Destiny's Blood (45 page)

He was looking up, and she followed his gaze. The sky was a perfect blue and the sun shone in the east, its rays soothing her cold skin.

“Layela,” Ardin whispered and turned to his sister.

She smiled. “Go. I think I can handle things here.” He hugged her quickly and was gone with a speed that defied his wounds. Around him, a cheer rose from the Mirialers, as they, too, came to understand the meaning of the sun on the horizon.

Mirial was saved, and day could rule once again.

Avienne smiled and joined in the cheer, then turned and started to collect the twenty-four expensive ether knives she intended to sell. She would look into buying a home. A real home. For herself, near wherever her love-struck brother would go. But first, she would definitely be spending some of the profits on soap and new clothing.

Blood and bones, she didn’t think she could smell much worse.

i

Twenty years. It had been almost twenty years.

Twenty years since Mirial and her weakening shields were discovered by Solari, two days before the heir was to be born. Most remembered the after-effect of that birth
 
—
 
the exile, the pain, the loss of their home
 
—
 
but Dunkat remembered the moment: the exact moment he learned of ether.

The stench of flowers mingled with the smells of people all around him. His father was proudly discussing the spiral architecture of the royal palace, holding his wife’s elbow as though she were his most precious and fragile possession.

The Mirialers, wary at first of the strangers, were growing to enjoy Minister Groosh’s love of art. It was something they took great pride in, but were rarely able to share with outsiders. Their duty and choice had always been to remain hidden; to protect and hide Mirial from those who would take advantage of her ether.

He heard bits of conversations, his tired mind playing them over and over again, whispers and shadows from a past only he seemed to remember.

“Minister Groosh, you must see...”

“Minister Groosh, the
Destiny’s
design was meant to...”

Groosh.
That was his name too. He had been thirty, full of ambition. And he’d had a name.

Silence broke through his memories and he heard his rattling breath. But soon a crying child shattered that sound, too.

“The heir!” a hopeful voice cried. Dunkat already understood that they needed a girl. A boy-child would be whisked away and given to some other family. Dunkat wondered if it would be the family of the father. The father: a man unknown, un-acclaimed and uninvited to his own child’s birth.

The thought was forgotten as he glanced around, his own memory growing dim as the taste of blood grew stronger in his mouth. The captain of the Royal Guards headed towards the back, where the birthing room nestled hidden behind layers of rich gold and red curtains. He knew the captain’s face
 
—
 
the man had kept a close eye on the Solarians since their arrival.

Dunkat took a deep breath. Cooling mist soothed his senses, seconds before his memory exploded with vivid colours.

“Loretta!” he heard his father scream as a roar smothered them. His mother’s knees seemed to weaken for a moment. Then she turned and he saw that the delicate silk of her dress was melting, bubbling and turning her body black. Her mouth was twisted in a silent scream and her knees slowly gave out, her grace as a dancer defying the agony of her body.

His father’s hair was sizzling, his skin melting as he reached her. He managed to remain standing long enough to catch his wife, holding her crumpling body in his own as they both caught fire.

The smell of burning flesh and fresh mist mixed past and present, and Dunkat felt his heart break and harden, all at once. Around him more fell, struck by the mysterious ether, but he and a few others remained standing. The ether ripped through them without care or discrimination, downing one and leaving the next unharmed.

And the screams, the fires, the heat on his flesh as he ran away, away from his burning parents...Dunkat gasped. The metal in his mouth was stronger than before.

That was the power of ether. He forced his tired eyes to open and, made out the blurred shape of the heir near the waterfall, her back to him.

He needed to stop the revival of ether. He needed to kill her.

But he was dying.

No!
I must stop it!

His father had found ether. His father had found a way to survive, to try to avenge his love, and Dunkat would do the same.

The wraiths of Mirial
. The tainted ether. Ether that could go against the very laws of life, unless purified by Mirial herself. To cling to the dark ether in death would offer him the powers of ether, of the evil he had no choice but to use so that he could destroy it. And unlike his father, Dunkat had never been weak with love of art.

