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Though it fractured her barely healed heart anew, Thea knew that the Warsword before her was not the same man she knew. Be it an illusion of the Furies, or the dark magic of the shimmering portal, she would not be fooled, not with this.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, and then she lunged.
Steel met steel and sparks flared at the contact as false Warsword and apprentice danced across the ice. The imposter’s expression changed into one of cruelty and malice, and Thea knew she had made the right decision. He swung his blade not to injure, but to kill, and Thea, already weakened from the trials before, buckled beneath his Furies-given strength.
But whoever this creature was who wore the face of her love, he still fought like Wilder, and Thea knew every move, for Wilder himself had taught her and taught her well.
Across the slippery surface of the ice, Thea battled the imposter, meeting every blow with a strike of her own, her teeth singing with every impact, her bones aching. And yet she did not yield. Blood splattered as he sliced deep into her forearm, but she barely felt it, only registered the warm trickle of red across her skin.
The screams from the shores became one constant song now.I’ll save them, even if I die trying, but I have to get through this first,Thea told herself.
They circled one another, Thea wary of the shadow portals on either side of the ice. She could hear whispers from both of their dark depths, words to lure her to the edge, promises of victory and power. She could feel the surge of the broken souls beneath the ice as well, beckoning her to join them, down in the quiet depths.
She cried out as the imposter’s sword rained down on her, only just managing to block a vicious blow to her face. The force of it sent her sprawling across the ice, knocking the wind from her lungs. Panting, she staggered to her feet, devastation caving her inward as she saw Wilder’s handsome face curled into a snarl. He meant to kill her, to peel her apart bit by bit until there was nothing left.
Struggling to get enough air down her throat, Thea took stock of her resources and reserves. There were three throwing stars left in her boot; she still had the dagger she was holding, the dagger Audra had given her, and her sword. If she could just —
The false Wilder charged, the frozen lake beneath them shaking with the force of his power.
Fast as lightning, Thea slid beneath him, cleaving her dagger and sword across the backs of his knees like she’d seen the Warsword himself do to immobilise wraiths. Tendons and nerves ruined with the swipe of a blade.
He let out a roar that shook the mountains.
Black blood seeped onto the ice.
No, this was not her Wilder.
The creature before her was a monster of the underworld, born of the shadow portals that called out to her even now.
Thea let out a scream as she threw herself at the imposter, rage turning molten, fuelling her every move. How dare they take his face? How dare they take his body and turn it against her?
‘There you are…’
An echo of words once spoken with love.
She leapt upon her opponent and twisted her body around his, a body she knew intimately, in spite of whatever powered it from within.
With a ragged sob, she ploughed her dagger of Naarvian steel low into his gut, through the flesh and wall of muscle, right into the soft vital organ beneath.
She wrenched the blade free once more, before plunging it right into his dark heart.
His eyes went wide, and the splinters of Thea’s heart that remained crumbled into dust as those silver irises she had stared into countless times sought hers with the rise and fall of his final breath.
Darkness exploded, ripping across the ice like a tidal wave.
Thea yanked her blades from the body withering beneath her just in time to dig them into the ice like axes, clinging on against the force of the gale that tore across the surface, the lake groaning beneath her.
It was not over.
Thea lurched to her feet, bleeding, her chest aching, and took in the sight of the shadow chasm. She had slain two of its guardians thus far, and she had no doubt that she’d face another after she crossed this one.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe, to rest her hands on her knees and suck in the crisp air over and over. Her strength was fading, both inside and out. She didn’t dare take stock of her injuries, for though she could barely feel anything, she knew they’d be far worse than she realised. And her mind… Her mind felt as though it were in pieces, like the shattered fragments of the mirrors in the maze she’d faced, like the whispers of darkness that were all that was left of the imposter wearing her Warsword’s face.
Who had she ever been to think that she could do this? That she was worthy of the Furies, of the Great Rite?
As the thoughts became louder in her mind, she noticed the swirl of shadow at her ankles, leaking from the shimmering gate between her and the next.
‘No,’ she whispered, straightening. ‘This is not how it ends.’
