Was it terrible that I was a little relieved?
I wasn’t the best king. Not even an especially good general, like Vale, with his affinity for strategy and politics.
But I was a fucking incredible warrior. Really, really good at killing things. It was comforting to sink back into something familiar as I cut my way through the carnage.
Ever since Neculai’s death, I’d felt his power—the power of the Rishan Heir line—pulsing deep beneath my skin. I’d always been relatively strong since I’d Turned, but when he died… if the Mark wasn’t enough to tell me what I was, I would have been able to feel it, like a new spring of power inching to the surface.
For a couple of centuries, I’d done my best to ignore it. I didn’t want to accept what I was. Neculai’s fingerprints were already all over me. He’d made me everything that I was. I didn’t want my power to become his, too.
But ever since Nyaxia’s gift—ever since she restored the full power of the Rishan Heir line—there was no more ignoring it. I’d felt it from that first night, after I carried an unconscious Oraya back to the castle and returned to help retake the city. I’d felt it when I’d ripped Martas’s head off his body. And I felt it now, with every Asteris-laced swing of my blade, power spilling from my pores with such magnitude that I couldn’t have hidden it even if I still wanted to.
I hated how much I loved it.
I turned a corner and cut through another demon. Easy enough, but wherever I killed one, more were ready to charge from the smoke. Above, I could hear voices and footsteps—Hiaj warriors, who had dived down from the cloudy sky, taking advantage of the poor visibility. Closer, Vale’s voice rang out through the halls, commanding our soldiers to push them back before they could make it to the ground floors.
It was almost funny, just how many stars aligned to make this night a perfect deadlock.
If we’d pulled our forces like we’d originally planned, the Hiaj would have taken over easily. If the Rishan nobles had sent support like they were supposed to, we would have outnumbered our attackers. If the Bloodborn were still stationed here, then we would have crushed the Hiaj before their assault could even begin.
But as it stood, we were matched one-to-one. Our soldiers were healthier, but the Hiaj were more skilled, and they had the benefit of surprise and the demons on their side. I passed several corpses on my way downstairs, people who were so evenly matched in their respective battles that they’d killed each other instead of finding a victor.
I hit the bottom floor. I needed to get to the back—close the gates.
I turned a corner and stopped short.
I recognized her immediately, even through the smoke. The Nightfire seemed to bow to her—warping around her body as if conscious of every curve and angle. Tendrils of long black hair flew out behind her. She was fighting with a sword, a shitty one, which she was clearly uncomfortable with—and I knew that right away, because I knew her and how she moved and how she fought, knew her so well that all it took was one split second to know when she was off-balance.
She was fighting a wayward demon, which let out a keening wail as she impaled it, releasing a putrid spray of black blood. With a strangled roar, she pushed its limp body away from her. Then turned around and lifted her head.
Those fucking eyes. Silver as steel. Just as sharp. Just as deadly. Every time, I felt that little pulse in my chest, the urge to rub the scar that didn’t exist.
Her face went hard and cold, and for a split second, I was so relieved to see that look. Fight.
There she is.
That one moment of relief drowned out all the other reasonable thoughts, the thoughts I was supposed to be having, and those hit me in an avalanche soon after.
She got out.
She came here.
She knew to come here.
She was trying to escape. Or…
Or she was responsible for this.
She leapt away as soon as she saw me, taking a few strides backwards. The Nightflame around her surged and danced, clinging to her form. I wondered if she knew that it did that. Was it conscious, or just a new part of her, like my magic was?
“Let me pass,” she said. A command, not a request.
I smiled a little. “Or what? You’ll stab me again? For what, the third time now?”
The Nightflame flared again, curling around her body.
I should have hated that Oraya had gotten a burst of power of her own from her ascension to Heir. But damn if I didn’t love to see it. Just like I loved to see the strength in her stare as she gritted her teeth and stepped closer.