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“Quite.” Her mocking little pout dropped away, replaced by steel. “Surrender, traitor to the crown, usurper of the throne, murderer of your sister, the queen. With your cruelty and greed, you have betrayed every citizen of Aleron. And you will answer for it.”
Soren came down a step, his eyes narrowed upon Warrick. “A warrior of the Dead Lands? You are no doubt warded against spells. Well, then.”
His fingers flicked. With a shout, Warrick spun back to back with Elina, braced against the rapid thunkthunkthunk of arrow after arrow striking their tall shields, as her uncle used his magic to shoot quiverful after quiverful at them.
Soren’s laughter echoed around them when the assault stopped. “Do you think I know nothing of your false prophecy, Elina? Of how your axes are meant to kill me?”
Grunting, he jerked his hands back. Warrick jolted forward as his weapon tried to rip away from his grip. Beside him, Elina cried out. She’d lost all but the chain that she’d wrapped around her wrist. The axe-head hovered above the ground at the end of the straining length, as if captured mid-flight as it was escaping her.
Yet now she was being pulled with it, as if she was being dragged by an ox.
Or something stronger.
Warrick let go of his axe. It shot out of his grip and flew up the stairs past Soren with enough force to shatter the steel blades against the palace’s marble wall.
Warrick rushed to Elina, even as Soren grunted again and pulled harder. “Let go! It’s hurting you!”
“I can hold it!” Agony sharpened her voice to the edge of sobbing. “I’m strong enough.”
“You’re strong enough to let go,” he said urgently, wrapping his arms around her and gripping the taut length of chain, trying to ease the crushing pressure around her wrist. “You spoke the prophecy into truth with your kindness and your love and your hope for your people. Your magic is strong enough to make this axe fell a tyrant. Now believe in it, Elina. And let go!”
With a scream, she released the chain and stumbled back against Warrick’s chest. His arms wrapped her tight.
The axe flew harmlessly past Soren.
The smirk had just formed upon his lips when, with a snap like a great dragon’s tail, the chain whipped around his neck.
With a strangled cry, he was jerked off his feet. Warrick was already moving, charging up the stairs toward the sorcerer, who was clawing at the chain too desperately to flick his fingers with another spell.
Dagger in hand, Warrick slammed his knee into Soren’s back, holding him down as he cut through the heavy silk of his robes—then flesh. With angry slashes, he marked a rune into Soren’s skin.
The same rune that Warrick had. A ward against spells…but also one that locked his spellcasting magic beneath his skin. This sorcerer would be tossing no more arrows and axes around.
Soren screamed for mercy and for Warrick not to kill him. A coward at the end.
“You are not dead,” Warrick snarled at him. “Not yet.”
Gripping his powdered hair, Warrick hauled him up. Cradling her injured wrist, glowing brilliantly, Elina slowly glided up the stairs, regarding her uncle with her terrible, rage-filled eyes.
“Have you anything you wish to say to him first?”
“No,” she said coldly. “But show him what he has done. Let him see.”
Gladly. Warrick dragged the crying man forward to the edge of the steps, then touched him skin to skin. Soren sucked in a horrified breath. Silent. Staring out at the multitude of ghosts crowding the large courtyard, the sheer number of people he’d wronged.
“When you reach your journey’s final end, all of them will be waiting for you.”
Soren began to whimper and plead. Warrick ignored him.
Elina came to his side, looking out at the crowd of ghosts. Looking at one ghost, Warrick realized. A woman in a crown and gold raiments, and wearing the queen’s face.
“Do you wish for me wait so that you might speak to your mother?”
“And what would I ask? Why did she think me too weak to face my uncle? Why did she condemn a kingdom to the stone sickness when she might have ended their curse? What do those reasons matter now? Those wrongs are righted—as much as they can be—and all that remains is the harm they’ve left behind.” Elina closed eyes that were glimmering with tears. “I have nothing to say to her.”
Then only one thing needed to be done. Standing before the citizens of Aleron, living and dead, Warrick snapped Soren’s neck.
Cheers erupted from the living. Elina’s mother vanished, along with most of the other ghosts. Yet not all. With her radiance fading to a soft glow, Elina looked to the dozens upon dozens left.
“We still have so many wrongs to right. There must have been many here who followed my uncle’s lead. Even a sorcerer cannot rule without support.”
