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All was still, not even a slight drift in the folds of a curtain to tell the direction in which any of them had projected out of the room. The sting of their disappearance rattled me. It wasimpossible. How could they do this? Just leave us defenseless as the Well was attacked—abandon their own people who had journeyed across an entire continent under their protection? I had known they weren’t with us by any means, but this? They were sworn to protect their people, were they not? I doubt they had written it down in blood or a prayer, but they were gods.
Perhaps this was an extension of a Sage’s promise not to fool with their people’s will. A promise that made them both friend and foe, leaving only circumstance to decide which.
The sharp clack of Kalen’s feet striking tile began to hollow out, and I realized he was moving farther and farther from me. I glanced towards the flakes of dying embers in the fireless hearth. They fizzed and then defected with one last pop and all that was truly left was me. I had to do something. Think.Think, my mind paced.
Who do you say will triumph? Fate or the Brave and the Ruthless Gwynore?That was what I had asked Gabriel in my vision.
“I say you,” I whispered into the empty room.
Gabriel’s answer. Despite all that had been said tonight, he must have believed I was still what I always had been. A Guardian. At one time, I was the best. So often since that day in the infirmary, I had thought about the lethal champion who I used to be, though I didn’t dare to think about it for long. I knew if I let myself linger there, even for a moment, knowing all of what was expected of me, it would consume me.
Subconsciously, I knew there was a truth to it. Every day I spent back in this world, I felt parts of myself coming back. The skillful memory of my muscles as I fought Kalen in the hall, quickly disarmed a man twice my size. The jaunt in my stride as I did something as simple as walking from corner to corner of my room. I was strong, like any immortal I supposed, but even more than that. Iwasa Guardian. Maybe I could still be the best?There was no better time than the present to test out that theory, and no better threat than death to see it through.
Picking up my skirts, I ran after Kalen. For the first time that night, I was thankful to be dressed in so little. I wondered, heartsick, how in mortal hell the beautiful women in their pastry-puffed gowns were fighting for their lives, tripping over layers and layers of skirts. Fighting at a disadvantage set out for them by a fanciful dress code meant to entice the Sages. Drenched in heavy jewels and thick threaded bodices, all in hopes of catching the eyes of their god and impressing them.
I imagined that for days now, they had bent themselves over tables lit only by oil lamps, sewing beautiful robes and dresses out of the rich fabrics they had no doubt spent too much of their coin on. Sweating through the labor, laughing as they pricked fingers, and dreaming of something as small as a nod of approval from the gods they worshiped.
Now they waited for those same gods’ magic to flood the halls and save them from peril. The only comfort, I thought, was that they would be dead before they knew no one was coming for them.
Kalen had long disappeared from my sight, but it wasn’t hard to find the dining hall again. All I had to do was recount my steps. And follow the endless screams. I was running down the corridors as fast as I could, but dread soon found its way into my muscles, making them feel sluggish and heavy. Despite that, I flung myself into the last hall with a squeak of my shoes against the smooth flooring. I stopped immediately at the threshold.
Whatever I had expected to find, this was worse—devastatingly so. I thought I might vomit or faint or both. Or maybe my heart would just stop beating altogether. Gone were the beautiful linen trimmings and crystal accents hanging from chandeliers. Everything was ripped and shattered and crooked. It seemed as if the entire room was tilted off its center; banistershanging by thin tears of cloth, buffet tables overturned...people. People were on their sides and slumped over one another. Bright pastels splattered with clotted red.
Everywhere. There was blood everywhere. Mortal and immortal alike, but it all poured out the same. I couldn’t even tell the difference between our two species anymore, as the crowd weaved in and out of each other; running and pushing, falling and dying. We were all the same. Even the arrows, akin to those which had killed the Guardians outside the war room, tore through their throats with similar ease as they rained down from overhead, unrelenting and fatal.
My courage began to shrink. Just as it had at the Sea, my mind obviously self-preservation over honor. It begged me to leave—this place, these people, Kalen. All of it. But my heart fought harder, and my eyes anchored me to the ground as I searched for any sign of Kalen within the frenzy. I found him quickly, surprising even myself. It felt almost easy to pick him out amongst the bloodshed. The rush of pure joy at having found him alive nearly buckled my knees, but I forced myself to stay standing, to focus on the small crowd that was beginning to stir around him.
Kalen was surrounded by six immortals, pressing him into a wall covered in the shredded flags of the factions. I studied them intensely, trying to discern their intent and looking for any route of escape for Kalen when things inevitably turned ugly. There was no such path. Moving as one underneath a deep purple armor, they looked almost exactly like a pack of Astralites. I would have sworn they were Gabriel’s servants, but their skin was sickly pale.
The men finally moved in on Kalen, taking turns lunging at him with bone-hilted daggers gripped tightly underneath white knuckles. I knew nothing would prepare me to hear his cracked voice as it wailed in pain, or the sound of his fleshsplitting against a stranger’s bone, but I braced myself anyway. Thankfully, no matter how hard or fast they swung, only a loudswooshkissed my ears.
The blades met empty air.
Kalen anticipated every throw, every step taken both towards and away from him. Besides our few scuffles, I had never seen him fight before. Hadn’t seen the pure strength in one swing of his forearm. And the magic. It flowed from him now, steady and pure, out from his hand and clean through the dagger he sliced into tough leather.
With a quick pounce and flick of his wrist, Kalen drove his blade up and under the metal plating of one of his attackers, piercing between his ribs and into his heart. In three more moves, all but two others fell, leaving the rest with no option other than to scurry off in terror. Kalen looked at me then. I saw his mouth move but didn’t hear the words. My ears were ringing.
As he ran toward me, I was pulled towards him, my steps impatient as I pushed through the crowd that rushed upstream. We nearly collided when we met. Kalen gripped my arm to steady us both. Finger-sized swipes of blood were left against my skin as he released me.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled, his voice finally clear to my ears.
“I’m coming to help you,” I yelled back, louder.Couldn’t he tell?
His face was completely serious, not even a hint of amusement at my audacity. “You need to go to your room and barricade the door. I will come for you when it is safe.”
When I didn’t move, he grabbed my arm again, rushing us under and around swords that smashed against each other with no sense of direction—just wild, unchecked determination. I could smell the grimy tang of sweat mixed with blood. It incensed me enough to veer back around and shove him in thechest. He was unmoved, but his nostrils flared.
“Go,” he ordered. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I squawked back. I knew I wouldn’t leave. I could not.
“Gwynore.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I repeated.
Kalen took a step back, and I watched his face tense as he seemed to argue with himself internally. He knew I was capable of fighting back. There was not enough time to convince me to go, to leave him to his own defense. He couldn’t do it on his own, and Ihadbeen the best. Kalen snarled, angry with me. Angry with himself and everything going on around him. Only a second was allowed for his emotions before he reached down and wrenched a short sword from the stomach of some nameless Guardian, chucking it directly into my fighting hand with unsettling precision.
Thank the gods. I had gotten this far. Looking down at the bluish, lifeless face of the Guardian below me. I thought—now what?
