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Would Draven understand what I had to do? Would I ever be able to tell him?
Nightclaw swooped downwards, gliding effortlessly towards the pillar where the golden crown rested. I leaned forward in the saddle and plucked it up as we passed by, holding it warily in one hand as if it were poison.
There was no way I was putting the thing on my head. I longed to drop it into the chasm with Avriel but settled for hooking it over the pommel of the saddle.
Nightclaw was already flying back in the direction we'd come from. Towards the frozen figure of Lyrastra lying helplessly on the far side of the glassy field that had not been shattered.
The battlecat landed soundlessly and I slid down from his back, running towards the woman.
Crouching beside her frost-covered figure, I reached out a tenuous hand, then withdrew it.
Would I shatter her with my touch as Avriel had done the steed?
I had to do something. I couldn't just leave her there, to be battlefield carrion.
The gauntlets had worked once before. I stared down at them, urging them to help me, praying the sigils Laverna had embedded in her handiwork would enable the delicate work I needed from them now.
Then, ever so gently, I touched Lyrastra's hand with mine, letting the smallest bit of warmth extend from me.
I watched in excitement as subtle coils of heat fed through me and into the ice encasement.
Slowly, the frozen shell began to melt, revealing Lyrastra's features underneath.
Lyrastra coughed, her eyes fluttering open.
All over her body, the ice was melting. I watched as she groaned, then moved her legs.
It was all right. She was going to be all right. Relief flooded through me.
Lyrastra's gaze shifted down to her right arm. Confusion mingled with hope in her eyes.
Steadily, I continued streaming heat into her body, holding my hands steady. But a glimmer of fear filled me as I saw what she was looking at.
A spiderweb of fractures was forming over her right arm, tracing patterns over the frozen limb like cracks across a frozen pond.
Wretchedly, I watched the fissures spread. I dared not feed more heat into Lyrastra's form for fear she would ignite.
A gasp escaped Lyrastra's lips as the fractures multiplied.
I reached out one of my hands, about to touch the arm, but it was too late. Lyrastra lifted her head in a wordless scream as the sound of splitting ice reverberated through the air.
Brittle shards cascaded downwards, glistening in the light.
Lyrastra's expression had morphed to one of horror. Her eyes widened as she beheld the shattered remains of her arm.
I watched as pain, raw and unrelenting, surged through her body, radiating from the mangled stump. She began to writhe, in the grip of unforgiving shock, her groans of anguish terrible to hear.
Around us, something was happening. The very fabric of our surroundings was crumbling.
The glass cobblestones beneath us began to shake.
I leaped to my feet, my heart pounding with urgency. Ignoring my own weariness, I mustered every ounce of strength and caught Lyrastra up by the waist, ignoring her sobs of pain as I brushed against her fragmented shoulder.
Dragging her over to Nightclaw, I hoisted her up and into the saddle then climbed up behind her, grabbing the reins.
Nightclaw was already beginning to run. A great, leaping gallop that nearly sent me sliding off his back. I gripped the cat more tightly, clutching the reins and wrapping my arms around Lyrastra who had hunched forward pitifully like a broken doll.
As ominous rumblings filled the arena, Nightclaw's wings unfurled, lifting us into the air as the floor below us disintegrated, crumbling into a void of chaos.