He took a deep breath, felt the blood rattle in his chest and tasted it on his tongue. He clung to his anger and hatred, clung to the powers he had felt from his father.

He clung to the darkness until his breath stopped coming and his sight grew dark.

Silence. Darkness. Nothingness.

And then he could see, clearer than ever before. His heart and breath no longer sounded in his own ears, his memories no longer assailed him but supported him, his entire body animated by a deep, scorching fire. The need to stop the wild ether from killing others ignited him beyond death. He could feel it tingle and come alight around him as the heir charmed it safely back to her planet.

But it wasn’t fully reborn yet, and he still had time.

He would stop her.

C
HAPTER
44

L
ayela!”

Layela smiled and turned at the familiar voice, tearing her eyes away from her changed reflection.

“Ardin!” she screamed back. He emerged into the altar room, his steps faltering by Dunkat’s body for an instant. He looked at her eyes, a question in his, as though unsure who she truly was.

She was about to reassure him when a movement caught his eyes and he jumped sideways. Layela felt her blood freeze in her veins.

Dunkat’s body shifted and twitched and then, without effort, he stood. Blood clung to him like a second layer of clothing. His face was gr
ey and ashen, his eyes deep pools of twilight.

His mouth moved for an instant, as though he wished to say something but his tongue no longer remembered how to form words. Beside him, Ardin hesitated barely a moment before throwing himself towards Zortan’s discarded blade. Even from where she stood, Layela could see that Ardin’s movements were slower than they should have been. A bad wound on his right arm forced him to favour his left, which slowed him further.

Ardin screamed and sliced down with the blade. Dunkat kept his place, intent on Layela who stood frozen by the ghastly sight of him. The sword struck the dead man’s shoulder but barely pierced him. Black mists escaped his wounds and Ardin quickly backed away.

“It’s like the black tar!” he called to her.

Dark ether
. Tainted ether that needed to be cleansed by Mirial.
She could do it
. She had to. But as she stared into his black eyes, watched his peeling skin turning dark purple, her limbs refused to move.

Ardin!
She wanted to scream, but fear crushed the words in her throat. As though hearing her anyway, Ardin struck again. The sword failed to break skin this time. Ardin threw himself back out of range and Dunkat’s flailing arm missed him by a hair. Ardin fell hard on his wounded right arm. He was already weakening, Layela knew, and adrenaline was draining from him.

Dunkat moved now, not towards Ardin who struggled to rise again, but towards Layela. His mouth twisted into a repugnant smile and two rotted teeth fell to the ground.

Layela entire body seemed to ache with the desire to move, but her breath was short and her mind blank. She closed her eyes to force the sight of him out of her mind, calling to Mirial instead. Mirial would save her.

“Layela!” Ardin screamed and her eyes snapped open. Dunkat was barely two metres from her.
How had he moved so fast?
She took a step back and raised her arms defensively, all thoughts of ether forgotten. Dunkat was intent on her, ignoring Ardin as he neared him, screaming.

“Ardin,” Layela whispered. She took another step back, wondering if she had a gun. She did, she remembered, and her right hand slowly lowered towards the holster. So slowly…

Dunkat reached out and Ardin was on him, a howl breaking free of his throat as he sliced down. The ancient sword of the Royal Guards heeded his plea for help and came to life, ether dancing wildly on the blade as Ardin struck, hard. Layela felt the warmth of the ether radiating from the sword, as though it tried to soothe her.

The sword cut deep into Dunkat’s torso. Ardin fell forward with the unexpected strength of his own blow. He tried to catch his footing and swerve back in front of Layela, but Dunkat moved too fast for him.

Dunkat’s right arm came up, knocked the blade out of Ardin’s hand with a sickening snap of shattering bone. Dark ether rippled into Ardin’s chest.

