Trial by Heart (Trial Series Book 4) (17 page)

“Twenty minutes,” Ben says.

I shift my focus back to the task at hand. When I catch my breath, I unwrap the towel. To my satisfaction, all but one of the charms are pulverized or in pieces. I completely missed one, what appears to be a rustic wooden peg of sorts. I carefully pluck it free then shake off the remnants of the charms into the fire before returning the towel to the table and wrapping the final charm and all of the pens we found in the house. Five strokes later, I dump the remains into the fire.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben says.

I suck in a deep breath, my heart hammering.

“Myca, do you have the amulet?” I ask, turning to him.

He hands over the Kingmaker amulet, the one he was supposed to give me when the trials started when he gave me the protective vampire amulet instead. Oddly enough, it’s the most beautiful of all the charms: an intricately carved piece of petrified wood depicting a battle between a demon and angel. I study it in the light of the fire briefly then wrap it up in the towel to be crushed.

Several minutes later, I dump it and the towel into the fire.  

House, Daddy’s belongings, curse charms, clan histories, Kingmaker amulet, letters.
I check off the list mentally and glance at Erish. He’s still around. I don’t know what I expected to happen. Maybe for him to be screaming in misery as he slowly fades in agony before finally disappearing into oblivion.

He’s just chillin’, watching me. I know why, and any hope I have of surviving disappears. The only thing attaching the curse, and Erish, to my world is me.

“Am I missing something?” I ask for his ears only. “Aside from me, what else anchors the curse?”

“Exile.”

“The knife?”

He doesn’t respond.

“So I have to die and someone else has to destroy it.” I clench and release my fists. “Swear to me there’s nothing else, Erish.”

“There is not.”

Dare I believe him? I study him before plucking the knife off the table. My hands shake, and I have the urge to flee.

“Courage, conviction, intuition,” Erish repeats what my father told me I needed to survive the trials.

“Did you write that or did Daddy?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter, Leslie.”

He’s right.

My anger fizzles and turns into sorrow as I gaze at the heavy knife in my hands. Two thousand years, and it all ends tonight. Should I be proud? All I feel is fear and despair.

“Please tell me some part of you regrets all the pain you’ve caused,” I whisper and look at Erish.

He’s standing across from me.

“Please tell me there’s some part of you that remembers what it means to love someone else.”

“I cannot
love
in the form I am in now.” His voice is just as soft. “But I, too, have fought what I am. From the very beginning, I have stood aside during your trials when I could have acted. I knew the amulet was wrong, and I knew something has been off the entire time. I also have looked away when I didn’t have to. You cannot know the pain these actions caused, or that my suffering is only lessened when I act in accordance to the curse. To disobey is to be in agony.”

“I wouldn’t say stabbing me and trying to take over my body were examples of you standing aside,” I point out.

“It was a test.”

“Of me?”

“Of the amulet.” He motions to the vampire amulet. “And Ben.”

“You wanted to try to drive him off.”

“Or be certain he stuck around, since you held so much doubt. Maybe I did those things for
you
, so you would understand what I figured out when we first laid eyes on him,” Erish snaps. “I will pay for my interference. I will never know peace. But you will be free.”

“You’re serious.”

I’ve had the sense many times Erish wants the curse gone but can’t break it, because of whatever magic binds him and forces him to execute the trials. That enough of who he once was remains to help me in what ways he can brings me a tiny bit of peace. In the end, he can’t do what’s right, but he will do his best not to get in the way of those who can.

It’s not much, but it’s something, and it helps fill the need I have to know he regrets what he’s done.

I want to tell him I’m glad he’s suffering, but I can’t. I’m
not
glad he’s in pain. He’s my only relative, the only other semi-living person to have gone through what I have. He is evil and wrong and everything I should despise.

But once, long ago, he knew how to love and has existed in pain for two millennia since the day he took the life of the woman he cared about. I will never know the circumstances. In truth, I don’t want to anymore. Understanding he was once like me and has suffered alongside every Kingmaker he tormented is enough.

It’s not pity I experience this time, standing toe to toe with the Kingmaker curse. It’s not anger or hatred or anything I thought I’d feel when I reached this point. He’s not the only one whose spirit is about to be extinguished for good. Minutes away from my death, I don’t have it in me to hate anyone, even him.

