The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-Four The Broken Crystal

When Thepa reappeared, she almost wished she hadn't.

The explosion came without warning, a burst of sound and force that tore her from the earth and flung her high into the air. For a split second, all she could see was dark, swollen storm clouds and spitting cold rain that soaked through her clothes and clung to her skin. The blast's shockwave hit her chest like a battering ram. Her ears rang. Her limbs flailed. She was helpless. She had no idea which way was up.

A split-second later came fragments followed by hot metal, shattered glass, and glowing shards of magic, all caught in the wake of the blast. Some sliced past her. Others found purchase in her arms, her legs, her side, embedding in her skin. She tried to scream, but found it stolen from her. Pain flared like fire, but all she could do was taste its sting as her mind reeled.

Then the ground found her.

She slammed into stone with a sickening crack. The impact punched the wind from her lungs and folded her body ragged. She landed hard in a puddle, the cold water splashing up around her before glass and stone pressed into her back, carving fresh lines of pain. There was no time to brace, no way to protect herself. A second later, blood joined the puddle beneath her, followed by the bitter taste of bile rising uncontrollably from her throat.

Thepa lay there, barely moving. Rain slapped her face. Shards shifted deeper into her back with every breath. Somewhere in the fog of her mind, a voice begged her to get up, but her body refused. Instead, it released blood and bile all over herself, as if trying to trade a slow death for a quicker one.

A second explosion tore through the air, jerking her head to the side. Then a third and fourth. Blinding light flashed. Something smacked down in front of her with a sickening thud, an old soldier, flung like a ragdoll through the storm. He caught the edge of a platform mid-fall, fingers gripping tight. A lesser man would've died then and there, but Will wasn't a lesser man. He was hardened by war, trained for chaos. Had Thepa been more aware, she might've marveled at the feat.

Two more blasts erupted, casting two more figures through the smoke and rain. Unlike her, Bidant and Lily landed on their feet. The elf moved fast, running to help Will on the ledge. Lily turned to follow, but stopped. Her gaze snapped passed Thepa's prone form.

"Vivian!" she screamed.

"Help her!" another voice called, this one softer, more desperate.

Footsteps splashed toward her, loud and urgent, each one pounding against the drums in her ears. Thepa's eyes fluttered, her vision swimming with light and shadow. Hands found her, steady and warm, gliding with precision along the ravaged channels of her chest, the curve of her ribs, the bruised edges of her lungs and kidneys, before settling gently at the base of her neck.

The pressure was firm, soft, and familiar. Despite her pain, she sighed in relief.

"Rory..." she breathed, barely audible. Her fingers twitched, reaching for a red braid she couldn't see..

"Heal," Claudia breathed.

Not Rory.

Warmth bloomed beneath Cluaida's fingers, but not from heat. A soft, pale gold light deepening into a steady white glow that pulsed in time with Thepa's heartbeat. The pouring rain might have tried to douse it, but the light danced, unaffected in its response. Where the light touched, blood ceased its flow. Torn skin knit itself shut with a shimmer. The sharp sting of embedded shards dulled and dislodged, sliding free as if repelled by grace.

Thepa whimpered, more from the relief than the pain, but even that sound was drowned out by the chaos crashing around her.

"Rory?" she tried again, but Claudia didn't answer. Instead, she turned her head, refusing to meet her gaze.