Aureate Fates

44

    WE FIGHT BLINDLY, WITH HEARTS IN MIND

—THEMA—

Thema had never heard anything so loud. So deafening. The sound of Drew's creations filled the castle, bouncing off the walls in strange, dystopian rhythms.

Their enemies fell and perished like forgotten wax statues. Immediate death.

Battle was everywhere. In the gardens, in the kitchens, and even on the battlements. The Verskyian army arrived one day ago, and fought with swords and blades. A select few used Drew's pistoles.

All she could do was watch the lake, which sparkled with a sort of alarm, like it didn't understand the destruction around it.

She saw Erik in front of the castle through the doors that were now flung open. He used his abilities to make men writhe and scream, his crown forgotten. In his face, she saw the valor of a king. The kind that was brutal and untouchable.

She had lost sight of Zadran's dictator but she was sure that he was leading the attack on the villages near the palace. Drew had said that in order to win and force Zardan to surrender, they needed to kill three-hundred men—and the dictator.

Perhaps Thema could help. After all, the spirits of the castle were furious and ready for her to use as she pleased. They became unnerved by the deadly commotion within the palace. This was their home, and it was in danger of falling.

Thema's mother appeared before her—and Thema scurried to a stop. She was dressed in a white silk gown, like the last time Thema saw her before she was taken into chains. The same gleaming brown skin and green eyes that belonged to Thema.

She hadn't seen her ghost since the day she'd ridden into Verskyia. It was futile to speak words, her mother hadn't ever spoken to her after death. Not even in gestures.

But before her mother vanished once more, she gave her a warm smile, placed a hand over her heart. Bowed.

She heard the words clear in her head. We'll meet soon, my girl.

          —MARISOL—

A heavily armed, highly skilled soldier had knocked her to the floor. Her hand scraped against the pavement outside the roaring palace, yielding blood.

Her ankle throbbed dangerously.

Now she grappled with the enemy soldier, slowly releasing her power into his systems. The mass of him was large and incredibly hefty. Bigger men were harder to make bleed.

But she was stronger now, alive with using her power so frequently, and in seconds, the soldier gargled his own blood.

Across from her, about ten feet away, she saw Jared handle one of Drew's pistoles expertly. Firepower like non-other erupted from the weapon. Zardan's men became frustrated—and dead. Later, she'd have to kiss Drew right on the cheek for being so chillingly brilliant.

Just as she thought of the burning villages that were suffering near Quellton, a hard kick was landed to her head. Blood seeped across her scalp like liquid fire. For a moment, she could only see bright sparks of yellow, but she caught the second attack in her hand.

She twisted the soldiers foot, teeth clenched and fighting her scream. He quickly bucked down on her, bringing a large knife to her throat. It was coated with already existing blood.

Her magic was unresponsive as the soldier spat, "Bitch." His weight felt like a boulder over her battle-stricken body. "I'd have you right here if I didn't think you'd rip my head off."