"You never would have seen them; you were too young." Bláth stepped closer. "But you must know how they fight."
Father appeared in my mind. His pale eyes glowed with nostalgia as he spoke of Mother—a proud myrmidon before ascending the throne.
‘Myrmidons moved with grace, like birds in flight,’ Father had said. He'd taught me one of their moves: the thrust mother had won their duel with.
I ripped Cierthine from its hilt and tightened my hands around it—right hand against the guard, like Reese had taught me.
Ferris scrambled away, as though he knew what was coming.
I'd imitated Father countless times in my youth, yearning to be like my mother. I knew these steps by heart.
Lightning and wind hastened Tirnanog Myrmidons' steps, and though I had none . . .
I dove forward, with delicate steps, like I was performing a deadly dance. Picturing an imaginary foe, I spun around, knocking his blade from his hand before thrusting through his broken guard.
The uniform my mother had once worn swirled around me, like a ballroom gown sweeping across the dance floor.
Violet light surged on Cierthine's length and crackled with violent energy. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning swirled in the sky, mimicking my movements.
Three strikes burst from the sky and pounded into the ground ahead of me, following the steps of a waltz.
My catalyst flared to life, and as magic swirled to life in my veins for the first time, the answer seemed so obvious.
I lifted my gaze to the sky, where the bright lightning pierced the dark curtain guarding the Shadowlands.
Illuminating the dragon, wings outstretched, that waited just out of sight.
Chapter 18
Diar
Heavy snow fell over the city of Tsuyan, covering the white city in a fresh layer of frost.
Intense winds whipped from the heavens, pelting my face with sleet.
Snowstorms had brewed over my home countless times before, but this one seemed different. More severe. The howling winds sounded like a yearning cry.
Golden threads bound my wrists, connecting me to my Solheart captor. His black cloak billowed around him as we entered the gates and stepped into the chaos.
Quinn stopped as a unit of soldiers marched by. Shatterblades walked in perfect formation, not one man out of step. Their dark blue robes—the same I wore—were tucked beneath black leather armor bound together with silver twine.
I watched them pass with an aching heart. My brother would have marched with them, in another life. I yearned to follow, to aid in the defense of our home.
Once Quinn returned me to my father, I would never again be allowed to leave the manor. Useless, unable to do anything but watch the city burn.
As I had five years ago.
Life held little point, locked in a room with nothing and no one to live for.
"Solathair's ass," Quinn cursed. "And I thought Solais' storm was bad."
Solais—did he speak of Cleiv Solais, the golden rapier wielded by Paragon Tiernan?
If our Paragon, Ishii, was dead . . . if Siotha had been returned to its ancestral home . . .
This snowstorm was a mirror of the thunderstorm I'd seen rage above Kentoro when Cierthine had called for its new wielder—and chosen.
"You were there?" I called over the wind. "When Cleiv Solais chose Paragon Tiernan?"