“I’m sorry you hurt,” I tell him. “I’m sorry you lost the woman you love. I’m sorry for all you’ve done and for all you’ve suffered. It might not matter, and you might not be capable of caring, but I forgive you for fucking up my life and the lives of the rest of our clan.”

“Spoken like a true angel,” Erish mocks quietly.

“I’m no angel, but I will make this right.”

“I know.”

His acknowledgement, however reluctant, eases some of the concern that I’m missing something. “The knife and me. That’s it, right?”

“Yes.”

“Five minutes,” Ben says.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Hot tears slide down my cheeks, and I swallow with difficulty.

I don’t want to die.

I have no choice.

I also know without a doubt who my father chose to assassinate me – the only man he’d trust with my life. He chose my potential mate, the man who would break the curse, the alpha who would never kill the woman meant to become his mate unless there was absolutely no other option. Erish warned me either Ben or I would die before the week was out, and he’s right.

Unfortunately for Ben, I’m not the heroic type who can shove a knife through my neck or stomach. He’s going to have to be stronger than I am.

Sucking in a deep breath, I wipe my face hastily and then turn towards Ben. Nate steps aside as I approach him, and I walk past the three candidates to Ben.

I gaze up at him, momentarily lost in his silver eyes and the combination of yearning and fear in my breast. Blinking out of the spell, I hold out the knife to him.

“You have to destroy it after … after … you know,” I manage to say through my tight throat.

He accepts it. For another second, I’m lost in his eyes again, wishing I knew what to say.
Farewell, I wish we had a chance together, thank you, please don’t hate me
… Everything dies at the tip of my tongue.

“I trust you,” I whisper finally.

My hands drop. We stare at each other, the tension thick and taut. Desire and desperation shimmer in the air between us, as strong as ever. I can’t read him and don’t want to know what’s going through his mind. It’s all I can do to keep from breaking down weeping. I’m not going to make this harder on him, not going to sob or beg or leave him with the final memory of his mate crying when he killed her. He deserves better, and it’s this knowledge alone that helps me keep my head when I’m about to lose it.

Lowering my gaze, I step back, longing for his touch but afraid to mess up the final steps of the trials or disrupt my delicate internal balance.

I kneel before him, trembling and terrified. I’m halfway through putting my hair in a ponytail, so it doesn’t get bloody, when I realize how stupid that is. I’m about to die – what the hell do I care about blood in my hair?

Erish kneels beside me, seeming resigned. I glance at him.

“There’s some irony here, isn’t there?” I ask. “You killed your mate and that of every Kingmaker for twenty generations. Now, one of the mates kills you.”

“Irony. Prophecy. Semantics.” He shrugs.

“Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re a dick.”

“You want those to be your last words?”

It shouldn’t be funny – but I almost laugh.

Ben moves closer, and both of us tense. I suck in a breath, squeeze my eyes closed and brace myself for pain.

No one speaks in the backyard. The crackling and popping of my world burning to the ground is the only sound.

“Back to what I was telling you,” Myca says and kneels beside me.

I wait, afraid to open my eyes and witness Ben getting ready to stab me or Myca.

“Twenty thousand years of magic may be a drop in a lake compared to my mother’s magic, but the amulet you wear has been doing more than protect you,” Myca says, upbeat. “It’s been gathering magic as you progressed through the trials, sapping it from the curse, from the candidates, from any source of magic it encounters. Your transformations to and from other supernatural creatures in particular require an incredible amount of magic. The Kingmaker magic is powerful – and the amulet’s been capturing it all.”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I need less magic in my life, not more.

“There’s enough magic to turn you one last time into any supernatural you want,” Ben says in his quiet growl. “And for one more, permanent mating bond to cement your soul to whatever clan you choose.”

I risk a look at them. They’re both kneeling, Ben before me and Myca beside me.

“He means, there’s enough magic to turn you into a werewolf and his mate.” Myca smiles.

“It’s her choice. Always her choice,” Ben says firmly then adds with a half-smile, “But choose quickly, because it has to be done before the eclipse is over.”