“Ardin!” Layela screamed. She took a step toward him, but Dunkat tossed him to the side as though he were nothing more than bag of feathers. Ardin rolled a few times, a trail of blood glistening in the sunlight filtering through the roof. When he came to a stop, he did not move, his left arm jutting from under his body at an unnatural angle.

Layela fought the urge to run to him, and planted her feet firmly on the ground instead. Dunkat stared at her, his advance starting again as though nothing had happened. Black mists flowed from his severed shoulder and the wounds in his torso.

She couldn’t run. She knew she had nowhere to go, and running now meant abandoning Ardin. She could heal him, as she had healed Avienne with ether.

Ether.

To soothe. To heal. To purify.

To fight.

She could use the ether. She knew she could, and she needed to. Yoma, Josmere, Ardin, Zortan, even Mirial herself had all protected and supported her. But now it was her turn to stand alone and protect them.

She felt the weight of her own destiny clothe her shoulders like a mantle, and did not try to shrug it off.

Mirial’s breath was all around her. She captured it with her mind, feeling its power penetrate her body.

Dunkat was close, his dark mists licking her exposed skin. She did not back away, but looked up again and focused on his eyes; eyes of twilight.

This time, fear did not clutch her soul or paralyze her. He took another step, reached out with his arm and grabbed her throat. His grasp constricted her airway and his fingernails extended, growing long and piercing the side of her neck.

She wanted to cough, but no breath could escape her or enter her. The reek of his flesh was trapped inside her, and she could taste her own blood at the back of her throat. She could feel tears running down her cheeks and her arms came up, but instead of trying to pull his hand free, she reached for his head.

The time has come to let go, Dunkat Groosh.
Warmth invaded her body. Layela let the ether flow through her and take hold of her, and then slammed it into the dead man, purifying him. The colonel’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment.

His eyes were definitely softer as he looked past her. Layela felt the presence without turning, and she let Dunkat’s parents claim his soul to bring him back to Mirial. His body, now an empty shell, hissed and bubbled. When the arm let go of her throat, she collapsed beside it, inhaling a deep, panicked breath that smelled like the stench of death.

She could feel the warmth leaving her, but forced it to stay, forced Mirial to remain with her for a moment longer. She stumbled to her feet. Her body felt heavy, as though lead had cooled at her core and now weighed her down.

Ardin.
She reached out with her ether as she walked toward him. She didn’t need to touch him to heal him, she knew, but she wanted to. She needed to.

His breath was weak, but he didn’t want to die. He clung fiercely to every heartbeat. Layela knelt by him and ran her tired hand over his cold skin. He was so pale, his features drawn with pain even in unconsciousness. His chest was seared and still bleeding; the flesh, where it was exposed by the blackened shirt, was burnt and cracked.

“Make him warm,” she asked of the ether, her mind too clouded to simply think the words.

She blinked and looked up. The world around her was full of light. Sun poured into the temple, and ether blanketed every tree, every stone, every drop of water. Mirial was alive. Mirial was life.

“Please,” she whispered, lowering her head onto Ardin’s chest. She was desperate to hear his heart. “Please, allow him to live.”

Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she could not tear them from the light swirling around them both. His heartbeat grew stronger and stronger and she felt the taste of blood lessen from her own throat.

She closed her eyes and listened to his breath steadying, his heart pumping, his stomach even gurgling. She smiled.

Yoma.
Her sister had given up her life to save her. Layela imagined Ardin’s heartbeat as her sister’s, and called to her soul.
Come back to me, sister.

Like a petal floating in the winds, Layela felt the gentle reply. Her sister loved her and always would. But she couldn’t return.

A life for a life.
Yoma had offered her soul to Mirial in exchange for Layela’s, and none of Layela’s newfound powers or connection with Mirial could reverse the pact.

That was it. She had reached the height of her powers, the limits of life and death Mirial would allow her to cross.

In her mind’s eye she saw her sister winking at her, felt her huddling close through so many years of childhood, her warmth the only hope in the dark, frightening nights. She saw the flowers Yoma brought her to do with as she wished, whether to sell for food or to keep and nurture.