A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XXIV. Running Out

I bound to you.

Motionless, the flier gazed upon his opponent. Though his breaths were shallow, he refused to give in to death's call. Abruptly, his wings snapped open and he shifted his gaze to the . . . boy's hand and then to the blade that lay stained with crimson. The blade he had . . . dropped.

"What has you hesitating? The crowd waits."

The familiar voice made the flier flinch, and he pivoted to find himself face-to-face with a set of eyes that were an uncanny shade of blue.

"Is this not the moment you have waited for? Longed for?" She emerged between two braziers and stepped toward him; her silvery fur shone brightly in the eerie light. "This is now, at last, your moment of truth. You have told me so many times that I have long given up counting them. You want nothing more than to be free, no? And the only way to free yourself from a parasite is—"

"—to kill it." The flier could not avert his gaze from the lifeless body of the boy in the sand, with a pool of thick, dark blood seeping from his stomach wound. His claws would soon be tainted if he did not—

"Well?"

The sand shifted beneath his talons as his jaw clenched tightly. She was right, and he knew it. This was ridiculous. All the waiting, all the anticipation, and for what? He has and will never see you as an equal. At most, a mere servant. It is not worth dedicating your life to someone who will never acknowledge your efforts. What would your former self—the glorious flier who prided himself on his independence and scoffed at those who gave too much—say if he could see you now?

A servant, he was not. He would not be shackled to someone who . . . You are too kind and caring for him to deserve. He will never comprehend, nor will he cherish it. He will not release you as long as your bond remains unbroken. And there is but one way to irrevocably end a bond. You know as well as I that you won't have genuine peace as long as he remains out there, wherever he may be.

The flier's mouth tore apart for a gut-wrenching scream. He cowered, his eyes focused on his target. This was the moment he had envisioned countless times, and he had always come to the same conclusion: it was the only way. The only way . . . She had said it was the only way—

I have no doubt that, given the chance, he would not hesitate to take your life. If you display an unwillingness to serve him, he will consider you irrelevant.

His head snapped up, and he fixated on the crimson-stained blade. Not hesitate to take your life . . . her voice spoke in his head. Take your life. His expression darkened as he finally gave in to the urge to glance at the boy's face. The face . . .

"He has . . . surrendered."

The silver gnawer who had come up beside him froze. "What?" Her tail twitched. "How is that of any importance now? Can you not hear them?" She inched closer. "The crowd is eagerly anticipating his end. Will you let them down? More importantly, will you let yourself down?"

The flier intook the frantic crowd and spotted not a single tail pointing upward. "But you said . . ." He shook his head, focusing on the boy again. "You said that he would not hesitate to take my life, should he ever get the chance." Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the memory of the boy's face, just as he had relinquished his sword. For the longest time, this face had not stirred any positive feelings in him, yet . . . Forgive me . . . but here is my word. Something deep within him shuddered.

"Oh, I cannot fathom his reasons either. But it hardly matters."

The flier frowned at the sudden cold in her tone. She had never sounded cold; he had questioned whether she even could. She had also never . . . contradicted herself.