I gazed into pale, reptilian eyes, and I winked.
Shock swept Supreme Rawain’s expression clean. “Niphran’s daughter.” His grip on the scepter convulsed. “It cannot be. You’re dead.”
My smile brightened. “Not anymore.”
“Guards!” Rawain bellowed. He leveled the crystalline head of his scepter at my chest as soldiers poured into the ballroom. Sefa and Marek were forgotten in the fray. “An abomination masquerading as our Champion. You will pay for what you’ve done, Sylvia of Mahair.”
I tutted. “Let me refresh your memory.” My wrists ached with the pressure on my cuffs. “My name is Essiya. Malika of Jasad.”
Arin saw them first. “Cuffs,” he said, in a dawn of wonder.
The cuffs glowed, alight with molten magic. Except, this time, it didn’t stop. This time, the glow flooded every corner.
You should beware symbols of power, Diya had said. Like the power of a true name suppressed for too long.
Essiya went beyond queen, beyond Jasad. Essiya was a symbol, and she had taken a life of her own. Who we are is where we come from. Who we were.
My silver cuffs clattered to the floor. Iridescent cracks raced across my body, the glowing streaks breaking open over my skin. I saw my reflection in Queen Hanan’s chalice just as silver and gold rolled over my eyes.
“Retreat!” Arin roared. He shoved his father away from me and twisted, throwing his arm over his head.
My magic ruptured in a tidal wave of gold and silver. Screams filled the ballroom as the ceiling exploded. My magic whipped the raining glass in every direction. The guests stampeded through the archway, knocking the Nizahl crest into the wall. A kitmer took shape in the center of the ballroom. The feline rose from its haunches, gold feathered head glimmering. Golden wings fanned out, crashing into the walls penning it in. Its roar shook the ground as the roof caved around its head.
Lanterns smashed between me and the rest of the royals, the flames catching on the spilled tablecloths. Dust floated from the falling stones, swirling lazily above the chaos.
I stumbled past the kitmer’s paws to where Sefa and Marek hid behind a shaking pillar. The guards converged around the royals, scuttling them from the ballroom rapidly collapsing around us.
“Run!” I shouted. Stones crashed into the tables. “I cannot control it!”
Sylvia— Sefa mouthed. She squinted, struggling against the wind’s tide. Dust sprayed into her hair, seconds before a boulder tumbled from the wall to our right. She reached for me.
I snapped my fingers. Sefa and Marek disappeared, and the boulder smashed into her vacated spot.
The kitmer’s wings broke against the Citadel’s walls, and I laughed, spinning in the destruction.
This was freedom. I finally understood why Rawain tried so hard to wipe magic from the lands. Imagine never knowing this kind of euphoria. Never feeling magic streaming through you, whistling through the air at your command. A purity of power, purging away the hurt and mischief of mortality.
I understood why my grandparents would kill for this.
Something sharp lodged into my shoulder. Then another and another. Arrows flew through the storming kitmer and into me, dozens of them, covering my body in pinpricks of pain. The wind shrieked, and the platform flattened under the collapsing ceiling.
Normal arrows could not fly in these conditions.
I stumbled into a table and yanked an arrow out from my thigh. The tip dissolved into sepia specks.
Sim siya. A Jasadi paralyzing agent. I seized, crumpling onto the spilled pomegranate rubies. Fog descended over my mind.
A circle formed around me. Hands linked over my body, and voices chanted in melodic Resar. Though my vision swam, I could distinguish one face above the rest.
“I know you,” I slurred. The man at the Meridian Pass. Efra.
The Urabi had found their moment to strike.
The woman next to the grim Efra smiled. “This will only hurt for a moment, Mawlati.”
The chanting accelerated as the wing of the Citadel imploded. The kitmer soared above the destruction, wings painting the night sky in the blazing colors of Jasad. A renewal. A deadly vow.
My hand had fallen over my heart. I counted the slowing beats as the Urabi’s chants grew louder and the world lost its colors.
One, two. I was alive. Three, four. I would never be safe again.
Somewhere, Arin would be reeling at my betrayal. His eyes would go icy and unforgiving, and a scar to match the one on his jaw would gouge into his soul. Perhaps he’d hunt me as he hunted Soraya.
Five, six. “I choose her,” he’d said.