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And I pray, I pray, I pray for peace. Oh, Goddess, grant her peace! With another crack of the whip, I pray no more Dragon breath, no demons to haunt her flesh—no teeth and no flesh and no fires of the Father’s hell. Only sweet dreams and peace as she falls to her knees!
Strike eight.
Her shriek echoes her Hydra soul. Her tears form their own network on the floor at her feet. I imagine that even teardrops have anatomy. Her tears fall like lonely children and become little avenues trying to repair themselves, stitch their heartstrings back together, and fuse gold into the cracks of her soul.
Strike ten!
On the verge of my heart giving out, I never take my eyes off Nita. She falls, she curls into the fetal position to become Bryony, to bear the weight of that Dragon on the shoulders of a teenage girl. Not one mouth in the arena whispers. Not with Neo roaring from the pain of having to punish his dear sister. He destroys the whip and pitches its ashes to the air, then arches his back and thunders his rage to the domed ceiling, causing it to fracture from that Dragon scream.
One more whimpering cry from Nita. From Bryony. From both.
In that cry, I capture the echo of Bryony’s soul—undone by her beauty, her strength. Perhaps even stronger than Nita. Amanita, the girl of souls and dreams, who played games with the Prince of Destruction, is not the one who could bear the pain. Instead, Amanita was so strong that she formed these alters to bear the trauma for her—Bryony, the most.
Somehow, that alter takes shape in my mind. My imagination flies, it soars to the looming symbolic image of a silver horse with a mane of teardrops—each one a precious gemstone of a star.
So, I stand. So, Irise! Lifting my hands into the air, I weave my Halo into the image of that horse, that mare that was once trapped. I gift her wings so she may fly. I spin and twirl every last Halo filament into a gold Pegasus.
Finally, I set the horse free—to gallop to Bryony. She wished for the Prince to ride in and save her, but after all the pain and tribulation she has endured, Bryony deserves to mount that glory herself. She deserves those wings of gold.
My ears ring from her final cries of raw emotion when she beholds that Pegasus. It’s female. It’s what she needs. Feminine goddess energy. Strengthening my chest, I nod, slam my eyes shut, and concentrate. I allow that feminine presence, born of my Halo that knows all, to take shape and essence. It trots around Bryony’s curled form, prancing and stomping her hoofs at the ground before she rears up and shakes her mane of golden teardrops to land upon Bryony’s head like pieces of a resplendent crown.
You are worthy of deliverance, Bryony!I preach the blessing Nita bestowed upon me.
Bryony slowly unfolds herself. She lifts a hand to touch the Pegasus, to stroke the teardrop mane. I understand it’s a combination of her powers and mine working together. I provided the vessel, but she stands to claim it.
She stands. And climbs upon the horse’s back! She mounts the Pegasus and harnesses the Creator power inside her so she may ride and fly out of the Inner Circle. On those great wings of gold with the entire Court riveted in stunned silence at the sight—including Neo with his eyes glistening diamond-flecked tears—Nita charges right up to the balcony and leaps onto the platform next to me.
Posturing to the full force of Amanita, the Hydra Creator Queen, the Destroying Angel, she boldly proclaims, “Substitution invoked. Her account issettled!”
Chapter13
“It seems your unfinished business is never done with him, Princess.”
Ireturn to the border as promised with a little parting gift of Lux’s traitorous kiss upon my lips. As if she could bestow some peace offering while Quillion and I had surrounded Nita and left the Court together. Nita had refused to allow either of us to bear her up. Nor had she allowed me to use the Halo to heal her. Now, I fulfill my vow to her, saving all my energies for the people here.
The first thing Jesula tries to do is get me to turn back. After yesterday, she has every justification. I shift my weight with a regretful knot thickening my throat.
“These people don’t need a broken Princess, Elysia,” Jesula scolds me with her newly formed braids diving to her waist like black diamond ropes. “I love your power. I love what you did yesterday. But I also loveyou, baby girl.” She cups my cheek and kisses my forehead, and my heart stumbles. “I won’t let you kill yourself trying to save everyone else just so you can placate some holy fire inside you. I’ve felt its heat, and I know it’s always going to rage. But slow burn, okay?”
With an obedient nod, I weave my arms around her, accepting her mamma bear warmth wrapping me in a strong hug. We chuckle when she adds, “Slow hot burn in your case.”
I spark my Halo light into my hands and offer her a golden spiked crown to dance upon her head. Once I approach the balcony to gaze out at the sea of people, my smile struggles. Especially from the crowds erupting into applause and cheers as soon as they behold me. I don’t linger but pick up my skirts and rush into the elevator alongside Jesula because I don’t want to be higher than them. Even now, my Halo weeps, my heart aches for their blood, sweat, and tears.
“They’re calling you the Angel Bride,” Jesula mentions and gives me a once-over, her eyes roaming to my shoulders.
I hoist one eyebrow. “What?”
“You don’t actually have Halo wings or something, right?”
I blink and then laugh. Jesula joins me like a chuckling echo. Comforting warmth curls inside me as I shake my head to say, “No, Jes. No wings. Not that I wouldn’t object.”
“Who would have thought things would change so fast?”
“Not us.”
She agrees, swinging her eyes toward the assemblies who are clustering to meet us, to meet the Angel Bride. “Never us, Lyssi. I’ll always be here for you, Halo. I’ll be the Aaron to your Moses.” The irony. We are not here to bring a plague but to heal one.
“And Miriam…” I add because she would be the one leading the pack out of the bloody sea and rousing them with a life-giving song. Jesula grins at my reflections while the elevator rolls to a stop; she’s always had the most blessed voice.
