wonder she was tired of war.

  “Don’t you worry,” Kael said, unable to keep quiet as he felt the sorrow draping on him. “If she tries to fly into battle I’ll lock her in a block of ice and float her back to Weshern safe and sound.”

  The Archoness smiled.

  “My daughter would murder you if you tried.”

  He glanced at Clara, who nodded in agreement.

  “I would.”

  “Well then,” he said. “For my sake, let’s hope she behaves.”

  The mood was somber and tense at the armory. Few Seraphs talked to one another as they put on their wings and inserted their elemental prisms into their respective compartments. A few nodded or saluted in respect to Clara before leaving. Kael eyed their reactions carefully, wondering how many were second-guessing their Archoness.

  “Are you ready?” Clara asked.
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br />   “Ready,” Kael said, tightening the last of the buckles.

  They stepped outside, gently powered their wings, and flew northeast for Center. Weshern rolled beneath them. Kael wished it were nightfall. In the painful light of day, nothing hid the ruined cities and scarred fields. How many years would it take to rebuild? Would it ever be the same? It was hard to imagine a restored Weshern, but Kael knew time was the most powerful healer. He prayed he saw it blossom again in his lifetime.

  Weshern vanished, the Endless Ocean now visible below. Silver wings clustered ahead of them, Weshern Seraphim flying as groups of friends instead of tight formations. Clara led them through slices of clouds, their wings a pleasant hum. Slowly the dot of green and brown that was Center grew closer, more distinguished. It took another ten minutes before they closed enough distance to see hints of battle. There wasn’t much to them that they could see, not yet, just tiny specks occasionally punctured by a blip of flame or flash of lightning. Up ahead, and far closer, more than thirty Weshern Seraphim hovered together. By the time Kael and Clara joined them they’d closed enough distance to watch the battle unfold.

  The invasion had split into three major engagements, the forces of each outer island battling a portion of Center’s angelic knights. The regal white outfits of Center helped distinguish them from the outer island’s jackets, giving some semblance of organization to the engagements. They were still too far away to make out individual fights, but the spheres of battle ebbed and flowed in a visible pattern. Amid the flashes of elements they could see combatants fall, see which formations pulled back in retreat and which pushed their advantage. After a few minutes of watching, Kael felt a real sense of who was winning which battle.

  “Elern has the advantage,” he told Clara. “Same with Candren. Only Sothren appears to be losing.”

  “It’s only the beginning,” Clara responded. “Things can change in a heartbeat.”

  It didn’t seem to be swinging in Center’s favor, though. The two battles over the eastern and western edges crumpled, the knights retreating inward. The third quickly followed. To their surprise, the outer islands didn’t chase with their Seraphim. It seemed they were grouping together, perhaps to ensure Center couldn’t suddenly retaliate while they were scattered. That didn’t explain the flashes of elements they saw dot the formations, though.