Is this a dream? “I don’t understand,” I reply. “I anchor the curse. I have to die.”

“Tristan severed the link between the curse and your soul, but you cannot remain a Kingmaker. The clan must be destroyed, per what we know of the Final Trials,” Ben explains. “Destroying your clan doesn’t mean you die. It can mean you transform into one of us, one last time.”

I’m not processing this in real time. It almost sounds like there’s a chance for me to survive tonight.

“I didn’t spend a hundred years preparing for this night to sacrifice you in the process,” Ben adds roughly. “I won’t lose you or anyone else to this fucking curse.”

I gaze at him, aware of the tens of thousands of lives lost to the curse. Rare emotion is in Ben’s gaze. It’s getting harder not to cry. I’m waiting for one of them to tell me this is a sick joke, the Community’s final revenge against the curse.

“Just say it, angel. We all know where you belong and who you’ll choose,” Myca teases. He reaches for the amulet and folds his hand around it. Magic thrums in the air between us.

I grip his wrist. “Don’t! You can’t trade your life for mine!”

“My life was forfeit before the trials began. I’d like to know my magic won’t be wasted or absorbed by my father,” he responds. “Trying to teach the bastard a lesson.”

How he can find any humor at a time like this, I don’t know. Myca pries my hand free, and I look to the werewolf alpha. Ben’s resolution dashes any hope I have of swaying him to my side, though the skin around his eyes is soft and his expression one of warmth and compassion.

“Ben isn’t going to interfere. It’s my choice,” Myca says before Ben can speak. “We went into this knowing what we each had to do. Redemption, remember?”

“Ben,” I say, my focus on the acknowledged mastermind and leader. “I can’t live knowing he died because of me.”

“This is the only way, Leslie,” Ben says quietly. “Myca will die no matter what. It’s his right to choose how.”

“No!” I hear the logic, but I can’t think of Myca’s death rationally.

“It’s done.” Myca releases the amulet and leans back.

“Tristan.” Ben tosses the Exile knife to the fae prince, who stands close to the picnic table. “Destroy it.”

“How do you even know this will work?” I demand, starting to lose it. “Ben, you can’t risk the lives of –”

He takes my arms. His ability to command without saying anything silences my panic. With my eyes riveted to him, I’m trembling and beginning to cry. I can’t get a full breath past my tight throat and chest.

“I need you to decide, Leslie,” he tells me. “This will only work if you willingly give up being a Kingmaker.”

The snap of metal is followed by the sound of something shattering beneath the weight of the sledgehammer. I glance over to see the Exile blade in pieces and Tristan lowering the tool. Terror doesn’t describe the fear inside me that this is going to backfire spectacularly.

“Leslie.” Ben’s voice is softer. He cups my cheek in one hand and brings my head to face him again. He releases me.

“Ben –”

“Trust me.”

I do. With everything. I crumble from the inside out. A few days ago, I chose to let Ben help me, to spend my last few days with him. My instincts tell me to follow through, that the intended mate of the Kingmaker must be allowed to play his part, if this is ever going to end.

“I willingly give up being a Kingmaker,” I reply. “I choose you, Ben.” Please, please, please know what you’re doing!

Heat emanating from the amulet at my chest spreads through me faster than the fire is tearing through my father’s study. I recognize the transformative magic– and the sudden disarray of my senses: the smells that are too strong, the soft crackle of fire that sounds like a roar. I can suddenly see Ben’s features as if it’s noon and not a full eclipse, and the skin of my arms and legs begin to itch from the cheap material of the clothing I’m wearing.

My instincts grow in depth, filling in the gaps in my senses, illuminating the dark corners of the backyard and the condition of everyone in it. Hope, fear, dread … I’m surprised to realize not one of the clan leaders is experiencing hate or anger. The abrupt onslaught of sensation catches me off guard. I’ve forgotten how powerful it was when I first became a werewolf.

Gasping in air, overwhelmed, I lean forward, grabbing for the alpha. Ben wraps an arm around me, and my world stabilizes. The second his sandpapery cheek rests against mine, I want to roll around in his scent, to smear his smell all over me. The warmth at my core mixes with the fire of magic, and the two move throughout me, changing me.