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And with that, he attacked, a whirlwind of power and speed and sheer, bloody force. I weaved and dodged and blocked, using every skill, every instinct. Amaya was a blur in my hands, her flames sparking off every stone and her fury stinging the air itself.
But as fast as I was, as fast as she was, he was faster. He was also bigger and heavier, and his reach was twice that of mine.
It was inevitable that some of his blows would get through my defenses; one slashed my hip, another my thigh, but I was still upright, still mobile, after several minutes of heavy fighting. And he was hampered by his useless left arm and was now bleeding from wounds on his chest and legs. It enraged him further, as I’d hoped it would. I needed him reacting, not thinking. It was only through blind rage—his, not mine—that I truly had any hope of winning.
He came at me again, a blurring mass of muscle and sheer bloody anger. I spun and kicked. Lucian sucked in his gut, and my blow missed. Not so his knife. It sliced across my foot and sheared the end off my boot. Only quick reactions on my part stopped my toes from joining it on the stone. But it was the same foot that had previously encountered his blade, and without the boot to restrict it, blood began to flow more readily and pain surged.
I jumped back, limping now.
He laughed, the sound a weird mix of anger and amusement. “The first of many, dear Risa.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Lucian,” I said, catching the edge of his blade with Amaya, holding it still as her flames leapt from her steel to his and she screamed blue murder. Nothing happened. The knife didn’t melt. Amaya’s flames died even as I added, “Because as an aunt of mine has been known to say, a condemned man should always enjoy his last meal.”
He merely laughed and attacked. Again and again. I dodged, attacking him when opportunities arose, taking more and more hits but unable to find a way through his defenses. In the end, I knew there was only one way I was going to get the upper hand.
Do what must, Amaya said.
Do what must, I repeated grimly, then lowered her steel and stepped into his next blow. His blade punched into the middle of my stomach and right out the other side. As his fist came to a rest against my skin, I swung Amaya low and hard. Her blade reverberated as she hit flesh, but then she was cutting, sawing, burning her way through his legs. He barely had time to open his mouth when he dropped, dragging his long knife from my stomach as his body went one way and his legs the other.
I swung Amaya again, removed his good arm, then dropped to my knees and pressed one hand over my stomach, vainly trying to stop the flow of blood and gore as I stared at the man I had all but beaten.
His expression was one of utter amazement. There was no pain, no sense of loss, just sheer disbelief I’d done what I’d done.
Kill! Amaya screamed. Finish!
Not you. Me.
And with that, I released her, and with my now free hand, I dragged myself forward.
“You killed my mother,” I said softly. “You raped my friend; you worked with a dark sorceress to steal the keys and threatened the safety of this world. You betrayed me in more ways imaginable, and for all those crimes, you must die.”
And with that, I dredged up the last of my reserves, called to the Aedh, and forced it into my arm. Then I shoved my fist into his chest and blew him apart.
Just has he’d blown my mother apart.
Chapter 15
It was over. I’d done what I’d sworn to do—found my mother’s killer and dealt with him. Without help, on my own.
There should have been a sense of victory. Should have been a sense of relief. There wasn’t.
There was only an odd numbness.
It was almost as if I’d given all there was to give and there was nothing—absolutely nothing—left inside of me. I raised my re-formed, bloody hand and, as if from a great distance, watched the bits of flesh and blood dribble toward my elbow.
Then, without warning, my stomach heaved and I threw up. The pain hit seconds later, and I was shaking and crying and wanting nothing more than to just let it all go. The pain, the horror, the guilt, and the expectations of others, just let it all wash away and become someone else’s problem.
Can’t, Amaya said sharply. Finished not.
Isn’t it? I wondered. I closed my eyes and fought the wash of weakness in my body, and yet I could not deny the allure of ending it all here and now. Why not let fate take whatever course she’d decided to take and no longer fight it?
Everyone would be better off without me. Everyone. No one could hold them hostage against my behavior; no one could kidnap and rape them, and—perhaps best of all—there would be no one to find the remaining keys and threaten the very safety of the world.
That alone was worth one life.
That alone was certainly worth my life.
Everyone not safe, Amaya said. I not. The life within not.
